The passages are endless. The bleak walls tower in his distorted vision, as seen through a sheen of tears and blinding pain. His footprints leave a bloody trail on the floor as he runs. His ripped shirt barely hangs onto his thin frame. His lungs are turbulent in his chest with lack of oxygen and every inch of his small body is in immense pain. But none of it is enough to halt his steps because the ominous essence of the phantom chasing him still lingers against his back, sending chills down his spine.
It prompts him to run faster, primal fear and adrenaline keeping the pain at bay. It is taking all his energy but he cannot bring himself to bother. The need to escape, survive is fluttering with profound intensity within him and when he finally spots the window at the end, it just seems to elevate. With an unexpected burst of energy coursing through him at that hope, he runs the fastest he ever has towards the window. His wings are half open and ready to take the flight. He's just a step away from the window and white light when he's yanked back with an inhuman force and cruel malicious laughter. Malice, lust and madness glint like constellations in the gaze searing him before his wings are clipped and he's pushed into the darkness.
A scream emerges from his throat, of horror, panic and outrage before it's muffled by a dirty rag and he is imprisoned in a hell he cannot escape.
_
The water feels cool against his heated skin as he splashes it repeatedly on his face. That is the maximum he's slept in years and he really is grateful for it though he wishes he hadn't fallen asleep. His insomnia meant he was protected against at least one part of it. But his exhaustion and relief had defeated his insomnia for 6 hours and that was a record.
He wipes his face against the towel and exits the bathroom. Knowing there are no chances at any more sleep, he decides to sit in the balcony and get some fresh air. He can gaze at the moon like he used to from his room and find some semblance with his nocturnal companions.
The balcony is compact and more like an exaggerated window than a balcony. He sits on the slab and rests his head against the cool railing. The night breeze is pleasant and he closes his eyes, letting himself just feel it and hear the song of the crickets in the silence of the atmosphere.
It feels serene and it calms the agitated parts of him, sour and bleeding because of the nightmare.
He stays like that for some time, lost in the feeling, so much so that he does not register the lights switching on in the room opposite his balcony nor the rustle of curtains pulled apart more firmly.
Which is why he jumps a mile in the air when he hears
"You do realize, right, that a better way to converse with ghosts is by visiting a graveyard and not lying awaiting them in the balcony of a haunted flat?"
_
She wishes insomnia was something she struggled with because it's a better option than being unable to curtail her sleep and wake up to haunting nightmares everyday. It's tiresome, another flaw inked into a list of many.
She gulps down the cold water, uncaring about the effect it will have on her dystopian lungs later and wipes the sweat lining her forehead. She then moves to her place of solace in the house.
As she ties the drapes properly, her eyes fall on a stranger in the flat that has long remained unoccupied. The words that escape her mouth at his sight are sincerely, an unplanned event!
(It sure is amusing to see him startle so wildly)
_
He puts his hand on his racing heart and finally sees the person who thought this was the best way to converse with a complete stranger at some ungodly hour of the night.
She is dressed in a blue nightie and her hair is tied in a bun. The light from the room seems to illuminate her form but he can't make out too many of her features except that she isn't slender by any means and weirdly, the sleeves of her nightie cover till her palm.
"Are you done with your scrutiny?" she asks.
He scowls and says
"Forgive me for trying to see which person this is who thinks starting a conversation like that at some random hour of the night, without warning, is a brilliant idea"
She shrugs
"Well, it's not like I expected to see a person in a flat decidedly unoccupied and that too here. It's not like I thought this through. Now that I think about it, a scream would have been a more appropriate reaction isn't it. After all, seeing a person in an empty flat believed to be haunted at 1:30 at night is scary"
He pauses, considering she does have a point
"Ya well, I did not expect this either" he says grumpily.
"Alright, will leave you to your....well, whatever it is that you're doing here" she says and walks into the house.
He stares after her, thoroughly surprised. That was an abrupt end to an unanticipated start!
"Weird" he whispers and shakes his head. It's just better to get in and get the rest of the unpacking done. Not like he has anything better to do!
_
WC: 924 words
(Dialogues are something that really do not come to me easy. I tried though....
Do share your views)
Love,
Pratyusha
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Edge Of The Night | ONC2024 ✓
General Fiction[Open Novella Contest - 2024] ONC2024 Longlister Round 1 & 2 Qualifier Prompts: 24,5 Tired of rising from the ashes, when his last reason to hold on falls apart, a man seeking peace moves into a new apartment. What he doesn't expect is to become e...
