Only Shadows

Chapter 15

James

He sensed it before he saw it. Dread. Doom. Fear so palpable it woke him.

His body was heavy, corpse-frozen, unnaturally still. An invisible weight pressed down, each moment growing worse. He fought to breathe. Tried to suck air in. Something scratched against the walls.

They were coming for him.

His eyes were open; stared straight up. Shapes coalesced from the shadows. Out of the corner of his eye, they moved. A single form emerged, drifting toward him. Slowly, so slowly. It glided.

His mind screamed. He tried to run, tried to push himself off the bed. Not even a muscle twitched, his useless body paralyzed.

Each moment grew and lengthened, like the shadow itself. Every second, a breath of life. Did his heart beat? Couldn't sense it. Did he breathe? Not consciously.

The shadow warped and grew. Curving over him fluidly, the beast took form. A lone man, 6-7 feet tall. Brimmed hat, blank face without feature. No eyes. No mouth. The body flowed down like a trench coat, outlines blurred in darkness. It loomed above him.

Yet, it waited. Hovered over some invisible precipice where his life teetered in the balance.

More shadows gathered at the edges of his vision. Whispering, harsh and garbled.

A scream clawed at his throat, clamped teeth barring release. Malevolent. It radiated its evil intent. He knew. He knew. The shadow wanted to devour him.

Suddenly, the hat man darted closer. Like a trap sprung, the prey broke loose.

The scream tore from James' mouth as he shot off the bed. Through the hat man, through the darkness, through the shadows, cold as death.

He scrambled to the light, slapping it on. Light flooded the room as he spun around. The shadows were gone.

"Jesus Christ, Jimmy! Shut up and turn off the goddamn light!"

James dodged the Nerf football that flew at his head. He fumbled with his phone, yanking it out of the charger. 3:13 AM. "Sorry," he mumbled. He flipped off the light.

"So sick of this shit," Bo grunted as he rolled over.

James slipped out the bedroom door to the kitchen, flipping lights on as he went. At least Dad wasn't passed out in his chair. Otherwise, the screaming probably would have woken him, though he slept like the dead after drinking enough.

His throat burned. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water. He brought the glass to his mouth with a shaky hand, downing the lukewarm water in greedy gulps. Water splashed on his face and hand. Finished, he poured another glass, sipping more slowly this time. It tasted faintly metallic.

His heart raced; his breath came fast and shallow. Those damn dreams. Night terrors, that's what they were called. He'd always had them. Sometimes, he remembered them. Other times, it was a complete blank, and he only knew it'd happened because Bo mocked and tormented him the next day.

Bo claimed he never saw anything. It's all in your head, Jimmy. They're gonna drag you away to the looney bin someday. Then Bo would make circles with his index finger at the side of his head while laughing like a psycho. James had believed Bo when he was young, terrified he'd end up in a mental hospital. Now he knew better, of course.

A couple years ago, he realized these were more than simple nightmares. Night terrors were a sleep disorder, some signal misfire between the brain and the body. Basically, they caused a person to be awake and asleep at the same time.