The Night

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I never really liked the night. It wasn't the dark that bothered me, but the way that everything seemed different and twisted. Like how shadows moved when they weren't supposed to or how the wind sometimes whispered things that didn't make sense. My mom always said that it was just my imagination, but I knew better. There was something about the night that wasn't right.

It was around 10 p.m. when I left the house that night. I know, I shouldn't have done it. But things at home were getting really bad. I mean Mom was crying in the kitchen again, and Dad was yelling, his voice echoing through the house like it always did when he drank too much. I couldn't take it anymore, so I grabbed my hoodie and slipped out the back door, and I started walking.

The night was colder than usual, and the streets were empty. I walked past rows of dark houses, their windows were like hollow eyes staring out into the void. I didn't really have a destination in mind, just a need to get away, to clear my head. Maybe I'd go to the park or down by the creek. Anywhere but home.

I kept my hands stuffed in my pockets, my fingers curled into fists. The sidewalk felt uneven under my feet, like it was trying to trip me, that's all life tries to do with me lately. Every few steps, I'd glance behind me, half expecting to see something following me. But there was nothing, just the empty street and the wind rattling branches of the old oak trees that lined the road.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, I noticed something up ahead. It was a small, flickering light at the end of the block. It wasn't a streetlamp; those were all off, as usual. This light was different, dim and unsteady, like a candle struggling to stay lit in the wind. Curiosity got the better of me, and I headed toward it.

As I got closer, I saw that the light was coming from a house, one that looked like it had been abandoned for years. The windows were boarded up, the paint was peeling, and the front lawn was overgrown with weeds. But the light was definitely coming from inside. I hesitated for a moment, my heart beating faster. I should have turned around right then and there. But something pulled me toward the house, like an invisible string wrapped around my chest because of course I would be the first one to die in a horror movie.

The front door was slightly open, creaking softly as it swayed in the icy wind. I took a deep breath, pushed it open, and stepped inside. The floorboards creaked under my weight, and the air was polluted with dust. The light was coming from a room at the end of the hallway, flickering shadows dancing on the walls.

I took a laboured breath and walked slowly, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The closer I got to the room, the colder it felt, like the temperature was dropping with each step. I shivered and pulled my hoodie tighter around me, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread stabbing at my insides.

When I reached the doorway, I stopped and peered inside. The room was small, almost like a closet, with just one window that was boarded up with rusty old nails and it smelt like something out of the boys bathroom. In the centre of the room was a single candle sitting on the floor, its flame weak and unsteady. But what really caught my attention was the man sitting beside it.

He was hunched over, his back to me, his shoulders shaking like he was crying or maybe laughing but I couldn't tell. His clothes were filthy, and torn in places, and his hair was dark, long and matted. Something about him made my skin crawl, but I couldn't look away. I didn't want to.

"Hey," I said, my voice shaky.

The man didn't respond, didn't even flinch. I swallowed hard and took a step closer. "You okay?"

The man turned his head toward me, and I froze. His skin was pale and stretched tight over his bones. But it wasn't his malnourished body or empty eyes that made me want to run. It was his mouth. His lips were sealed shut by a zipper. A real, metal zipper, like the kind you'd find on a jacket or a bag. It was sewn into his skin, the edges jagged and raw, like it had been done recently. His mouth was dripping with fresh blood.

I took a step back, my heart pounding in my chest. The man stared at me with those empty eyes, and I could see the pain, the fear, trapped behind them. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a muffled grunt, his mouth ripped more and blood gushed out.

I stumbled back, nearly tripping over my own feet. I wanted to help him, to do something, but I was too scared to move. And then I heard it, a faint sound, like the distant whisper of a voice. It was coming from the candle, or maybe from the shadows around it. I couldn't tell, but I knew it wasn't something I wanted to hear.

"Run," the man tried to say, his voice muffled and distorted by the zipper. But it was clear enough, the desperation in his eyes making the message impossible to ignore. He pointed toward the door, his bony hand trembling.

And that's when I saw them. The shadows. They were moving, swirling around the candle like they were alive, like they were feeding off its light. They twisted and writhed, and as they did, they started to take shape—horrible, distorted shapes that didn't belong in this world. Faces with hollow eyes, mouths stretched into unnatural grins, limbs that bent in ways they shouldn't. They were coming for me. I could feel it, deep in my bones.

I turned and bolted, my sneakers slamming against the creaking floorboards as I raced down the hallway. I could hear the man behind me, his muffled screams growing more frantic as the shadows closed in on him. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. The only thing that mattered was getting out of that house, out of the night.

The front door was still open, and I burst through it, not caring that it slammed against the wall with a loud bang. I ran down the steps, across the overgrown lawn, and didn't stop until I felt a tug on my leg. I screamed as I saw a shadow visibly gripping my ankle. I tried to get away pulling my leg before I fell face first into the ground.

I could taste the fresh mud and my fingers clawed at the grass my finger nails collecting the soil. I felt myself get dragged across the floor and my body aching. I get dragged up the steps my face slamming against the concrete. The wooden door slams shut and I hear an array of screams. The children of hell wallowing out to me.

Next thing I know I wake up in a damp room. Mold staining the walls and what looks like a human heart in a metal tray. I shoot up at the foul rotting smell and back into the cold concrete wall.

I stay locked in the room for the longest time. My skin starts to turn pale and my limbs become bony. My stomach aches in pain as I sit there hoping to be rescued. Are my parents still arguing? Do they even realize that I am missing?

I stay in the room trying to keep myself from going insane. All I can do is sleep. I look around the dimly lit room and back to the metal tray. I feel myself grow nauseous. That is disgusting. I force my aching limbs to lift me up and I realise how skinny I have gotten, my clothes hang off of my frame and I grunt.

I stand in front of the tray seeing a lighter and a candle beside the heart. I hesitate but I manage to light the candle. I rip off a piece of the heart and I hold it over the fire. I brace myself and squeeze my eyes shut before dropping the slimy piece into my mouth and I force myself to swallow it.

I force myself to eat the entire thing, reminding myself that I have no other choice. I sit back down against the wall blood dripping from my mouth. I hear the shadows whisper around me. After a long while I open, my eyes my mouth tasting like iron. I see a shadow merge and a dark, slender form emerging from the wall. I look at its long clawed fingers and I see a zipper and a needle. At this point I lost all hope.

Written by: Stori