Phobophobia

Phobophobia-A short story

          She ran, heart pounding as if trying to life a weight off her chest. Her breathing rasped; the shadows around her seemed dark and foreboding. Graffiti covered walls blurred into an array of dull colors as her feet hit the pavement beneath her again and again. Thump, thump, thump. The air whistled and screamed, the music of the night air painting an eerie picture around the lone runner in the dark city allies. 

          With a fleeting glance over her shoulder, her eyes searched out the dark corners that lay in her wake. A soft laugh tinkled just slightly above the breeze. She whirled around, hair whipping across her dirt-streaked face. A scream seized her throat, but little more than a weak cry sounded. Her vision clouded, and she squeezed her hazel-green eyes shut, hoping to open them and find that it was all a dream.

          Emerging from the grey fog came a shape, one that she could not turn her gaze from. Fear. Frozen in place, a blanket of cold, pure emotion shrouded her connection with reality. The laugh she had heard did not match the black, looming figure before her, but was somehow tied to it. 

          Her hands flew up to her temples; she heard a voice. No, no, it hurt too much. Swaying back and forth, she stumbled.

          One step closer.

          She couldn't focus, couldn't think. The shape shifted, an icy grimace on its faceless form. It had her. Shaking in a heap on the ground, her will to fight slowly seeped out of her mind. Terror coursed through her body; she could feel the presence growing inside her, controlling her. 

          "Run." The thought raced to find what little courage she had left. The laugh sounded once again, deeper and more ominous, as if it could feel her pain. She struggled to stand. The voice wrapped the blanket tighter still. 

          A shock suddenly erupted and swept through the ally with a thundering roar. Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment the dingy street had life, color. She saw a window of freedom, but could not reach it. The light faded, and the noise died, but her feet were now holding her. She stared at the figure, fog swirling around it in anger. Did it recoil ever so slightly at the dagger held in her gaze? 

          "No." She heard herself speak the word, but the thought had not even processed. In a last desperate attempt, the figure groped at her heaving chest, wanting to poison her heart with its inky black fingers.

          One step backward.

          All it could do now was to hope to follow, to never give way in the chase. 

          And she ran.