December 13, 1983
Fear! What does it mean to be truly afraid? The monster in your bed? Is it he rollercoaster in your nightmare that fails to change its course, forever tumbling down over the flames of hell? Death by bullet? Oh fear is a plethora of emotions. We all get excited before wanting to piss our pants. But, I have a story for you. This will surely shift your perception of what it truly means to be afraid of the dark.
That goddamn noise. It won't stop. The pounding in my ears, it's so fucking painful. I reach my hand to my ear's poor drums. The pounding caused a liquid substance to discharge from my left ear. The sound repeats itself again. The sound it portrays is that of a broken soul, a dying soul, a miserable soul. Where is the off switch? I must find it! As I walk to my door in this demonic darkness, my feet crush upon a sharp object. The glow suggested it is a metallic thing- a small silver pin. Where the hell did this come from! I don't recall owning any pins. Unless you count the pin my daughter Erica gave to me the night before the fire that took her youth away. Now she lays arms crossed over her chest on the dirt. Eleven miserable years. Maybe that was the pin, and I am just a sleep deprived man. BOOM. BOOM. SPLASH. AGONY. The noise. Again. Fucking with my thoughts. I move my unwilling self to the door, only to discover an overwhelming hotness. As if a live flame was heated underneath. Ignore the burn it leaves on my flesh and exit the room. Why would my doorknob get hot in the middle of December? Even in my perplexed state, this seems too illogical. I myself am shaking from the bitter cold. The noise! I must find the source of my current misery. And finally sleep...
I drag my feet along the hardwood floor, pain rides from my feet to my side. The floorboards creak underneath me.A cloak of darkness is laid upon my house. But I even in pain, must move on. That goddamn pin. I don't remember keeping that pin. Oh, that noise again!I need to find a switch. My feet accelerate pace again. My hands caress the walls to find a bump. Instead, I touch a picture. I don't keep pictures! What,the fuck,is going on! My hand finds a light switch and i flip it on to get a better look at the photo. It's Erica's last photo. I burned this after she died. It shouldn't be here. Yet it stands in front of me, unsctehed , in mint condition. A scream escapes me. Then it dawns upon me that the noise is coming from inside of me. My mind. I walk into my room . Cutting off any lights, and myself in the darkness. The noise has stopped, and I find my eyelids heavy. My bed supports my dramatic fall and I find myself in slumber- almost. A flame dances across my bedroom! Instead of a cool blue, it's flaming red. My flesh peels off, I am melting!! I must escape the dancing flames, no I DO NOT WISH TO DANCE WITH THEM! Is there where I shall meet my maker? In a few minutes I shall find out. The photo, the photo of Erica stands, unscethed. I find myself, becoming tissue and visible white bone. The last noise I recall is a laugh, from out in the hall.
Then, I wake up. I am all here, skin and all. It was a stupid nightmare. What am I? A child! I open the blinds for light, and breathe in relief, as it was all a dream, a terrible dream. But then I open the blinds, and there is nothing but pitch darkness. And my daughters mutilated flesh stands before me.
A short story by - Shyann A. Cooks
