Puddlebrain

Chapter Fourteen

The shadow beneath Puddlebrain's bed had recovered from whatever had ailed it - had made it recoil - and was spreading out once more. In a matter of scant seconds it had covered the whole floor of the bedroom, undulating like a lake of night, a ripple of nothing. It went still for a moment, then pulled itself inwards, the centre rising up as if pushed from beneath, the edges blurring back like steam on a windowpane. It rose to a height just short of six feet, then...

...It took form.

Human form.

Almost.

Where had once been nothing but a simple bed, a dumpy lamp with a shade that sat permanently cocked to one side in a 'Hey, I give the light around here. Me, you hear?' way perched haughtily atop a small table and a wardrobe that had never seemed to have seen better days, was now nothing and those items. A nothing that had shape. A nothing that had sense. A Nothing that had something.

A nothing that could move.

It was black, a soulless black that drained your heart if you stared at it for too long. It looked like a person that someone had forgotten to paint in – there were the shapes of arms and legs and what was obviously a head, but there were no features. It walked, actually walked, towards the bedroom door. It paused and the head moved as if it was looking at the wood, wondering what it was. A hand, with fingers of dusk, was raised towards the handle. It stopped. A ripple washed over the shape. It was laughing. With a sound like a wheel rolling through snow that had been in the sun too long and had almost turned to slush, the Nothing passed through the door.

In the cellar, Puddlebrain scratched her ear.