chathunk
chathunk
chathunk
The rhythm of the aged van was as constant as the desert's dust as they drove to their destination. The sun dipping under the horizon cast an orange hue over everything in the desert: from the lone cactus to the roadrunner scrambling to nab its last lizard. Callum switched off the A/C as the desert night's cold crept into the white van.
"How far away is this place, anyway, Callum?" Darrel asked. Darrel pulled on his gray hoodie, now acutely aware of how frigid the van now was. Callum looked at quite possibly the 100th pile of rocks they had seen that day, then swerved off the road and into the desert.
"Only a matter of time now, dude. Just pray that the van doesn't break down now, of all times."
Darrel chuckled and stuffed his hands into his hoodie's pockets.
chathunk
chathunk
chathunk
Callum drifted unto the asphalt, no longer caring about maintaining the van's condition and feeling like a kid that was just about to open his first present on his birthday. While Darrel clutched his chest slumped against the wall of the van, Callum bounded out of the vehicle towards the only other person that was there; a pale, thin girl wearing colourful, baggy clothes. From where Darrel stood, the only things that stood out on the pale cream canvas that was this girl's face were her Egyptian-style eyeliner and her iridescent blue and gold canvas. Stepping out of the van, he suddenly regretted wearing jeans and a t-shirt under his grey hoodie and not bringing a super thick sweats and hoodie combo like Callum did. Callum and the mystery girl were dying with laughter by the time Darrel made it over.
"Oh, Darrel, we were just talking about you."
"Haha, fuck you" he deadpanned. "You mind introducing me?"
"I'm Marilyn, hey Darrel." she interjected. She smiled, baring perfectly aligned, perfectly white teeth.
"You tell him about the tent, Cal?"
"Oh, yeah. Dude, the instant you walk in, you give up all your rights as a good ol' 'Murican citizen," he laughed out. The laughter did nothing to assuage the fear and shock that came in that moment.
"Dude. Don't look like such a li'l bitch, yeah? It's just cuz the tent's on Mexico's border. You'll still have human rights and shit." Callum and Marilyn's nonchalance let him at least smile for the moment, but something about giving up his rights sat wrong with him.
"C'mon, boys, let's go fuck with some demons." As they walked to the tent, they all turned back around as they heard the van again. Marilyn chuckled.
chathunk
chathunk
chathunk
The tent was incredibly well-furnished; a grand piano in one corner, a gold harp in the right, a chandelier--which seemed incredibly improbable--in the centre of the roof. The carpet which covered the majority of the floor was a glamourous gold and white and matched the couch and chairs which were distributed about the room. The tent was beautiful, but something felt...off. Disaffected, cold, frosty...nothing seemed to describe the feeling that Darrel couldn't shake from his back. Callum nudged him with his elbow as he walked by.
"You feel it, right? Spoooookyyyyy~" he chuckled. "Wipe off your shoes before you come in; gotta preserve the image." Marilyn went straight past him and to a mini-fridge that sat beside the couch. She pulled out three beers and tossed him one, then waved to the other chair.
"Relax, dude. Its gonna be fine, I've done this more times than I can count."
She was right, Darrel decided. He dropped into the chair and cracked open his beer with his Swiss Army Knife. Callum was already calling for another bottle, grasping at the air like a baby looking up at its mobile, but Marilyn was already in the process of sitting down.
wait
Suddenly, it all slowed. She moved as if she was sinking into quicksand--her eyes dragging their way slowly upwards to look at Callum, her glistening lips curving into a smile, her eyelids collapsing like a garage door as she slowly blinked. Callum was the exact same, with his mouth forming what looked like a smiling "nooo", but painfully slow and his eyes also grinding slowly to a close, then--as if tearing--opening again. The light was flickering now, blinking slower and slower in rhythm with the falling of Marilyn to the couch. At the instant of her touchdown, time was fixed, the room changed colour from white and gold to black and gold and the 'feeling' returned, but now it was multiplied tenfold.
Dread.
That was it. He had found the word, then found himself wishing he didn't.
Sweat poured from his skin and he had started shivering. Marilyn and Callum were experiencing the same dread, the same incredible, all-encompassing fear, yet they smiled. Wide, manic smiles that looked incredibly out of place on bodies that looked as if their every hairs were standing on end. The piano and harp began to play; an unearthly melody that rang and resonated throughout every object in the tent. They sounded an arrival, it seemed. The chandelier's white light darkened, turning into the black of the night's sky, yet it still illuminated the room; just enough to see a figure appear in a swirling pillar of black mist. The shivers intensified and Darrel's mind could scream nothing but "run!" at him, yet his mind still refused to move his body as it was too afraid to risk it.
The man in the centre of the tent was dressed like the personification of the room itself; a black coat with coattails covered an equally black shirt with frills on the front and frills coming out from under the cuff of the grand coat. The shirt was flecked with evenly spaced gold sprinkles and the frills of the man's shirt were lined with gold. His pants seemingly merged with the coat and shirt because they were so black, while his shoes were a glistening gold; like they were carved from a block of solid gold themselves. All this time Darrel could only see the back of this man that had just appeared, so why was he so fearful? For the first time, he drew his eyes away from the man's dress and looked down at his hands.
They explained everything.
They were just skin stretched over bone.
The fingers looked as if they were constantly reaching, grasping for anything that could be within reach. Then they froze. As if he had finally noticed the existence of these insignificant and enfeebled humans. He turned in an instant and peered at Darrel, so he could finally see his face.
Terror. That was the new word. It was the only word.
Black bulbs for eyes and perfectly straight, pearl white teeth uncovered because of a lack of any lips, skin stretched taut over bone and a hole where a nose should be.. It leaned forward so it was a mere centimeter from Darrel's face. Darrel's bowels released and his bladder relaxed. He was face to face with the universal fear.
Death.
not your time
,it croaked out. It turned towards Callum and Marilyn. It outstretched its gaunt hands and two heavy, small gold balls fell to the carpet. It put its hands behind its back and turned away, walking to the entrance of the tent.
my time
.
With ethereal grace, he parted the curtains of the tent's entrance then stepped into the world, followed by the pelt of sirens; as if they were heralding a king.
END
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A/N: Soo...how was it? Not gonna make any promises on update speed cuz i've got tests and the like in about a month, but ill try to make writing a priority. Any tips on how to do that, btw? I struggle. Also, 1100 word story! Tell me if that's too long.
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Short Tales
HorrorWhat comes in the night? What is that feeling of being watched in the middle of the night? What are those dreams that you have but never remember? Why do we feel fear? What is fear? Who is fear? Be afraid. Fear is what keeps you alive when the t...
