...Not Fan fiction, but this is the only place I can think to write this.
I'm writing this as it comes to me, so bare with me. It may be edited later for grammar, structure and spelling, so keep these things in mind...
This is basically me writing about what I feel every night before I go to bed...
Here goes;
Fear of the DarkIs it dark yet?
Has the last ray of sunlight truly disappeared from sight?
Look at the sky. Can you see only stars?
Go inside. To where there are no windows to let the light in. Stand in the hallway.
Turn off the lights.
All of them.
Do you feel it? It's crawling up your spine... The feeling that you know something is there. Behind you...
Your thoughts, they're disjointed. They seem broken, in a frenzy. You see the doorways but you dare not look at them. Dare not focus on them. You're imagination is running wild, the sensation running along your spine is getting stronger. You can almost see it clearly. A long, pale, elongated arm reaching out from the doorway. Human, yet... Wrong. You can almost hear it, so clear it is within your mind. The shrill, high pitched scream of something
throwing itself at you. It has no regard for itself, as long as it can get to
you.
Hide.
Cower.
Read these words. What's behind you? Can you see? Do you want to? Don't worry. It's there, you can feel it. It's the reason you focus only on yourself in the mirror, on your reflection when you look out the window. Look too hard and you'll see it. Watching you. Stalking you.
The eyes glow red. Or is it white? Are they black?
It's always there. You know it is. It will rip you. Tear you. Beat you. Devour you. And it will keep you alive the whole time.
You know what it's going to do. It will do what ever you fear it will.
It will grab the back of your head and slam it into the desk. You're stunned, the bridge of your nose is throbbing, your eyes are watering already. Again, it slam you head down. Again, again,
again.
It has your arm now. The right. It's pulling it behind your back, so hard the tendons strain, your shoulder and you mouth
scream. Again and again your face is slammed into the desk. Your keyboard is in ruins, blood cakes you hair and face. Then come the claws. They're raking along your spine. The pain is intense, but now you feel something more... Your flesh isn't tearing, it's
detaching from the skin that surrounds it. You can feel it, inch by inch, and yet you remain aware of everything. The pull on you hair,
tearing your scalp, the claws severing the flesh along your spine, inch by inch, one inch per second...
And now you feel the
third hand.
Is there more than one? Is it the same
thing?
It's gripping your throat. You're aware of everything now. Sights. Smells. Sensations. The darkness is lit up, yet still an abyss. You feel the shock of it's touch, familiar, yet you feel tainted. There's a metallic smell in the air. It's the iron from your blood. Your heart is hammering. You're going to die. Instinct tells you to fight but the terror holds you still, such is it's power.
Four needle-prick stings. You can feel each one. Finger by finger, claw by claw, as they start to pierce you throat. And then...?
Relief.
It hasn't released you or shown mercy...
No.
It's shown ecstacy.
One slash, like it's own monstrous orgasm. Four slits along your throat. You feel like your drowning. Your mind is in panic. You taste nothing but your gasps for air, then... Blood. Metallic, sickening blood. It's flooding your lungs and your mouth. You gag, your body attempts to expel the liquid. Blood, bile and fear.
You're drowning.
Gasping for air, suffocating on the one thing that has sustained you so long.
"It's not really there."
These words startle you. Pull at you.
"There's nothing. There's never
anything."
A voice... Yours.
"It's never there. There's nothing there. There's nothing ever there."
Your mantra.
It's how you sleep at night. Without it, you wouldn't be able to make it to your bed when you turn out the light. You wouldn't be able to avoid looking in the mirror or the window...
It's all in your head. The fear. The horror. The terror...
But you close your closet doors anyway.
Blah...
Sorry if that was a little descriptive/intense.
About to go to bed. Believe it or not, it helps to have written this...