Sometimes the worst thing about the dark is not what you see, but what you hear . . .

“Eyes in the Dark”

By Xwarper UtopiaX DystopiaX

  •       Mitchell closed his eyes and let the sounds flood over him. First they were little chitterings in the double dark — his eyes closed and the pitch-blackness of the room beyond that at past midnight — and then the sounds became a low groaning like the souls of hell rattling their cages. Even when they ceased for a while, he held his breath awaiting their return. He was not disappointed.
  •       Getting out of his bed, he slid one foot and then the other into his bunny slippers. An emotionally stalled 20-year-old, Mitchell Ramsey was not like other young men his age. He believed in ghosts. He never stepped on cracks in the pavement or walked under ladders. When he picked his nose, he always looked at it to see if blood was there.
  •       He felt a trickling down his arm now, and eyes wide in alarm, jerked his head down for a look. A little light filtered into his room from the streetlights outside. He could barely see a black trickle, like a question mark. There was no way he was going to slide any farther off his bed to turn on the light; the black trickle would have to remain a worrisome mystery.
  •       The chitterings started again. It sounded like crickets trying to talk to grasshoppers in a death-camp of grasslands stretching beyond infinity. Mitchell quivered like a ragdoll in the hands of a giant, a giant of fear. Finally, he kicked off his slippers and screamed for his father.
  •       The door was flung open. But it wasn’t his father. There, standing in the doorway, was a set of two eyes by two eyes, making four in total, positioned in a perfect square. They were lambent green, with little specks of gold in them. When they blinked slowly, Mitchell felt his life-force draining from himself.
  •       “I’ve come for you,” the multi-eyed creature whispered, and slouched its way into the room. “I can help you. I am your friend.”
  •       A paw swiped at Mitchell gently from the nearby dark, and Mitchell let out a burble of sickness and emotional-wrenchment. The alien-yet-soothing eyes were staring intently at him. Blood was flowing into them from somewhere. A black cloud of gnats and dust began to swarm around it. The intruder was falling apart into wet cloth and bloody rags.
  •       It collapsed onto Mitchell. The weight must’ve been hundreds of pounds. Mitchell thrashed. Struggling, he managed to barely free one arm and reached for a shovel he kept by his bedside. Feebly, he lifted it and inserted it under the body of the demon that was crushing him, keeping him from breathing, making him choke. He leveraged it up slightly . . .
  •       . . . and then the shovel slipped out of his nerveless fingers. As it clattered to the floor, Mitchell felt the weight resume its comfortable location over him, and suddenly not breathing didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all. As Mitchell began to get high from lack of oxygen he smiled faintly and had one last thought in his brain:
  •       I hope daddy finds a use for my bunny slippers.

The End. X.