Night Terrors

He calls her the Darkness. A being that visits him during the night. Will fourteen year old Jude unlock the secrets behind the Darkness? Will he finally put his night terrors to bed?

Night Terrors

 

 

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, why would you?

“lets start with introducing ourselves, my name is doctor Limerick and I’ve been working as a psychiatrist for over ten years, I would really like to help you Jude.”

he still doesn’t understand. “there is nothing you can do, I’m not crazy”

 he slowly lean’s forward, “nobody thinks you are crazy Jude. Your mother just worries about you; now can you take me back to your last night terror? What did you see?”

 

12 Hours earlier

its currently 11:41pm and I’m wide awake. I reach my hand up over my bed in which I’m sprawled out in and reach for the handle of the window, the window pane guiding my fingers to the silver metal handle that’s pointed out horizontally. I close the window which immediately gets rid of the draft that was passing into my room, knocking the blinds against the window creating a very irritating sound, a sound that can only be described as clapping. I crawl off the bed and walk towards my wardrobe, removing the roll of duct tape that sat on the wooden door knob of one of the wardrobe doors. I tape the two doors shut, even thought I know it wont keep it out for long, nothing does. I switch on the small lamp in the corner of my room by the door, only one half of the room lit with an orange tinge. I look at the clock above the door, it reads 11:58pm.

I take a deep breath as the clock changes from 11:59pm to 12:00am. I run towards my bed and climb in, I close my eyes and hide under the cover. What’s about to happen will make the next three hours, the worst three hours of my life. It will come for me, but I must keep my eyes shut at all costs, one glance at the darkness is all it takes for it to get into your head which will leave you praying for it to kill you. you feel everything, every smash of the stone, every piercing scream, every piece of broken glass cutting through your feet as you are dragged further into the darkness, like a rag doll being thrown about, I have woken up with bruises before.

I removed the cover from my head still with my eyes closed, I squint which helps me see slightly, I see blurry shapes, the lack of light passing through my squinted eyes makes it hard to make out objects. Moments later I notice the lights flicker “it’s here” I whisper.

I clutch the blanket tight and shut my eyes completely, unaware of what comes next. I heard the floor board in my room creek from the corner of my room, the sound of feet touching the ground makes me realise that the tape didn’t hold it off for long.  then the light went out. Squeezing my eyes closed and tucking all my limbs under the blanket to avoid them being grabbed. I felt the bottom of my bed vibrate, as though somebody was climbing onto it slowly, that’s when I heard it. The whispers of the darkness. It’s the same whisper every night, I don’t understand it, I don’t know why it comes to me every night at this time to try and get inside my head, but the whispers are always the same. it’s being repeated continuously until all of a sudden it stops and a hand softly pulls the blanket from over my head, that’s when the whispers became more aggressive, more like a whispering scream. I gripped the blanket even harder, using the little muscle I have to retrieve the blanket and keep me from her touch, but I was overpowered and the blanket was ripped away from my grip and thrown across the room, I heard it land against my bedroom door. I tried to scream but I couldn’t, my voice was gone, as though my vocal chords were removed, like she had put a spell on me to be silent, as much as I tried to scream I was unable to make a sound.

I don’t know what this thing is but it’s a living nightmare, it all started about six months ago, I fell asleep one night and was woken to the sound of whispers.  I noticed I couldn’t speak when I tried calling my mum, at first I thought it was my mum shouting so when I went to open my bedroom door, it wouldn’t open. I turned around to face what could only be described as a dark haired woman, hair messy with eyes the colour of amber. Her hair had dirt embedded between each strand, as though she had been rolling in the mud. Her teeth were rotten, in between the gaps of her teeth were plaque, which looked like it had been building up for years. She was wearing a black dress which also was covered in dirt and holes. Her dress reflected the moonlight that was exposing her face through the darkness. her amber eyes staring straight into mine. She placed her hand over my eyes and a bright light appeared. There were flickering lights and a loud ringing noise that was so piercing and bright that I placed my hands over my ears whilst squeezing my eyes shut. After a few seconds the sound had gone and the light had faded, I opened my eyes to see green; green grass, green leaves. Trees covered the horizon whilst the tall grass hide my cold bare feet that twitched as the wind blew the dandelion seeds between my toes.

I remember vividly walking into the trees in front of me, only to enter a large garden with flowers growing around the boarder and eight foot sunflowers growing in drills directly in front of me. I always remember my nana loved sunflowers, it was her favourite flower, she loved her garden, its where you would find her most of the time. I remember once her telling me “you see these” pointing her cigarette at the sunflowers, “their heads follow the sun, from east to west” For some reason it’s a moment that I haven’t forgotten, of all the moments we shared this one stood out the most for some reason. As I got older I too became interested in gardening, but instead of growing flowers my interest was in growing vegetables. After she passed I remember reading in one of her gardening books that sunflowers in fact do not follow the sun but their leaves do in some way track the sun. It’s ironic because it was her book in which she got to educate herself on these things, yet she died not knowing the truth.

As I stand there taking in the scenery of the flowers and the scent of the sweet peas that are climbing up the wooden arch that leads you out of the flower garden, a loud noise erupts throughout the garden, as I look around to try and identify the source of the echo. Listening closely for where the sound is coming from I begin to walk through the sunflower drills, I walk barefooted along the cold damp ground, collecting dirt between my toes. I notice on the far end of the garden a church with a large bell positioned on the tower above the church. I stood as the bell rang three time, indicating that what ever time it is, it is to the hour. My focus on the bell tower doesn’t break and right then I realise that I know this church. It’s the old church that my nan and granddad used to go before they passed, I was eight when they passed, both in the same year.

About five years ago the church caught fire and twenty-two church goers died in the blaze. I remember it being all over the news and on the TV, I was thirteen when that happened. I remember the door bell ringing, I was upstairs on my computer when I could hear voices downstairs, my curiosity led me to close the laptop and go see who mum was talking to. As I walked down stairs I saw our neighbour Jenny with her hands over her mouth “I can’t believe it Cecilia” mum was leaning on the door frame when the stair case creaked as I got near the bottom,  my mum and Jenny look over. “hey sweetie” Jenny said, then continuing her conversation with my mum. “right let me grab my coat, I’ll wait at your gate”

Jenny turned around and ran out of our garden, mum closed the door, “hey Jude, there’s been a fire at the St Thomas Church, get your coat were going to go have a look.” We didn’t know until we joined the crowed of thirty plus on lookers but apparently there were people inside the church when the fire started. “it was a candle” said one of the on lookers, he was an old man, his voice raspy. “it went up within minutes, the curtains near the doors caught alight and everyone was screaming because they couldn’t get out” mum and Jenny looked at each other in shock. “how many people were in there?” asked Jenny, “I left a few minutes before, I saw the smoke as I was walking home. There must have been at least twenty people, including children”. “oh my” mum gasped. Some people around us began crying as the thick black smoke poured out of the windows, the bell above the church went from a greenish grey to a charcoal black colour. The blue sky was covered by the smoke and the wooden interior of the church became timber for the fire. We had been there fifteen minutes when fire fighters finally controlled the fire and were able to go inside. The door was burnt to a crisp meaning when the doors were kicked down it basically just crumbled to the ground. I remember the smell that came from the collapse of the doors, the scent of burning wood and rubber, the scent of death was embedded on my brain for the next few weeks.

As I stand in the flower garden staring at the church where the towns worst tragedy struck, I was reminded of that night. Unsure exactly how I got here or whether or not I am dreaming, I walked towards the doors of the church. As I got near I looked up, taking in all its history, the fire, my grandparents taking me to Sunday service, even when Lucy, a local girl went missing, everybody got together to search the entire town, handing out flyers, even police dogs were searching for her. She was found by me and a few other town kids hiding out in the bell tower of St Thomas church, we saw her pink princess blanket dangling from the tower. As my eyes take in the rusted black bell above me, that’s when I saw her, the woman who was in my room, the thing I call the darkness. She stood staring directly at me from the bell tower above. Her gaze held strongly onto mine, she turned without looking away and her hand gently gestured me to follow. I paused for a moment, staring at the bit of rubble still remaining on the wall. After the fire they fixed some parts of the church, and turned the grounds that it sits on into a memorial site, so the church itself is no longer in use. Even if It was nobody comes around here, it’s practically abandoned, besides the garden. There’s been talk of it being haunted but mum says that they are just stories, but now I’m not sure. 

Author's Note

first chapter of a short story i am currently working on. Just wanted to see what people thought.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Starting this story in the therapist's office is a brilliant idea. I like the way you get to the drama quickly, not making the reader wade thru too much introductory stuff. Your spiel is spilled in a continuous way, as it would realistically be for a person who'd been thru the terror of it all. I love the outlandish details you include, one scene blending into the next, all packed with well-crafted imagery. The only thing I find a little tough is the way you use so many long complex sentences, one after another. It can really add emphasis when you pause the tumbling descriptions with a few simple declarative statements now & then. Constant run-on verbiage has a mesmerizing effect & the reader stops really paying attention to the story. This story needs some paragraph breaks & some relief offered by shorter sentences or maybe a brief comment from the therapist, here & there. All in all, great storytelling, but it needs a little brush-up for the technical aspects of managing the attention span of your audience, if you know what I mean. Thanks for considering my point of view (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[JoeReads]

thank you for your advice, this is why i wanted to share it because others will spot errors that i can't. What you said on the long complex sentences i agree. I'm going to go over it and like you said, find ways to keep the audience engaged. again thank you for your kind words i'll keep updating it as i go :)

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good tale shared my friend. Night terror is more common than we know. I liked the set-up and the realistic feel of the story. Keep writing. The topic of night terror can be a interesting tale. Thank you for sharing your amazing work and thoughts.
Coyote

[JoeReads]

aw thank you, there is still so much work to be done on the story, this is unedited so once its completed i'll upload it to here. it's a great way of getting feedback on your work :)

[Coyote Poetry]

I agree. A very good tale so far and you are welcome.

[Diane]

I really enjoyed the story as a whole. These are the kind of stories I live for. The way you describe the visuals in your story makes it easier for the reader to see thing the way the character does.

At some point I got lost. I felt like i turned the page to another story, so I had to go back and re read. May want to see what happened or if something got shifted or deleted while typing away. Found some miner issues, nothing an editing app couldn't fix.

Great job. I can't wait to read more.

[JoeReads]

thank you, i'm glad you liked it. And oh i'm gonna have to have a read of it, thanks for letting me know! i need to keep editing as i write because i will end up getting lost myself haha