It Lives in the Dark

A man discovers what the darkness can hide.

Some months ago, for more reasons than I can bear to list, I moved out of my hometown to get away from everything and everyone. I found a small apartment that I could just barely afford, and decided that I could make it work.

It took a lot longer than I expected to settle in, but eventually it began to feel homey, and that's all that mattered to me. Everything had been going great. I'd found a job, I'd made some work friends, and after putting just a little time into it, my place looked much better than it had before. All was perfect.

However, out of nowhere, I began getting these strange feelings like I was being watched whenever I would enter a room at night, or with the lights off. I'd never been scared of the dark, and I wasn't about to be then, but the eerie feeling definitely put me on edge.

Surprisingly, after a few days I got used to it, and didn't really notice it as much. Then the noises happened, the cliché bumps in the night.

My neighbors weren't really the quietest people I'd ever met, so naturally, I just assumed it was them having no regard for the people living next door. That theory was quickly shredded to pieces when they moved out shortly after, and the noises continued, actually getting louder and more frequent, as well.

Since I know absolutely nothing about the inner workings of any kind of building or living area, I got the landlord to get someone to come in and see if there was maybe something wrong with the pipes, or at least see if they could find something that would help explain what I was hearing, and hopefully stop it before it got any worse. It was starting to drive me crazy. It took no time at all for them to figure out that everything was in tip-top shape, and that whatever it was had nothing to do with the apartment itself, which only managed to make me feel 100% worse.

The following days weren't any better at all. The noises moved from room to room, until they were in mine, where they stayed. Every night, it sounded like someone was punching the walls, and most of the time, the punches turned into scraping. Sometimes I thought I could even hear the breaking of fingernails, which sent infinite shivers down my spine.

After another number of days, I began to have strange nightmares. I couldn't remember them in detail when I woke up, but the one constant thing that always stood out to me was an old man in a suit and top hat. I could never make out his face, as he was always looking down. The only reason I knew he was old, was because of his wrinkled hands, which were clasped together as if he were praying. Sometimes his hands would even be black and slimy, with long claws at the end of each crooked finger. Everything else was a blur, and it kind of scared me for some reason. Forgetting dreams is pretty common, but it's still an unsettling feeling knowing that something's there, but you just

can't find it.

On the fourth or fifth night of the dreams, I woke up to a silhouette in my doorway. It was only there for a split second. Being a person who doesn't easily believe in “paranormal” or unexplainable things, however, I naturally assumed it was only me still being groggy from just waking up. I hoped it, anyway.

With everything that I'd been experiencing, I was shockingly slow at noticing that weird stuff only happened at night. In the daytime, the apartment was quiet. There were no bangs on the wall, no sensations of being watched, just plain peacefulness. When nighttime rolled around, things were... different. The air was heavier, feelings of dread lingered in every corner of every room, and I found myself leaving every light in the house on... until I got the electric bill, that is. After that, I tried my hardest to suck it up, and quit being scared of nothing. As I said before, I'd never been scared of the dark, and I wasn't about to be then.

The bangs got worse and worse each night. Sleep was becoming some sort of fairytale concept that I was beginning to think didn't really exist. The nightmares had stopped, but I couldn't even close my eyes for more than a few minutes, as I'd be jolted awake by nothing. I would just wake up, gasping for air, like I was suffering from aggressive form of sleep apnea. It happened every single time. I had no choice but to just try to hack it with no sleep, and it took its toll on me. Almost everywhere I looked in my apartment, I would catch a glimpse of the old man, still in prayer mode, except now I could see his eyes, which were sunken in and bright yellow.

After getting caught napping here and there at work, people would keep asking me if I was okay, and half-jokingly questioning if the lights were on whenever I'd occasionally zone out, to which I always replied by flashing a weak smile and a mumbled reassurance. I could tell by the looks they gave me that they thought I was a nut job. I didn't think they were too far off.

I was fired for “not taking the job seriously enough” a few days later. I spent the rest of the day trying to get some rest before I completely lost my mind, as I knew I was safe when the sun was out.

The entire apartment was dark when I woke up a few hours later. As soon as I climbed out of bed, I heard a sound, different from the bangs I was used to, come from the living room. It was more of a frantic shuffling sound. Although every rational part of my brain was screaming at me not to, I slowly opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Even with it being practically pitch black, I could still make out something moving around in the living room.

I was instantly frozen in place. To my surprise, I actually found myself silently praying it was a burglar and nothing else, but I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that it was something a thousand times worse. My terrifying suspicions were proven to be right when whatever it was stopped, and turned towards me, almost robotically. Two bright yellow eyes were looking back at me.

My body went completely cold. A type of fear that I'd never experienced before was coursing through my veins. As the two of us stood there, static and staring, I could hear the thing's breathing immediately intensify. In an instant, the eyes turned red, and a sick, gurgling screech erupted from it. That was all it took for my legs to regain the ability to move. I was back in my room with the door shut and locked before my brain could even really register what was happening.

I heard it sprinting down the hall, screeching louder and angrier as it came to a stop in front of the door. It attacked

the door, beating and scratching it, trying desperately to get in. The wood was already splintering. All I could do was watch as its slimy, black claws stabbed through the only thing keeping me alive. Each time the wood cracked, the screeching would get more and more chaotic. The door finally broke down, and the thing howled with sick pleasure, as it was once again face to face with its prey. There was nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

For the first time in my life, I was truly afraid of the dark.

Author's Note

Don't worry, I know the story isn't nearly as good as it could be, but I'm treating it as more of a prototype for now. Either way, hope you enjoy, and don't be afraid to rip into the story. I'd like to hear what you think.