Beyond The Door

This is really where the story picks up beyond that short setup. It introduces some of the key concepts in the story.

Back and forth, back and forth, I could feel my body rocking gently as she shook my shoulder.

                “Hey sleepy head go to bed.”  She whispered in my ear.

                “Huh?  I’m watching a movie.”  I said, my eyes not even open.

                “Movie ended ten minutes ago. Now get up before your dad sees you sleeping on the couch, and your bed time gets cut again.”

                I stretched and rubbed my eyes, exaggerating the gestures as much as I could; buying time, not going to bed.  I wanted to be picked up, I wanted her to carry me and tuck me in like she used to do.  I missed the feel of her arms as she picked me up.  I stretched my arms forward and looked at her, hoping it might work.

“Yeah right mister, get up.”  She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with an unconditional love I couldn’t even begin to understand. 

I got up slowly, another stretch and a yawn, and began moving towards my room, my feet shuffling against the carpet.  I saw the smirk of complicity in her face, and couldn’t help but smiling myself as she walked over to give me a hug and a kiss. 

“Get yourself straight to bed, and maybe tomorrow you get to watch another movie.” She stretched out and half-whispered the ‘maybe’, like a secret that needed to be protected.  She winked and patted me in the butt, ushering me towards bed.

I was almost to my room when I felt it.  An aura that surrounded me and made it hard to move and breathe, like being wrapped in a wet blanket.  Back then, at nine, I still believed in haunted houses.  In angry spirits hiding inside the walls and behind the stairs. I believed that things dueled in the same rooms as I.  Things that could corrupt the very foundations we stood on and seep out, reaching into its inhabitants and corrupting them as well.  I knew then that infallible of protections.  No spirit or ghost could ever touch me as long as I laid cocooned in the impenetrable wall of my comforter; so I buried myself in bed, not knowing that the monsters couldn’t set foot past our doors; and that instead, something stalked me from outside my window. 

How I wish that I could tell you those ghosts you fear aren’t real. I laid awake many nights wondering if when my eyes finally closed they would reopen in my old room.  I wanted to wake up and still feel the weight of the covers pressing against me and keeping me safe.  The few times I did manage to sleep during those first years I would wake with the burden of the truth crushing my bones, and the fear of loneliness suffocating me.  But not all these creatures are created equal.  Not all of them are bound by the same rules.  Most drift through your streets, feeding off your despair and your anger, your sadness, your sorrow.  Bottom feeders that can do no more than scrape by a living of your energy when you find yourself down.  I felt those all my life unaware of their presence.  Fleeting sensations that would disappear when I got close.  Wretches that feared a little boy, even when he clung to his mother, startled by the sudden feeling that something was wrong.

There are those however that have never feared me.  Those that have sought me out instead.  Creatures of malice and evil that are not content with the breadcrumbs of your everyday problems.  Their appetites are larger, and their power to influence you so strong that the only outcome is ruin for anyone unlucky enough to encounter them.  Major tragedies are where they thrive; because only amidst those can they have enough to satiate their lust.  Their only other form of sustenance are the few out there, who by chance, posses the energy to attract them, to sense them, to hunt them.  Those like me.  And outside the window of that nine year old boy that I once was, one waited, plotted, savored.

Author's Note

I know there is not much action yet; but I intentionally want to keep the chapters short to facilitate reading... also, I went fairly light on the editing and re-writing; which I hate, but need to try to move quicker. Please critique as needed, you'll never help by sugar coating, but by being honest and blunt. I promise to do the same for you!

Reviews

[Emily Quinn]

this is very interesting and you have a unique writing style that i cant quite pinpoint but this chapter definitely made me curious for more and makes the imagination explore potential possibilties as to the rest of the plot. The first paragraph I feel was the best one, allowed for great imagery and had a sense of comfort that everyone can relate to from when they were younger, yet later created a violated vulnerability when you said "and that instead, something stalked me from outside my window." its kind of creepy!

[WriterMe]

Oh brother. There we go with the sugarcoating bit.
Ohkay, fine. So far I like the way this is going. I like the small details you add like:

I missed the feel of her arms as she picked me up. I stretched my arms forward and looked at her, hoping it might work.

Its simple and it really facilitates the nine year old aspect of it.

However, the last two paragraphs were slightly complex when you take the entire chapter into consideration. The chapter begins with motherly comfort, and ends with descriptions of creatures of evil and malice that live to drain the life force out of you?
Dont get me wrong, they were cleverly worded, but when your going on about a flashback of when you were nine, as a narrator dont you think it should be a little more apprehensive? And he should really describe about how they 'feed off your despair and your anger, your sadness, your sorrow'.
I hope you understood what I am trying to convey, but then again, this just my point of view. =]

---Nikita