Places We Go At Night

A dark story

Darkness hugged my skin in a cool, damp blanket. I could make out silhouettes of evergreens surrounding me, both tall and fallen. These trees seemed familiar to me, yet so foreign. The smell of earth and moss hung in the humid air, and I tried desperately to isolate one other odor, that of wet fur. The strange smell drenched my papery throat. I wondered for a moment if that really was a growl I just heard. No, I was mistaken, that was the sound of air being forcibly pushed through someone’s nose. The chuckle was coming from behind me. I spun to find myself staring into a pair of icy, glowing eyes.

          My throat grew tight and I clenched my hands into fists. The unblinking eyes belonged to what I can only describe as the strangest creature I had ever seen. His lean face was twisted into a wicked smile, and his lips were pulled apart, exposing his many serrated teeth. His cheekbones were high on his angular face, and his eyes set deep in hollowed sockets. His skin was like obsidian and brushed with a thin layer of coarse hair. His nose was slightly upturned and reminded me of that of a dog’s, though his face was not a dog’s muzzle.

          He was highly decorated, this crouching imp, with gold jewelry. On his chest lay a stack of chains, some with jewel encrusted pendants, most without. His ragged, pointed ears were weighed down with excessively large hoop earrings. His forearms were adorned with a ridiculous amount of bangles, each engraved with strange runic symbols. Gold claws extended from glittering, ring-covered fingers, which curled inward and were sharpened to dagger-like points.

          There he crouched, the talon-like claws on his feet digging into the rotting stump of a long fallen tree. His eyes burned into mine, and as much as I wanted to bolt, I couldn’t so much as turn away.

          “These moments are your last,” the demon began. The words spilled from his lips like molasses. “I can already taste your stinking flesh.”

          I swallowed, trying to coat my dry throat. The sticky saliva made no difference. My hands shook.

          The creature finally blinked as a raspy giggle filled the gap between us. I could smell his unbearably sweet breath.

          “I’ll give you a head start,” he said. “It will be like a game.”

          I stood there in silence, staring into those eyes. I wanted to run, I willed myself to, but my legs refused to budge. His Cheshire cat smile vanished behind dark lips and upon his stump, the demon began to rise. Now erect, the demon towered over me. I quickly traced him with my eyes, from his bare feet, passed his tattered pants, across his naked chest, and back up to his eyes. As I met his gaze his chest rose greatly, he sucked in a massive breath.

          “Go!” he bellowed.

          My trance broken, realization washed over me. Why was I still standing there?

          I ignored the sting of branches lashing at my face. Obstacles jumped from the darkness into my path. Directionless, I ducked under what I could, and leapt over what I needed to. I could feel him behind me, the heat he radiated clawed at my back, overwhelmed me. So close was he, but no tired breaths of effort escaped the creature. He seemed to exert little effort into his pursuit, he was toying with me.

          Sweat drenched my face. It dripped down my chest, it coated my back. The night chill was overpowered by the demon’s heat. I was baking in it. My heart clawed at my chest, its beat reverberating in my head. I tried to swallow to mend my screaming throat, it burned for water. My shirt clung to my stomach and my hair matted to my face.

          Then, as though I walked into an air-conditioned room, the heat was lifted from my body, vanished. Still running, I gazed over my shoulder, no demon. No demon! Smack.

          The tree didn’t hurt as terribly as it sounded. I clung to it momentarily, grit and bark wedged themselves into my fingernails. The safe scent of hemlock flooded me. No wet dog, only delicious hemlock. Even though the side of my face ached from sudden impact, I pressed against my assailant. I swallowed mouthfuls of air, they felt like sandpaper in my throat. I didn’t care. For five timeless minutes, perhaps longer, I held the tree as close as a lover. Using one trembling hand, I brushed the slimy hair from my forehead and cheeks. My heart rested with me, coaxing my pulse to a slow, steady rhythm. Smack.

          With my injured face pressed firmly to the tree, I was blind to my attacker. Wet dog, it was him. I wanted to remark snidely on his need for a bath, though the words gripped my tongue with a firm grasp. So easily amused, this demon was, for his giggles continued to drill through my ears. His touch was acidic, every pulsing scratch scathing. He tore at the back of my shirt, ripping through the fabric into my tender flesh. My screams fell upon an unfazed creature that ignored them effortlessly. If it weren’t for air fleeing my throat, I’d not have known I was screaming either, for my back screamed louder than I. His burning touch brushed my shoulders; the sick hair on his arms prickled my skin.

          I straightened my arms, pushing my back against the creature’s chest. Chains suddenly caused more discomfort than the claw-inflicted wounds, their sharp metallic edges dug into leaking gashes. I managed to topple the beast. With eyes squeezed shut, I thrust forward. I sat upright while clutching the remains of my destroyed shirt against my chest and reluctantly opened my eyes.

Distress turned my stomach. To my bare chest I held a white sheet, cool sweat stained my hairline. My back was undamaged, no burns painted my skin.

 

I’m really beginning to appreciate this tiny apartment of mine.

         

Author's Note

I wanted to know what you think his voice sounds like. I hope I used the right words to describe it.
Rated mature for violence.

Reviews

[Eagle Cruagh]

All through the story I wondered why it was rated
mature, you even avoid the word breast, "to my bare
chest I held a white sheet".

I find nothing wrong with this story. Not every one will
like it, for the simple reason that tastes differ. I did`nt like
this type of story before, but I like this one.

The story is original, exciting and very well written.

My favorite !

----- Eagle Cruagh

[Creepy Swine Guy]

You really do have a talent for description. All writers have that talent to some degree but you seem to stand out. I felt the terror as I read this. and once again, you don't neglect any of our senses as we read you.

Very VERY chilling.

Most notably this paragraph:

"The tree didn't hurt as terribly as it sounded. I clung to it momentarily, grit and bark wedged themselves into my fingernails. The safe scent of hemlock flooded me. No wet dog, only delicious hemlock. Even though the side of my face ached from sudden impact, I pressed against my assailant. I swallowed mouthfuls of air, they felt like sandpaper in my throat. I didn't care. For five timeless minutes, perhaps longer, I held the tree as close as a lover. Using one trembling hand, I brushed the slimy hair from my forehead and cheeks. My heart rested with me, coaxing my pulse to a slow, steady rhythm. Smack."

[Rebecca Rogers]

The violence wasn't bad at all in this. I've read worse.

I did picture the demon's voice to be deep and somewhat drawn out.

I would change on this is that the whole story is italicized. The only part of this I would italicize would the "smack" parts. Just for a greater impact to the reader.

This is, seriously, one of the best pieces of writing I've read so far on this site. Nice work!

[Wildecat]

I really enjoyed reading this story. a great write and I am a Vietnam Veteran so I support and appreciate anyone past or present who has or is serving our country. My son is aboard the USS. Valley Forge.

[Emily B]

this is a wonderfully descriptive story . . . every detail was just right. . . I don't see any reason to rate it mature and my eleven-year old haunts the cafe at times.

[Forest Green]

A nice turn at the end...drama-filled and therefore interesting. Above all you have a nice, broad imagination upon which to build a story such as this.

Fine work...!

Daniel