[#011] Paranoia

My dog was a stray before I picked him up, so he tends to be pretty skittish and defensive. A skipped rope halfway down the street could start a barking fit so intense he actually threw up once before he calmed down.

So you’ll imagine I was worried when I heard the door slam shut downstairs without another sound besides the shower steaming around me. I panicked a little, I admit, willing myself to hear the doggy’s raspy howl mingled with the pops and hisses of the water and the pipes rumbling through the walls.

I wrapped up in a towel and hesitated at the bathroom door. A million stories roamed my head. I pushed it open slowly, scanning the wall for shadows cast from halfway down the staircase, sniffing for a sweaty invader, waiting for a sharp breath from the kitchen.
I poked my head out. The front door stood at the bottom, locked. The floor was clean. The towel pushed up against the threshold, a poor seal against the winter drafts. Safe and sound, and still no peep from the puppy.

I laughed at my stupid imagination and pulled my clothes back on. Buck lay right where I left him, napping on a blanket he’d stolen off the couch. Once I dried off and we both had a bite to eat, we stepped out into the cold sunlight and found ourselves a hiding spot just before the owner of the house pulled up the driveway.

No more scary movies for me. My paranoia's going to get me caught someday.

[#010] Manifest

“-says you can still hear me. He thinks it just manifests in whatever dream you’re having.”

She squeezes your hand. A door creaks open somewhere.

“I’ll be back,” she whispers as her touch slips away.

Footsteps approach.

“I swear I heard that woman in here.”

“Hold up, I think the subject’s almost lucid.” The sound of latex snapping around a hand cuts across the steady beeping of the monitor. A pinprick on your arm nudges you nearly awake before the cloud settles over you again. “That ought to put ‘em back under for at least another—“

[#009] Follower

He stooped to pick up the hatchet and turned it over, moonlight glinting off the slick blade. The first killer was dead, but the curse would never end. His nightmare, he realized, was to become their nightmare.

He sighed and glared at the glittering stars for a moment before pulling the mask down over his face and setting off into the woods.

[#008] Loyalty

Night settles as I pad down the stairs to my bed. Kids are snoring. Parents are reading between the sheets or in the bath. All is well.

I rest my gaze on the front door and listen. The car glides to a stop. Footsteps steal across the porch.

The lock turns.

I rise to greet the other one in silence as she taught me. She scratches my ears and drops a treat before she slips into the crawlspace.

And all are present. All is well. I stretch and fall asleep.

[#007] Conduit

Every word is an atom. Every sentence is a face. An eye peeks up from the shadows, an ear perks up from darkness, watching and listening and waiting for the pieces to fall into place, waiting for a connection to the mouth you draw around yourself with every line you read.

The stories give them life. We write them, spinning glimpses through their world and building conduits and bridges. You read them, breathing life into their lungs and hunger into their stomachs. You grasp the knives we hand you and whittle at the nothing, paring down a shape from hints of dreams of specters.

We handed you the pieces, but you put them together. They’re on your side of the screen, now.

Sweet dreams.

[#006] Invasion

He stepped around the toys,
And crept across the wall.

But when he drew the blanket back,
He found no boy at all.

The man stood back and tumbled,
Moved a hand to break his fall.

But the thing inside the bed sat up,
And, with a raspy whine, it called,

"Dad, there's a human in my room!"