Night TerrorsA Chapter by Joseph Mulpeter 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. © 2018 Joseph MulpeterAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews  Last Updated on January 28, 2018 Tags: #horror, #ghost, #novel, #shortstory, #nightterrors, #book, #youngadult, #creativewriting, #scary, #fiction, #supernatural, #spirit Author
Joseph MulpeterManchester, United KingdomAboutMy name is Joseph Mulpeter. I am 25 years old from England. Besides photography, my other passion is writing. I'm currently writing a novel which will be posted once written. I enjoy expressing myself.. more..Writing
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