Eric waited in the semi-dark foyer of the restaurant. The waiters passed silently and spoke in hushed tones. He was escorted to his table and given a menu from the sombre maitre-d. Eric glanced around the room, taking in the eerie artworks that hung oddly on the walls. The portraits shimmer and flicker in the candlelight, twisting the images into grotesque caricatures.
A shifting darkness appeared in the periphery of his vision. A woman, sitting in the corner of the room was waving to him – or so he believed. She wasn’t looking directly at him, though her repeated motions were definitely directed his way. Eric couldn’t place her, couldn’t remember if he had seen her before but the shifting light made it hard to focus on her features.
However, something wasn’t right with this picture; something odd. He took a few moments to recognise the anomaly. It was subtle – but it was there. He saw her shadow; a little deeper and darker than the others. It was a fuller shadow that moved contradictory to its owner. The woman was still, unmoving - her shadow gestured toward him; calling him to her.
His eyes locked onto the unbelievable; a murky smudge, an ill-defined, shapeless stain ascended the wall. He stole a glance at the woman across the room. Her body was transparent; something was missing, something of substance. Against his better judgement, Eric scanned the walls; the shadow had disappeared.
***
An elderly couple sat a few tables away from Eric. The restaurant was busy but they could both hear Eric; his deep breaths and random mumbling had attracted the woman’s attention.
“Harold?”
“Yes, dear?”
“What do you suppose is the matter with that man over there…”
“Don’t point, Emma. Just finish your meal so we can leave.”
***
Eric sat, perplexed. What had happened to the shadow? What was happening to the woman across the room? His thoughts were interrupted by a splash of something on his forehead.
He touched his head immediately; he could feel nothing except slickness under his touch.
He brought his fingers down to his eyes and found an inky substance; dark, sooty smears covered his fingertips. Eric raised his eyes to locate the source of the unknown matter. Above his head, the black smear had materialised and Eric watched, petrified, as the smudge, with increasing speed, dropped from the ceiling and utterly covered him.
***
“Darling, that man is staring at the ceiling now. Can you see anything because I can’t? What is wrong with people today?”
“Would you pay attention to your dinner? It is very impolite to stare.”
***
Eric screamed, although no sound passed his tightly-clenched teeth. A sticky, sooty substance forced its way between his lips and down his throat. His chest tightened; his heart felt like it was being squeezed from within. His mind swam as he felt his marrow - his very essence - pulled and stretched, dragged ever-downwards. Pins and needles shot a path south – his legs were swollen; his feet set to burst. The sensation ended abruptly. He no longer tasted the slickness in his mouth. His heart ceased its relentless tattoo in his chest.
The woman who had sat across from him was now almost an apparition. He could make out the outline of her shape and then, like a trick from a demented magician, she flickered once and disappeared. Nothing of her was visible; even her personal belongings had vanished. It was like she hadn’t even existed. One thing did, however remain. There, before his eyes, as if suspended in the very air itself, were numerous teardrop shaped globules; like black beads, shimmering in the light; there - yet not quite. His eyes followed the path of the drops as they extended to the ceiling and disappeared into the air vent in the corner of the room. Looking down to discover the origin of the inky trail, he noticed – with mounting terror - that his shadow had disappeared.
Understanding dawned slowly. Eric tried to grab the spots of darkness from the air but watched, stunned, as they passed through his fingers and palm. Once, twice, then more than a dozen times in quick succession – all to no avail. Then, he stopped, his hand in front of his eyes. He stared at it for a few moments and started shaking. An icy chill spread down his spine as he realised that he could see the tables across the room – through his hand…
***
“Harold, put your fork down. I am trying to tell you something.”
“What is it, love?”
“That strange man across the room; you know, the one that was mumbling and staring earlier?”
“Yes, love, I remember. What is it now?”
“He seems to be waving to you…”
__________________
©2010 Paul Phillips
Paul Phillips’ work can be found at http://crybbe666.blogspot.com He has also been published online at MicroHorror, Six Sentences, Powder Flash Burns and BlinkInk. He calls Australia home, but sometimes it won’t listen.
Tags: Paul Phillips
August 10th, 2010 at 11:06 pm
I like the use of shadow and inkiness here, and the sad dawning revelation. Horror indeed. Yikes! It’s like the darkness is filling in where life is kept. I hope you use this concept again. Gives me the shivers.
August 14th, 2010 at 7:42 pm
I really like how there is something off kilter in this rendering and it isn’t neatly resolved. A nice sense of foreboding. This is well crafted.
August 15th, 2010 at 4:44 am
Creepy and as far as I know, original. Nice work MM!
August 15th, 2010 at 4:57 am
Awesome, Paul. Very well written with a stonkingly creepy ending. Top job!