Tim could feel his scalp tingling and his testicles curling up protectively against his chill bumped thigh. He wanted desperately to roll over, in a totally casual kind of way, put both feet on the floor and saunter out of the bedroom. He knew if he could do that his feet would hit the carpet in the hallway running and he wanted, really wanted, to run but he was frozen there, staring at the clotted darkness at the foot of his bed.
He could feel his eyes straining forward. The word peering was stuck in his mind and he knew that that word was exactly right. He was peering into the shadows that had somehow grown solid and he was trying to see if there was anything in that darkness, he was peering into the thickness like a gypsy peered into her crystal ball and he felt the future slip away from him as he tried to see through it to the wall.
Nothing swam out of that darkness and his feet were still pointed upwards at the ceiling no matter how much he wanted to move them, they were stuck there in that position. His chest felt like a rubber band had been looped round it and now held him stuck tightly to the mattress while a bead of sweat crept down his neck.
What was that, there in the blackest edge of the shadows? Was it the hard silver shine that came from the blade of an axe? A knife? A scalpel? Was it the point of a drug laden syringe, was he about to be taken captive, held prisoner, tormented and tortured?
His breath caught and held but still a whimper rose low and ragged in his throat. He could not see, he was peering deeply into those shadows but he could not see what was there. Was that movement? Had he really heard a stealthy rustle, was it a trick of his mind or the light that made those shadows–was it just one shadow, a very solid and dangerous shadow clinging to a dark space?– look so damn dangerous.
Sweat dripped into his eye and stung there. He wanted to wipe it away but was afraid to. What if that shadow would only pass over the innocently sleeping? Would he betray himself by moving? He was thirsty suddenly, thirsty and too hot under the heavy covers. He wanted to run, to get out, out, out. The idea of cool water and night air was seductive, powerful, it pulled at him but nothing could force his peering eyes away from the deep shadows in the corner of the dark room.
“Honey did you put that damn dog out?” Lydia asked. His eyes rolled towards the bedroom door where she stood silhoutted. She was once beautiful but that had changed as she had aged. Now she was the typical old lady in a nightgown that billowed like a sail as she drifted closer into the room. One of her hands came out, he hated it when she turned on the overhead light like that, it was selfish and rude but right then it was all he wanted her to flip on the light and dispel the gloom, deshroud the mystery in the corner. He wanted her to.
The light threw a dazzle from a vicious edge, threw a wash of golden color across a face the pallor of one dead and gone, revealed not myth but truth and Tim tried to scream but couldn’t, he was far too afraid. He did see that while she had aged Lydia had kept her legs, they flashed below her rucked up nightgown as she fled the scene, as she left him to die alone and in misery. He heard the front door slam and thought of the view from their front porch early in the mornings. The terribly shining light angled down.
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©2010 Angel Propps
Angel Propps is a femme leatherdyke who has been accepted into many erotica anthologies including XCite Books Member Of The Profession, Bad Girl’s Sweet Kiss, Kinky Girls, Power Play and Sex At Work as well as the Sentinel Literary Anthology, Down In The Dirt and Conceit magazines, MicroHorror, The Masters Of Horror Anthology Damed If You Don’t, the Psyche Corrupted Anthology (Shade City Press) and is a writer of many nonfiction lifestyle related articles and anthology pieces. She lives in Alabama and NYC when she is home, which is rarely.
Tags: Angel Propps
January 1st, 2011 at 10:33 am
Really tense and scary