Whispers In The Dark
Shaun Kilgore
Copyright © 2012 Shaun Kilgore
Published 2012 by Founders House Publishing, LLC
Smashwords Edition.
All rights reserved.
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There, above in the darkness, a gentle rain began to fall. The sound of its soft pattering on the grass would usually be soothing and restful, but not now. A terrible fear reigned and threatened to overwhelm two people. Both were soaked in a cold sweat. Their muscles were tense. The intensity of this fear was so paralyzing that they remained hidden in their basement for nearly two days. With the strain of ceaseless waiting and a complete lack of food, both of them were left weakened, desperate to remain conscious. The lingering sense of a malevolent presence could almost be felt but as far as Christopher could tell it—they—had gone.
In the house above all else was silent except for the rain. The basement felt like a dank tomb. The air was stagnant from the moisture that wept from the cinder block walls. Christopher and Jen lay huddled together in one corner on an old mattress, whispering to each other in raspy voices.
"Chris, I'm so scared. I don't want to die. I...I...ah," tears leak from her face and her body shakes with each sob.
"Hush. Don't talk like that. We're not going die, baby. No way are we dying here and now."
Christopher brushed a hand through Jen's hair. She pressed her face against his chest. His hand trembled. He held back the pulses of pain that threatened to black him out. The attack he suffered had left him further weakened than he would be otherwise. He knew he couldn't let anything happen to her. So his struggle was greater to hold onto awareness. It was tempting to leave the basement. The best shot they had was to wait until morning when the shadowy things held less power. Chris thought perhaps it was probably toying with them. The purpose of the daguar was to be mischievous and potentially deadly. He had witnessed their havoc many times over the years.
The daguar had struck him when he least expected it. Two days ago, he had been downstairs in early evening finishing up a series of paintings that he would put on exhibit the following week. Just as he was putting the final touches on a particular canvas, suddenly, a tingling feeling seized his hands. Then, the lights started to dim, reaching near total darkness and continued to flicker with increasing speed. Two of the four fluorescent bulbs mounted upon the ceiling, exploded, sending shards of glass everywhere. He shielded his eyes from the blow. The tingling of his hands had ceased and there was pain. Turning them over Christopher saw that a few of the shards had been embedded. Blood started to run from the wounds, down his arms, intermingling with the paint. A high-pitched whining cut in. Christopher turned all around him in disbelief. Vague human-like shapes made entirely of shadow had formed a circle around him. The whine he was hearing was coming from them. The creatures radiated pure hatred and Christopher was paled by an icy fear that froze him there. As one wave, they sprang upon him. His screams and he was wrapped in pain. Jen had heard the sickening screams all the way up on the second floor of the house above. She rushed down into the basement. There she had found him tangled in a wet and broken canvas; wet paints spilled all over the bare concrete floor. His body bruised, bloodied and cut by the shadowy beasts.