Here’s a short creepy story I wrote a while ago. I figured today, right between the two scariest days of the year, would probably be the best time to post it.
Everybody woke up from a nightmare that morning. There might have been something in the night air, or a nameless unease in their sleeping heads, but that day, everyone felt wrong. Everyone knew that the day would not go well.
When the attacks started, people watched. There was news, paranoia, rumors, everything you would expect, but the audience. The crowds that gathered to watch people lose themselves. No one could have known they would become dangerous. No one could have expected the first bite, no one knew how contagious it was. Not contagious like a disease, but contagious like an idea. You see it, you might turn.
Describing these creatures is simply two questions: What are you afraid of and who do you love the most?
For me, it starts with blackness coming out of her eyes and it starts to drip out of every opening on her body. The darkness is pitch-black, the kind that absorbs light, and in the later stages every time she opens her mouth or eyes you see nothing but the darkness, the tiny oblivion, and she still sounds like herself and still feels like herself and you know, you know that she wants to kiss you and you want to kiss what she was and if you do you will become like her and that now, despite her sounding like herself, this is what she wants. As it continues, her jaw separates from its place, her joints snap and reform, and she does not bleed, just any opening on her reveals the blackness.
And she is still herself, with the only difference being an invisible hatred, hunger for you, that she cannot control, understand, or admit to. She wants you with her all of the time, and you pity her even as she falls to the blackness, and her joy comes from you suffering for her. She enjoys how sad she is making you, and she does not know why, but when you leave, weeping, she laughs and laughs and can not stop.
Then, when you have destroyed yourself for her, she turns violent. One day, she is at her sickest, calls you, begging you to leave work, come see her, and you do, and you bring her soup and you tell her she is beautiful even though her lower jaw is resting on her neck and her eyes are little black pits, and she makes you promise you will never leave her, and you know you still love her, but in your secret heart want to be rid of her, want her to finally die so she can stop suffering and making you suffer, and she makes you repeat it, lean in, look into her eyes, and through tears and regret and guilt you lie, “I love you I love you I love you and I always will” and you are broken and she laughs, first a chuckle, then you sit back and you see the blackness dripping from her eyes as she stares at you, laughing at you, at your weakness and your love, and she laughs and she takes you by the throat and forces you under her and she laughs at your pity for her and her black tears drip onto your face and she shakes you and her grip goes tighter and things go black, and you hear her laughing, and you wonder what it is that’s funny about this.
And maybe you shake her off. Maybe you throw her to the wall, determined or just afraid, and you run and you hide and she chases you and she tears though the city, and you get away and she doesn’t know where you are and she wanders the world that is now possessed with everybody else’s nightmares and she kills and eats whoever she can and you hide and cry and run.
Or maybe you don’t. Maybe she spits a drop of blackness into your eye and twists your neck. Maybe you stand up and, your head lolling to the side, you whimper at her, you moan, and your eyes begin to turn black. And maybe somebody finds you. Takes care of you. Pities you.