Night of One Hundred Horrors (Nightmare) - A Parade of Fears [#47]

It's finally Halloween, the perfect time for one last surprise. The Night of One Hundred Horrors hasn't ended just yet. Now, for my final story of this month, a horror tale very close to my heart.

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            What scares you most of all? The strange neighbor down the street? Being stranded and alone? Insects, lizards, spider and other creepy creatures of the night? How long have your fears haunted you? For as long as you can remember? Since that one day in your childhood? Since a recent accident? Do your fears eat and ebb away at your mind every day. Do they remain in your subconscious subtly influencing your every decision? Our fears define us more than we'd like to admit, they stalk our lives and try to control our paths in life.

            I have so many fears, some large, some small, but all of them influence me. Maybe not daily, but often enough. It starts with my most basic fear of public speaking. I dislike crowds and noisy locations. The idea of being their center of attention can completely paralyze me. School presentations were the worst for me, especially if I lacked a group to lean on. However, in the long run, this fear is minor to me. I hate it so much, but I can always force myself through. After all, the sooner I'm done with it, the sooner I can escape it.

            Other fears are not so easily avoided. Porcelain dolls and similar figures send a chill up my spine. Thankfully, I deal with very few in my daily life, and in the rare cases I do, I can brush off their stares and run past.

            The many monsters my mind conjured as a child still creep in the corners of my conscious. Sometimes in the dead of night, when the wind is heavy, I can feel the malevolence of those terrible creatures. The illusionary specters and phantoms that terrified my child self would return from the dark to frighten me again. I know they are not real, yet I feel compelled to look in the direction of my door. As though I expect a beast to stand there with its fangs bared. Then when I finally drift off into sleep, what is to await me in my dreams but those same horrors of the night.

            A less vivid and more instinctual fear of mine is of fire and heat. The warmth of the fireplace in winter and of tea in the morning is a welcome feeling. However, an open flame, an active oven or a heated piece of metal always gives me pause. Rather than a direct fear of fire, it is more accurate to say I fear the sensation of being burnt. It is a fear ingrained deep into my mind and body. A scar across my palm, a permanent reminder of the day a most foolish infant touched a hot stove. Even the simple process of cooking must be laden with my own precautions, because of this fear.

            Beyond instinct, there is the fear that grips my daydreams, heights. Grand panoramic landscapes and tall buildings fascinate me. However, the idea of being atop a tall building or similar location makes me shudder. It is a fear that haunted my young self much more deeply. As a child perceives the world as much bigger than it actually is. As such, my fear simply changed tactic and assaulted me with a constant barrage of what ifs. What if I fell from this height? What if this window gave way as I leaned on it? What if I lost control of my car at it careened of this bridge into the river? Such morbid daydreams liked to grip at my idle mind until I could dispel them.

            At the end of this path of fears is the worst of all, and the simplest, the dark. The idea of what I can't see is far more horrific than what I cannot. In the darkest of conditions, any number of my fears can nest themselves out of sight. As they wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. Does a monster stalk that dark hall? Does this shadow consumed path overlook an obscured cliff? My child self believed any light would ward off the dangers of the dark. As an adult, the light still comforts me to an extent. As a reminder of how it shepherded me through the many dark nights of my childhood.

            I would like to say as a matured human being I know my fear of the dark is irrational and no longer has a hold over me. Yet, on some nights, when I put my book down and slip under the covers to sleep. The lamp on my nightstand, which acts as my reading light, is left on. Is it laziness? Forgetfulness? Or am I still afraid deep down? 

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And with that, the horrors have come to an end. I hope you enjoyed these thirteen (+1) night of one hundred horrors. Next month we return to the regular schedule schedule of stories every Tuesday and Thursday. Now Thursdays are normally sober and mysterious fantasy stories, however I feel after a month of straight horror we need a little levity. So, tomorrow I'll put up a short and funny fantasy tale.
Until then, Read, Comment and Enjoy.

Night of One Hundred Horrors (Night 13) - The Mind's Own Monster [#46]

The final night is here, and with it a story from a more personal place.

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            Every night I passed by it, it burned a hole in the back of my head with its stare. No one else seems bothered by it, but I could never bring myself to ask their opinion. I hate how it stands on the quickest path to my room. I hate how it looks, as though it were possessed by a malevolent spirit. I hate that painting in the dining room, it has haunted me for so long.

            I remember when I wasn't afraid, how often I played in that room. The room wasn't frequented by others in my family. Too out of the way, too inconvenient a path. Back then half of the house felt like my haven for play. Then my perspective changed so quickly. Those ghost "experts" who visited the house. That spirit medium on the television and all those horror movies I watched out of morbid curiosity.

            Now I was afraid of every nook and cranny of my own home, I was certain a dark spirit waited behind every corner. Then there was that cursed painting. I was never particularly fond of it, but after I became filled with fear it became something far worse. I could tell it watched me, that it wanted to curse me. I knew it was no good, I could no longer stand being in the same room alone with that image. I could barely walk past it at night, I had to sprint so it wouldn't catch me.

            I stayed away from the dining room, and could only play in my own room. Eventually, I didn't even feel safe in there. I would hide in the bathroom instead. It was enclosed with a locked door, no creature could harm me in there. For years I lived in terror under that cursed painting's watch, unable to return to those simpler days. It filled me with frustration, but I valued myself more than my play.

            It's been a long time since then, and I'd like to say I've grown past it. In some ways I have. I feel no more fear in my own room anymore. The cursed specters of monsters may try to haunt my dreams, but I can push them away. I no longer feel the need to lock myself in the bathroom to protect myself from the painting's stare. I can even walk through the dining room with little issue. However, that painting is still there, and I still cannot look its way. Sometimes, I return home late at night and must walk through my pitch black home. On those nights a familiar chill rolls down my spine as I enter the dining room. It's perhaps a childish and irrational fear, but that is exactly the point. It has no basis in reality, it has no thread of logic. It grips at the mind and refuses to let go, and I oblige. I'd rather not find out I was right to be afraid.

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Based on a true story.
Thus, the thirteen nights of one hundred horrors have come to a close. However, Halloween is right around the corner, who knows what may still lurk in the dark. Keep an eye out, there might be one last surprise this month.
Until then, Read, Comment and Enjoy

Night of One Hundred Horrors (Night 12) - A Prison of the Mind [#45]

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            She woke up, the bed felt rougher than usual. She shivered from the cold, her soft and layered sheets felt thinner than paper. As she slowly came back to reality her blood ran cold. The sights and smells were unfamiliar and it was dead quiet. She was not in her home anymore. Her vision wandered until she observed a set of bars, prison bars. She panicked, jumped out of bed and landed squarely on cold concrete.

            She was in a prison cell, but her panic waned somewhat when she realized it was open. She let out a sigh, she was not trapped, but she was still unaware of how she got here. With haste, she exited the cell and began to explore. It was a prison, an empty prison, and she was somewhere deep within. Small spots of midday light emanated from tiny windows up high.

            What alarmed her was the silence. There was not a soul in the building, the other cells were barren. Not a single sound echoed throughout the building besides her own footsteps. The prison was filthy and rusted, clears signs of abandonment induced decay. She didn't like the atmosphere, it felt hollow and isolated.

            The exit was her first goal, but as she walked through the halls of the prison it continued to elude her. The building seemed to stretch forever, no matter which direction she pursued. It all felt the same, it all looked the same.

            However, she refused to be beaten and grabbed a chunk of loose floor. She chiseled out a crude marker in the wall to her right. More of an obtuse hole than anything, but it was distinct enough to recognize on sight.

            She continued through the prison, chunk of floor in hand to mark her way. The prison hall stretched out eternally in front of her, but she trudged on further. She believed she had moved in circles before, but with her marks, she would map out the proper path. It was a wishful thought, but hours passed by and she never spotted her marks again.

            It was a maze with no exit, a hall with no end. She remained trapped in this path of endless prison cells. It made her want to scream in frustration. She desperately wished to awaken from this nightmare, but awake she did not.

            Hours of walking had taken their toll, she wished for rest and that was all. She stumbled into an open cell and fell onto the small bed. It was rough and uncomfortable. The sheets were itchy and thin. Yet, her exhausted body cared little and desired only rest. She shut her eyes and let sleep take her. She hoped, no prayed, that when next she woke she'd be home in her bed. That night she dreamt of a warm pleasant bed, a thick, comfy blanket and warm, friendly home.

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Just one more night left, the scariest of them all. See you Tuesday for the 13th night of pure terrors.
Until then, Read, Comment and Enjoy.

Night of One Hundred Horrors (Night 11) - Combing Too Deep [#44]

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            It was a cold autumn day, the seashore was quiet, with only the occasional sound of a car from the nearby road. A Beachcomber walked along by the sea. They were on the hunt for anything valuable that may have been washed up by the storm from the previous night. Their search proved fruitless until the stumbled upon a rare sight. A shipwreck had washed onto shore, rusted, old and torn from age.

            It was a modestly sized ship, like any docked at a small town harbor. The Beachcomber was delighted, however. As the first on the scene, he had first rights to everything he saw. Deep inside he knew he should report such a find to the authorities, and he planned to do as such. That didn't mean he couldn't pilfer the site, it was his finder's fee he told himself.

            The Beachcomber made his way up to the dilapidated ship. He brushed aside the scum and seaweed which obscured the boat's name. "Second Wind," it read, the letter's faded and cracked. The Beachcomber chuckled at the eerily familiar name. Next, they moved aboard the ship, ready to find their prize.

            The deck was filthy, coated in rust and a possessed moldy stench. The Beachcomber plugged his nose and tried to avoid the many puddles of seawater that collected along the deck. They searched high and low for any remnants of the crew's possessions, but the deck was a wasteland. To their luck, they spied a large hole in the hull that stretched up into the deck.

            The Beachcomber spied into the ship's interior, it was pitched black and featureless. With the only sound being the movement of water. The Beachcomber entered carefully and scoured through the interior. In the far corner, at the bow of the ship, a small bit of light illuminated a set of crates and boxes. The Beachcomber rubbed their hands together and poured over their treasure.

            To their frustration, they found only fishing rods, ropes, and lures. They cursed their luck until they saw buried behind all of the crates was a most curious item. A cage, large enough for a man, perhaps even a bear, was trapped in the corner. The beachcomber felt a spot of concern well up in their chest. Fearful they'd find a dead animal or worse in the cage.

            Against their better judgment, they observed the cage closer. Yet, they could see nothing in the darkness. However, they could hear something breath. It was no natural breath it was quiet but rough. The Beachcomber was puzzled but quickly concluded a small animal had nested in the boat.

            To their misfortune that was not the case. Instead, as they peered ever closer a single eye opened from within the cage. This single, yellow eye stared right back at the Beachcomber and pierced into their soul. The Beachcomber sweated but thought they were still fine. After all, whatever the creature was it was trapped in the cage.

            The Beachcomber backed away slowly, the light behind the shifted as they moved. As their eyes better adjusted to the dark, they realized to their horror in this altered light the cage was open. The bars along the sides had all rusted off, and the obscured creature within the cage had begun to move.

~--~

            "Reports are coming about the missing ship the Second Wind. It has finally been found," the newscaster announced. "The shipwreck washed along the eastern shore sometime last night. The ship first disappeared about one month ago on its maiden voyage. Police are already on the scene investigating the wreck. However, questions still remain. Despite the ship only going missing recently, reports state the ship has suffered years worth of wear and rust. Experts have yet to speak on the matter. The police are more interested in the whereabouts of its missing crew of five. More at 11."

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Only two nights remain, there horrors will reach their height so very soon.
Until then, Read, Comment and Enjoy.