Chiller

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: The Imaginarium
Written for a prompt posted to the Imaginarium House by Akumakaze.

Submitted: January 11, 2019

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Submitted: January 11, 2019

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Chiller

I like to write in almost darkness. Many times I’ve been told not to, warned that it’s ‘bad for my eyes’. Now, I don’t tell anyone but just do it anyway. I mean, maybe it’s not the best thing for my sight but it definitely inspires my imagination.

The screen, even on power-saving mode, is nice and clear, especially with the font I use. Why make it more difficult to go over it? Not that I tend to edit much, not until the end; then I’ll cut out whole chunks, maybe delete the entire file. But working, stopping, reviewing, over and over again simply does not work for me at all.

Mostly I write stories that would be considered supernatural in some way. I’m definitely drawn to hauntings, ghosts, spectral visitations, and the lack of light creates just the right atmosphere. It’s like the seasons; winter is my time, far more than summer when there are very few dark evenings and everything is so much more....alive!

And yet I like the heat. I spend more than what I can possibly save with any power-saving methods on turning up the thermostat. Who wants to sit and type wrapped up in thick clothes when it’s far more comfortable to lounge around in a t-shirt? Not me, that’s for sure.

Perhaps a chill would be more suitable for this haunting scene I’m working on right now. A woman is tossing and turning in her sleep and is about to feel the touch of one very cold hand on her shoulder. Is that why I do not notice it instantly?

There is a chill in the room that I am sitting in! I’m sure I’m not just imagining it. The temperature has dropped considerably. I can’t see the goose bumps on my arms but I can feel that they are there.

The cold alone was bad enough but now I can feel eyes upon me. There is no other person in the house with me, no way that anyone could have got in without me opening the door. And yet I can tell that I am being scrutinized by at least one pair of eyes.

The quiet unnerves me more than anything. I should turn round, confront whatever it is that is inside the room with me now. I’m writing about these things all the time. I can’t seem to make myself do that though.

When the noise starts I find myself desperately wishing for the silence once more. The breathing has an inhuman quality to it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my fingers freeze.

There is no way that I can convince myself that no one, that nothing, is in the room with me. Hard as it is, I’m going to have to dig down deep and find the courage to turn around. Spin the chair round, for it has wheels, or peer over my shoulder? I peer! I’m a coward in real life, I cannot deny it. Turning my head over my right shoulder, there is nothing to see, not that should not be there; but there is a slither of light coming in from outside of the door.

Something has pushed it open to allow itself entry. No ghost then, for that would have got through the closed door. So what? A monster? A demon? Very slowly I look over my left shoulder and find myself looking straight in to another pair of eyes.


© Copyright 2019 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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