February 2016 75-word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO CAT'S CRADLE!

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The Noise

For days the humming intensified but only he heard it.

The crescendo hit as he walked to work. He sensed a splinter of sound hover in front of him. Instinct told him to freeze. It circled him, then left. Screams came from all around as vibrations shook apart molecules. He considered shouting to tell them to stand still but survival meant more.

Stillness ensued. Loneliness descended. He jumped about and shouted but only silence remained.
 
The silent killer


I made it to the house, and locked the zombie hoards out. Zombie dogs crashed through the windows. I took my axe and killed them all. A thick cloying web enveloped me, I only just escaped before the spider came.


I shut myself in the cellar, safe at last. A pain gripped my chest. A hand gripped my shoulder.

“WELL, THAT WAS STRESSFUL,” said the Reaper.
 
Without a Trace​



I will be gone soon, I know this deep down.

There was twelve of us originally, each month our number dwindled.

Not a trace found or sound heard, just a vacant void as if they had never been.
How we searched but nothing was found.

Now there is only me, alone and scared, I know it will come as soon as darkness descends.

Its coming for me and soon I will be gone.
 
WHAT'S OUT THERE?

A whisper in the air without a source. She didn’t dare move as her eyes searched. Faint laughter that disappeared as soon as her head turned. Everything stood still as the atmosphere grew cold. A shadow appeared in the darkness with two glowing red lights towards the top. The laughter grew louder and the shadow more distinct as its head spun with its claws in the air. It came for her.
 
THE LEGAL AGREEMENTS SET OUT BELOW...

It seemed too good to be true. An app that guides you to guaranteed wealth with stock and racetrack recommendations. I just clicked ‘I Agree’ to the T&Cs. You just don’t see them do you? Who has the time? I’ve got five years, before Old Nick comes for me, but I’m rolling in it. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb!

The apps gone viral.
 
I'm hungry

I hear voices. Laughter. A group of humans is crossing the mountain in my path.

Was I always alone? It doesn't matter. My sustenance approaches.

A tent. I see shadows within - there are three. It will be a fine feast tonight. Over the centuries I've become fast enough that they will never know what came for them.

It is over quickly. I am alone again. I must prepare for the winter ahead.

I'm hungry.
 
They Come At Night

Ellen doesn’t get to sleep.

The shadows, dark on dark, felt but unseen, skitter over her. They prod her with sharp nails, pinch at her skin. Vicious hooks slide deep inside and spasm her guts. She writhes and silently screams.

It’s her fault the shadows come.

Tonight, the one that hurts most wears the face of the time she spilt juice on her boss. That pain summons others. Familiar events, returning to torture her again.
 
The Mourning After

The uninvited stands above me, staring over cross’d grey waters at the treacherous shoal. His weeping’s sadder than the lament of the coastal winds that tear at his cloak, and turn him into the streak of a smudge.

Every morning, unbidden he comes - a squatter on my tomb. Release me from his grief, heavier than the weight on my accursed soul.

Unseen beneath the shifting sands, let me marinate in my guilt.

Let me be.
 
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The Lurkers from Beyond

They don’t see us.

We are the breath of cold on their necks; the caress of soft stealing air brushing their heads in the hallway.

We are the hidden.

The between-the-cracks bide-a-wees: lingering lost ones with hushed voices that scrape their nerves.

No, they don’t see us.

But they will feel us. Soon.

A lot.
 
SELF EMPLOYED


The dead have no use for Rolex watches, diamond rings or fine clothes.
I "recover" these items.

Late at night I'm digging in a fresh grave, suddenly I hear a voice in the dark.
"I did it, I'm back!"
"Who said that?"
"I did."
"Who are you?"
"It's me Harry Houdini."
"What took you so long?"
"Lotta red tape."

"Show yourself Houdini."
"No, I will not be seen like this."
"Why not?"

"No pants!"
 
Small things



It’s chill air on bare skin. Soft whispers in the darkness.

Close air under the tight hood. My throat, dry. My lips, broken.

It’s being chained, unmoving. Who knew staying still hurts so much?

It’s tensing at every touch. Knowing I’m faceless – a body, not a man.

Beyond everything, it’s the knowing. What will happen when the hood comes off; what happens in the light.

That’s what ruins me: the knowing.
 
In the silence

Goblins live here. They take things.

They took Mum, and the kitchen knife. The stain in the bathroom is paint, Dad says. But I know better; I found the crow with its head missing. Not sure why the goblins want that. Not sure why it’s in the bathroom, either.

My sister’s staying with friends. So just me and Dad and the goblins. So quiet here.

Dad will look after me – I know he will.
 
Sense

The sun shines like a crone's wisdom. The rays are bright and beautiful; the trees stand in surrender to their glory. In the meadow stands a man, birds zipping around him in scattered breaths. The city in the distance crumbles; the cries of agony are whispers on the wind. Bodies burn in the distance. The man begins to smile, still as stone.

Empty eyes. He shakes in pleasure at the smell.
 
Imagine...

She wakes. Something's not right. It's the sound of breathing. In the dark, something's breathing.

Somehow she knows it's been waiting – waiting for her to wake. And now she has there's a soft sigh of satisfaction and it starts to move closer.

She tries to shout out, reach for her light, but she's paralysed by the thought of her imagination becoming reality.

Now there's warm breath at her ear and something touches her shoulder.
 
The Watcher in the Woods

I first saw the glowing, ice eyes when sitting in the sill. Still crying, because Dad didn't want me staying up with him.

And when he yelled at me for breaking Mummy's vase there were barefoot prints, muddy on the patio.

My eye was swollen bad when I woke today. And I read 'i wont let him again' scratched in the glass outside, next to the condensation ghost of a mouth and nose.
 
​

Good Rulers Also Listen Behind the Scenes​


My father was a great King. And kind.

“I hate to see you so unhappy,” he said one day.

“And I hate public occasions. I’m never allowed to speak.”

“I know it’s difficult for you, but you’re not one of the common herd. Being silent is your duty. However, you do deserve a treat.”


And now I’m Queen, I still enjoy listening to the screams recorded by the microphones in the Royal Orphanage’s torture chamber.
​
​
 
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Do Not Call Upon The Shadow Grimm



One, two, three…

The Shadow Grimm comes at night.
He will find you,
You cannot hide.

Four, five, six...

A whisper as you fall asleep,
From a man
You cannot see.

Seven, eight, nine...

When his hands touch your skin,
You will jump out
And he will jump in.

Ten, eleven, twelve...

The Shadow Grimm cannot be stopped,
Once this rhyme
Completes the clock.
 
Blinkered

Movement in the corner of your eye, the shadow where nothing stands to cast it, the feeling of someone, some thing, just behind you…

Don’t look.

They need a connection, a portal, a template to give them form. Monsters from Nietzsche’s abyss; not just alien but the antithesis of life itself.

Dopplegangers - and they mean us ill.

The truth is out there, but to know is to die.

So whatever you do, don’t look.
 
Interferometry


He hides in reflections.



Turning quickly, I catch fleeting glimpses. Rotting flesh, eyeless sockets, skull torn and oozing pus.



I’ve covered all the windows, broken every mirror and shiny surface. But how long can I stay here?



I must go out, get provisions.



They don’t know him. Brazenly looking in windows and mirrors, only seeing themselves.



Sooner or later, I’ll slip, and he’ll get me.



Then beware, his hunger is boundless.



You may be next.
 
The Sounds of Violence


I’ve got no business with a shrink; but THEY insist.

My mind screams, “Don’t go in there!”

Soothing lighting, colors, dull magazines.

A haunted place; like a shopping mall.

“I can handle this.”

Until sounds invade my perception.

The simpering receptionist thinks I’m agitated, “Certainly the doctor can help you.”

“I’m feeling good today, but the music. It’s… hellishly insipid!”

I love good music so much that Musak makes me want to kill someone.

Again.
 
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