The Witching Hour

The Witching Hour.

Ghosts, Goblins, Werewolves, Vampires, Succubuses (Succubi?), Warlocks, Gnomes, Bats, Banshees, Demons, Shadows, Creaks, Shifts, Whispers,

Breath on the back of your neck,

A footstep outside your door,

Any number of things could show themselves to you, at any given moment, at any given time--

But Especially during the Witching Hour.

And ESPECIALLY on the 13th of the month.

(Well, maybe not as horrifically as on FRIDAY the 13th, but, c'mon, I think we all know who's day That is, okay. I'm pretty sure he's the odd duck out nobody else wants to f' with. You'd think, maybe, monsters like to get busy sometimes, too, you know?)

So what is so alluring about actually being Awake at this time?

Is it curiosity?

Is it doom?

Is it ignorance?

Is it...gloom?

For me...hell, I just wanted to be here in case a flash of inspiration for my movie came to me. Of course, I wouldn't have taken that awesome picture above (and the 10 or so it took rearranging things to get it just "right") if I had slept another couple more hours, but who needs sleep when you've already sleep for 10 hours, am I Right?

You know, there is any obvious fissure between Wanting to see some sort of monster (at a distance, anyway) and Wanting to see some sort of monster (at a distance, anyway). But the bottom line, I suppose, is that it comes down to

• Their physical appearance: obviously how cool they look
• Their power: when it is not being enacted on you, of course
• Their manipulation to make them do your bidding: okay, so I didn't know what else to add...

How do You feel about the Witching Hour? Or the 13th? Or FRIDAY the 13th?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Here's a new story to help make the hour as spooky as possible. At least, within the last 26 minutes of it, and about 2 days before you even see these words:

A creaking came from behind one of the nearest trees.

The young boy knew there was no breeze, and certainly no other sounds in the woods. He had just been remarking how silent it had been, only fifteen minutes ago. It had been that way all night.

He approached it with caution, hand holstered on his flashlight, ready to flick both the switch and his wrist if the need came.

Leaves rustled under his feet as he closed the distance. Still, as before, the rest of the wood was silent.

Bracing himself, he suddenly--

Jumped around the side of the tree and gazed in amazement to see that there wasn't anything there. No rotten branches ready to tumble. No sleepwalking woodpecker to throw him for a loop.

He stood silently, listening for the creak to come again. As the minutes passed, no similar sound came to his ears and he shrugged in the dark and moved on.

It was several minutes further along that he heard a creaking come again, and he realized with some trepidation that it seemed to resonate from a tree nearly in the same spot as the last.

Confused, he looked around, not sure if he had somehow backtracked around. It didn't seem to be where he had ended up before.

It certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility, sure, that the slightest degree of change in direction come eventually bring you back full-circle, depending on how long you walked through here; here where the canopies were so close-knit and the dark so nearly complete. But there was a full moon tonight, and such inhibitors couldn't keep all the light out. There was a comforting ambience all around him. As if the trees where pulling in the light and glowing themselves.

For a moment, he was struck with another idea.

An idea that perhaps the woods were guiding him back to the same place.

At least...somehow...in the forward direction?

As if they had something to show him.

Could that be?

Repeating his routine (that was an odd word choice) of a few minutes prior, he approached it with caution, hand holstered on his flashlight, ready to flick both the switch and his wrist if the need came.

Leaves rustled under his feet as he closed the distance. Still, as before, the rest of the wood was silent.

Bracing himself, he suddenly--

Jumped around the side of the tree and gazed in swooping déjà vu to see that there wasn't anything there. No rotten branches ready to tumble. No sleepwalking woodpecker to throw him for a loop.

He stood silently, listening for the creak to come again. As the minutes passed, no similar sound came to his ears and he shrugged in the dark and moved on.

But only a step.

For as he took that step, a creaking came again.

Again.

From the other side of the tree.

He stood still, puzzled. But he had just been there. There was nothing.

Repeating his routine (that was the right word choice there) of a few seconds prior, he approached his next move with caution, hand holstered on his flashlight, ready to flick both the switch and his wrist if the need came.

Leaves crunched under his feet as he stepped forward. Still, as before, the rest of the wood was silent.

Bracing himself, he suddenly--

Was pulled forward.

Not by a hand he could see, but by an invisible one. A force. The force of the trees.

It pulled him to just beyond the sight of the other side, and ceased its force. But, as he tried to pull himself back, it was obvious that its grip remained.

It was then that the light of the woods seemed to cut off with a flash, as another grip had just enough time to pull him behind the tree and into the complete and utter darkness that remained, hidden, within its ebon, ichoric recess.