She Who Comes

by Bruce Arnold 2 years ago in fiction

Poetry is powerful.

She Who Comes

She who comes in the dead of night

In the dark is a fearful sight

she who walks without a care

As silent as the midnight air

She’ll let you know when she has come

For fear will make you want to run

But when she comes you cannot hide

Tonight she comes, Tonight you die

I finished reading the poem and sat back in my chair. I’ve read a lot of poems from my students in the last few years but this was above all the strangest. I didn’t mind the fear but the fact that the last part was in present tense worried me. It made it seem as if the reader was to die the night they read it. What made it worse was the fact that I was reading this at ten something at night.

I began searching the page for the name of the student that wrote it. I needed to make a note on why this was inappropriate for school. I scrolled down the page only to have the computer shut off on me. The screen went black and the power button light shut off. Then the computer started sparking. I jumped up from my chair in alarm. The screen started flashing and water began rising up through the cracks in between the keys. I stared in disbelief at the laptop for a few seconds then ran to get a towel.

My mind raced, I never kept any food or drinks near my laptop so where did the water come from? Also as far as I knew laptops didn’t contain any water components. I stepped into the bathroom and snatched a towel off the rack. I ran back my office only to find the mess already taken care of and not in a good way. My laptop was gone and the desk was completely dry. When I’d left the light was on but now it was off. I hit the light switch hoping the light would come on but the room remained shrouded in darkness.

The laptop going missing changed my mood. Someone was or had been in my house. I ran to the window and checked it. Locked. I ran to the door next. Also locked. Then something hit me. Why would someone steal a broken laptop? For parts? No. The water would have ruined the tech. I slumped down in my chair and sighed. Maybe I am hallucinating, losing my mind. I checked the time. 11:02 PM. Maybe that was it. It was late and I had been grading papers all day. I was tired and the hallucinations were me slowly drifting off. I nodded and told myself I was right . I was just tired. I didn’t feel like getting up so I got comfortable in the chair and began drifting off to sleep.

As soon as I did someone started singing. At first I ignored it, but then the voice got closer and closer until it sounded like it was right in front of me. Without opening my eyes I addressed the singer.

“Alright whoever is in here just return my laptop and you can leave,” I said.

The voice paused for a few seconds then resumed the song. Then my feet got cold and for some reason they felt wet. I sat up in my chair and looked at the floor. The house was flooded.

“Goddamn it!” I yelled. “You flooded my house!”

My feet were submerged in water about a foot deep. Furious I got up and splashed through the house checking every room. I checked each one carefully but found nothing and no one. I returned to my office even more frustrated than before. Once I stepped into the room my blood turned cold. Sitting in my chair soaking wet was a girl about twelve years old. She was in her nightgown and her hair was a sloppy wet mass covering her head. With water dripping from her soaked face she sang softly and without hesitation.

“Hey,” I said. “Little girl how did you get in here?”

The girl raised her head and looked at me. Through her wet, tangled hair I saw her eyes. They were voided of all emotion and sent a chill up my spine. As she looked at me she continued singing. I took one step back and blinked. I regretted it as soon as I did. When I opened my eyes again I was staring at the ceiling and my neck felt like it was on fire. It also became hard to breathe.

The girl stood over me with red on her hands and mouth. I began piecing together the puzzle and realized the red was my blood. She had attacked me. It happened so fast and all I could manage was to gurgle on my own blood in my throat. She just stood there and sang the last lines of the poem.

“Tonight she comes, Tonight you die,” she finished with a flourish.

Once she finished I felt my body grow heavy. My breathing slowed and everything hurt. Colors started blurring together and the last thing I saw was pale hand covering my face.

Bruce Arnold
Bruce Arnold
Read next: Run Necromancer
Bruce Arnold

I write. It's unclear to me if I am any good so I could use feed back. Let me know if I could improve on anything. My number is 412 530 5925

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