It was a Dark and Stormy Night

You left the party early...hurtful words had been exchanged

feelings had been hurt...you are not dressed for this angry weather

But common sense never prevails in times of turmoil...

A lone figure...you sway drunkenly along the darkened pathway

the wind thrashing your poor body like a wet, bedraggled doll...

wantonly flinging leaves and broken boughs betwixt the shadows...

Maddeningly - Fear emerges...for the night feels sentient...alive

Unleashing the wrath and fury of the heavens,

the sting of the water lashing your skin,

the feel of dread all around you

the elements asking

why anyone would be out on a night like this

The sky screamed and stormed mightily...

Shadows play tricks upon the imagination

and even the moon seems frightened

cowering behind the black and angry stormy clouds

the wind doesn’t just howl...it echoes back like the wails of a banshee.

...

But something else has entered the interplay of this unholy night

Dread now follows behind you, a presence that you sense

it stays hidden...never stepping forward...

yet it shapes every ragged breath you take.

The thing follows behind the rage of the night

A shivery recognition...

A ripple in the air...a part of the night itself

You walk, stumbling forward - the world grows heavier

with each unseen step...each dread-filled breath

The storm mutters its warnings through the trees,

but the real danger is quieter than the rain.

Something or someone follows.

Not close enough to touch,

but close enough to halt your heartbeat.

Close enough to make the shadows propel your steps

Urging you to hurry. Hurry!!!!

Do not turn...it urges

Turning will make it real...or worse

prove that nothing is there

and leave you alone with your imagination,

which is always the sharper blade.

...

Still, the presence gathers momentum.

A weight upon your shoulder,

a breathing that isn’t yours,

a sudden silence that wasn’t there a moment ago.

It is patient. It watches.

It waits with the certainty of storms.

It knows the shape of your fear

And though it never steps forward,

never reveals its face,

its nearness becomes a truth

you cannot shake - a truth that clings

like wet leaves to your spine.

You sense it. You may never see it at all.

But the night knows, and the shadows know,

that somewhere behind you

something listens for the moment

when you finally turn...

............................