The Witching Hour

Two dark shadows in the night, wandering, soon to be be three.

The night was dark and foggy with two dark figures gliding silently along the damp road.

This small neighborhood was as is typical for most neighborhoods, very quiet, with barely a stray cat or mouse to scamper between houses.

At this late hour, there was nobody awake. And in the wake of the darkness, two shadows glided slowly past the houses, pausing slightly at each house as if hoping for a sign of welcoming. What could that sign be? Perhaps a whisper. Perhaps a cough. Perhaps any sign of life from a helpless yet ideal soul for some unspeakable use or mission.

But no soul stirred. No welcome was made. No attempt from any of the houses was made an invitation, neither conscious or unconscious, as all residents slept quite peacefully in the dark stillness.

And then a light.

A lonely house, no farther than a hundred yards away, sent a blinding light through the darkness, and it captured the dark figure's attention immediately. Frozen, they stood. Frozen, and waiting.

The light stayed on for a good while, boldly glaring at the dark figures who were now fixating their gaze back at the light.

And then, after a few flickers, the light went off.

And no sooner did it disappear then were the two figures moving towards where it had signaled.

The figures now moved with purpose, with a glide of wanting. They had gotten more than a simple invitation it seemed. They were welcomed, and the welcome did not appear to be voluntary.

Inside the house, a middle aged man, having been awoken from the call to relieve himself, was just leaving his bathroom on his way back to his bedroom.

As he felt along the all too familiar wall that lead to his bedroom doorway, he suddenly heard a soft creak resonate from his kitchen. A bachelor with no pets or friends and quite use to being alone, was now shaken by what he did not recognize as a simple house noise. His heart moved up in pace. That creak, it, it sounded much more, alive.

With some hesitation, he moved farther down the dark hallway, feeling his way until he found the light. Quickly flicking it on, he turned around and scanned the hallway behind him, but saw nothing.

He must have imagined the sound, he thought to himself. But then, ah, yes. That feeling. The ominous feeling he had previously had in most horrible and decisive situations of his life.

Had it not been for that similar feeling that he had countless times before, he would have not been at all alarmed. But the feeling was there, it was quite strong. A deep sickening weight on his chest. And this time, instead of anticipation for an accident or a tragedy, this feeling gave off a sensation of fear that he had no frame of reference. Somehow, deep inside, his soul felt something was also there with him, and even worse, he felt how badly it wanted to seek him, and find him.

And then he heard it.

A moan, so low and aimless yet hallowing, that it set his toes to curl. It was a sound that might accompany a dying victim having their limbs amputated with no pain medication administered, all while being muffled so that their voice would barely be heard. And not one, but hundreds of them. Screaming, muffled screaming, and it was coming from down the hall, from within the kitchen.

He froze. He couldn't move.

His heart pounded out of his chest while he stood paralyzed in fear as if in a sleep paralyses.

And then the light went out.

From within the darkness, the muffled screaming did not stop, but only grew louder as creaking of the floor also grew. And then, from behind, coming from his own bedroom, a new sound. It was a high pitched tone. And for every tone made, a pain shot down his ear, and felt as if it would burst his ear drum. It too grew closer, and he could hear his door open wide, though he could not see behind him, as he was still completely immobile.

He hoped he would die from a heart attack or wake up from a nightmare before anymore commenced, but that was when he could make out the two dark figures, standing at the end of the hallway, still, and staring into him.

The high tone from behind him grew, and he could feel blood running down his ear and his neck. And then a cold came over him unlike anything he had ever felt before, and he could feel his bones slowly began to micro fracture inside his body with the most extreme pain he had ever felt in his life. And yet he stood, yet he could not scream, and still the figures remained at the hallway simply staring while giving off waling screams amidst the growing high tones, as they watched whatever dark entity slowly devour his soul where he stood.

Outside the house, nothing could be heard. Outside the house, all the neighborhood continued to sleep and would never be none the wiser except for perhaps an odd police report the next day. For an invitation had been made. And a visit had been had.

For it was the Witching Hour.