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Midnight Scribbler



-Disclaimer- This entry is nightmare fuel, nothing against site regulations though of course. This is a short story I did, essentially recalling a nightmare, but written in first person narrative. I just wanted to give you fair warning though, in case you're not a fan of horror stuff. For those of you who are, enjoy. :fiery:



The room is black with stifling darkness. It is night, a deep, dark, moonless night, where even the stars seem to have vanished. Within this building, some form of long abandoned factory of sorts, the wall tiles lay in disarray. Some cling to the wall, where others have lost their grip and slipped to the floor, some broken into pieces. Debris scattered all over, and mildew clinging to every inch of the old place. Rusting beams and broken glass, and silence, except for the sound of my breath, and the crunch of debris under my shoes. I have a knife, and a flashlight, though I am alone, and should not have come here, this I know, because I know who hides here among the ruins.


I hear a noise, and turn to look back, shining my light to an open door frame, where a door once hinged, now lay leaning against the rotting wall. I look away, then double take, just to make sure. As I turn again, I see it.
A figure, roughly humanoid in shape, all black like a thick fog of ethereal darkness, standing in the opening. It has no discernible features, no face, or even eyes.. But I can feel it watching me, penetrating with an aura of pure terror. The very presence of it strikes an irrational horror into my very soul, and I turn away, running.


As I manage to escape the building, my knife at the ready, I begin to notice the darkness closing in all around me. I scramble into a shallow pit, where a small shack once stood, the remains of the walls now merely slight elevations in the ground with debris around. I can hear heavy footsteps running toward me from the right, though no matter how I turn to face the being I know is coming, I cannot bring the sound before me. The sound of the footsteps grow heavier and louder, always on my right side, driving me to panic and turn wildly, trying to figure out where it will come from when I finally see it. The blackness thickens around me until the light I hold can no longer illuminate the land farther than 5 feet in any direction, and still the footsteps grow nearer, and louder. There is screaming in the darkness all around, like the cries of a hundred, gruesome murders. The footsteps are deafening, like a hammer in my ear drums.


I awaken, covered in sweat, yelling out at the unknown hunter.. The shadow of myself that I cannot face, my personal tantibus. Welcome to my nightmares.


  • Brohoof 3


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