Young Writers Society

My heart pounded. Fear pulsed through my veins and consumed my soul until it was all I could do to keep from losing my sense of self completely. I waited, scarcely daring to breathe, as the seconds passed by with agonizing slowness.
My overwhelming panic gradually turned to anxiety, and then restlessness. The night was silent; the only sound was my labored, suppressed breath.
Maybe I hadn’t seen…a trick of the light, perhaps? I extended my pale finger tips forward, cautiously peering around the wall behind which I hid. My heart gave a hopeful leap, only to freeze in horror.
He was here, inside my house, standing in my living room, my Bête Noire, my nightmare, the one that always plagued my footsteps in the sleeping world and then sent me into the waking one shrieking hysterically.
I restrained the scream that fought desperately to escape my lips and sank to the ground, my terror pushing me to sudden exhaustion, but I did not run. Though I cringed with indomitable fear, I found myself drawn to this unexpected visitor, as though captivated by some sort of ancient magic, that won out against all my fear, and my instinct.

And so, though quaking with dread, I watched him.

Upon first glance, he would seem to be human, though he was taller that I would have thought possible. But then there was something... different about him, though I couldn’t place my finger on it.
Then he turned, and I saw that his form was contorted, distorted by shadow. What I had at first taken to be a long cape now appeared to be…darkness. Darkness that moved with him, that was part of him. The tendrils of mist wrapped around his touring, and slightly hunched form. The darkness had a disturbing effect, but its absence revealed something much worse. The mist parted, just for a second, but it was enough time to see the gruesome imitation of a human chest. Emaciated, bones stuck out at odd angles, entangled with fragments of gray, rotting flesh; as though death had ripped his sword viciously through his frame, leaving a perverted shadow of life in its wake. My terror increased, but so did my intrigued. It clouded my judgment, and I had not the strength to break free. It was just him, and me watching, nothing else mattered.
He examined my room; my china, my T.V., my bookshelf, my pictures, as though trying to recreate my life through fragmented pieces. As he moved closer I could hear him breathing. Rasping, labored breath. Breath that seamed to hint it was anguish to take in, and agony to let out again. His path had taken him to the southwest corner of the room, exactly across from where I hid. If he turned, he would see me, but he was not looking for me. He was staring at the pictures, the ones that I couldn't bare to look at, but would die if I ever removed them from the wall. He traced the pictures with his, well, what I assumed were his hands, but they were so laden with black mist that they may not have existed at all, and the shadows that were swirling around the frames were there of their own accord.
Then suddenly he seized one of my photos. He brought it closer, till it was barely an inch away from his face. He let out a moan. Soft, agonizing, and the most terrifying thing I had ever heard. Its unearthly tone sent shivers down my spine. I found myself straining to see what part of my life could have aroused that in him. Eventually he lowered it, so it was facing me, and I let out an involuntary gasp of recognition.
He whirled around, snarling, darkness flailing out behind him. The picture flew from his grip and crashed into the wall, shattering the glass, but he didn't seam to notice.
It was first time, even in the dreams, that he had ever faced me. I don’t know what I saw under that hood of shadow, but whatever it was filled me with more fear that I had ever felt in my entire life.
My scream had finally won. It ripped through me as I flung myself backwards, trying desperately to flee, but having nowhere to go, and no way of getting there in time. My arms swung over me as I curled in a ball, waiting for pain or death to descend upon me.

Neither did.
When I finally opened my eyes, the room was empty. Everything was as it was before he had come. Except the photo, the one he had grabbed was missing.
I slowly sat up, glancing at the corner, all hopes that it had all been my imagination fading, and then dying completely upon seeing its broken remains in the corner.
I half crawled; half dragged my self to the spot where it lay, I gingerly picked it up, hands trembling.
It was an old photo, ten years at least. It was of me, a more hopeful, and much less empty version of me. It was of me and first boyfriend, the one that stolen my heart and then ripped it to shreds, then patched it up just so he could do it all over again. In fact, it had been him that had almost led me to my death all those years ago. I knew that somewhere, some part of me was still in love with him, but I would never go back, I couldn’t.
After the painful moments of anger and reminisces had passed, I tried to answer the questions that were burning in my head.
Who, or what, was he? Why was it my steps he was plaguing, and why was it this photo that had stirred so a strong emotion in him?
I raked my brain, but no answer presented itself. I sat there a moment longer, but my exhaustion eventually overtook my turmoil.
I was much to tired to stand up, but I could not bear to remain here, with all that I couldn’t understand. Somehow, I managed to crawl to my bedside, and heave myself into its promising warmth. Though a thousand thoughts burn through my head, the moment my head hit the pillow I was asleep.

If I thought rest would bring me solace, I was sorely mistaken. The dreaming world was his kingdom, and now I was its captive. It seamed the photos had reawakened the deeply buried memories of my past. My mother’s murder, my fathers drunken rage, and when Chris, the only person in the world who I had trusted, had stolen every bit of life left in me. But now, in this version my shade was present. Comforting me as I scream in the dark, shielding me from my father’s blows, pulling me up when I had no reason to stand.
Once my nightmare, now my savior.
I woke up, my face beading with sweat, though I was absolutely frozen.
I didn’t look to see what time it was, though I could tell it was still dark outside. I had to leave, to get away from the confusion that now plagued me. I grabbed a jacket, but no shoes, and scampered out against the bitter cold into the only slightly warmer comforts of my car. Numb, I fumbled with the keys several times before finally getting the car to start.
I didn’t know where I was going, nor did I care, I just drove. I became lost in my thoughts. I didn’t notice I’d turned onto a dirt road, didn’t notice as I wove my way into the country, deeper and deeper. I almost didn’t notice the large boulders that signaled the end of the road until I was barely a hearts beat from crashing into them. I slammed my foot on the breaks, roughly jerking myself back into the moment.
I wasn’t ready to go home. Nor did I feel any desire to turn and go back the way I had come.
I gingerly stepped out the car. The cold, merciless October wind bit at my bare arms, but I didn’t retreat to the cozy interior of my car. I walked forward; my surroundings seemed oddly familiar, though it was not until I had stepped around the boulders that I realized I was at the viewpoint. I stopped dead, the bitter pang of heartache seeping into my chest. It seemed that though years had rolled by, my subconscious had never forgotten the way to the place that had once been my kingdom, before revealing itself as my prison; and torture chamber. It had been hear that Chris revealed his true character, and in the most demeaning way possible he had told me that it had all been a lie, that he had never loved me, and then proceeded to utterly destroy the fire I had struggled in vain to build, to lighten my darkened soul. I knew I could not stay, not when it had been this very place which I had come to escape, I turned to leave, but found someone standing in my way.

It was Chris.

He looked almost exactly as I remembered him, except the wild, almost feral look that now hung about him. Upon seeing me, his mouth spread into a wide, manic grin.
“I thought I might find you here.” His voice was nonchalant, as though he was merely making pleasant conversation, but the moonlight revealed the flame in his eye.
“Chris” I breathed, I was surprised to find that, despite everything, his name still evoked a sense of longing in me.
“I figured it out” he continued in that same apathetic tone, slowly walking forward, the irrational gleam becoming more prominent with every step. I took a step back, knowing every step would bring me closer to the edge of the viewpoint, and the sea hundreds of feet below.
“You see, He’s connected to you, his life force is bound to your very existence, so if you die” his already sadistic grin turned malicious “well, so will he.”

And then he lunged.

He slammed into me, and I felt my back slam into the earth with bone shattering force. I was pinned beneath him. His lips an inch away from mine.
“Finally it will be ended” he snarled, his mocking demeanor now overcome with irrevocable hatred, and beastlike rage.
“The torture, the never ending torment. Now I will be free.” I didn't know what he was talking about, but I could sense the madness, the irrationality, and I knew I was in danger. I struggled, but that only made him stronger.
I gave up, and resignedly waited for the fate I knew I could not escape.
And then, unexpectedly, his weight was gone. I looked up as Chris let out a violent scream of rage.
He was here. My shadow, my rescuer. My attacker was locked firmly in his grip.
He looked up at me, and this time I didn’t look away. There was something…like the imprint of a face, no, an echo, long since lost to shadow.
“Alina” he whispered my name is a low rasping voice, and I realized it was the first I’d heard him speak.
Chris snarled loathingly and wrenched himself free, He turned and in one fluid motion he had my protector stumbling into the dirt. As my shadow fell he thrust out his darkness, bringing Chris down with him. They writhed and wrestled a snarling mass of human and supernatural.
I was terrified, but not for me, for my dark angel. On they fought. Though whether it was few seconds or an hour, I couldn't tell. Then it seemed my shadow had won. He had encircled Chris with his dark mist, which turned into binding cords before my eyes.
The captor, however, somehow managed to reached into his pocket and thrust some sort of powder into the shadow's face.
My savior let out a shriek of agony, collapsing into broken mass at his prisoner’s feet. I shrieked and ran toward him, his pain my only thought.
But I had forgotten Chris, Kicking my crippled hero aside like a rag doll he strode toward me, and grasping my throat he ran, dragging me toward the edge.
I tried to yell, but my lungs were already screaming for air. I tried to fight back, but it seamed that at the very moment when I had needed it most, my strength had failed me.
We had reached the edge. His hand tightened around my neck. My lungs were on fire. My mind slowly being eating away by the overwhelming dark. I’m fading, and soon I will cease to exist. I can hear Chris laughing, just like the last time he beat me, only now his voice is laced with insanity.
Rage such as I have never felt now coursed through me, suddenly overwhelming the defeated girl who had cringed at the hands of her tormentors her entire life. I thrust out my foot, catching his ankle and yanking it out from under him. His laughter quickly fades in shock as he falls, into me. We crashed, rolling uncontrollably…
Over the edge.