It isn’t about how strong the thing is.
It’s not about the body. Not about the mind. Not about the heart.
It’s not about that at all.
It’s all about the spirit.
Strength of the spirit, to be precise.
How strong is a thing’s spirit? That’s what decides what it becomes. Who it becomes.
Who it challenges.
Who it takes.
Who falls for its cunning.
The strength of your spirit decides whether you fall for the voice.
Or not. Continue reading “Strength of Spirit”
Awareness is a commodity. Not something that everyone has. It’s a skill that can’t really be learned, so much as grown. If you aren’t born with an innate sense of awareness, then it takes years—years—to cultivate. And, believe me, it’s a skill that you want. Something you should aspire to acquire. A skill that is quite useful.
Well, the very nature of awareness is useful.
Awareness is the feeling of someone’s eyes watching you. Knowing there’s something lurking in the shadows. Awareness gives you sense enough not to walk into a dark alley in the middle of the night. To keep your distance from groups of strangers. To cross the street when there’s a ruckus up ahead. Awareness is the thing that keeps you—in most accounts—alive. If it weren’t for awareness, you’d simply walk into any dark corner and never make it back out. Awareness is knowing that you are not always the hunter. Sometimes, you are the prey. Awareness is what gives you a mind to think proactively in your own defense.
Quite a useful thing, if you ask me.
There is a point.
A place where awareness deepens. Sinks into the very fabric of your soul. Causes your sense to dive further.
Awareness can keep you alive, yes.
It’s not always a gift. Continue reading “Lingering Awareness”
There are cracks in the wall.
I can hear the creaking of the floorboards. See the rot from the water that leaks in. Here, the floor isn’t sturdy. You could fall right through—the boards are as thin as wet paper. Here, there isn’t much shelter from anything. This old, desolate house. Oozing and creaking and moaning along with the things that fill the walls.
Where do you think the cracks came from?
Obviously, they came from them.
They spill out some nights. Flooding the house, over and over again. Playing like a song on repeat. Scratching and screaming and scurrying over the ceilings. Wailing and terrorizing and eating away at the souls of others. Desperate and jealous. Creatures that haunt, that steal, that kill—all for pleasure.
I was raised with them, you know.
I grew up here, in this house.
It screams at me.
And I hear the rhetoric again. The chanting that always filters through the screams. Words that float through the panic, through the muck, through the mire of spirits unrested. I hear their demand. The threat of what’s to come if I don’t heed them, if I don’t obey. I hear the words, carrying from the house to this faraway place, and I suppress a shudder.
Protect the ghost. Continue reading “Haunted Nevermore”
There’s a man in the clock.
The clock strikes one…
The man frowns.
Man in the clock.
The clock strikes two…
The man comes down.
Stop the man in the clock. Continue reading “Man In The Clock”
I wasn’t sure what it meant. But I knew:
Waking with a dead leaf under your tongue?
It couldn’t be a good sign. Continue reading “Dead Leaves Bring…”
Used furniture is never a good idea.
I told her that. I definitely, absolutely told her that. You have no idea what happened on that couch. No idea what kind of creepy-crawlies could be lurking inside that cabinet.
But, what does she do?
Does she listen to me?
No, of course not.
She goes out and buys a used mattress.
A used mattress.
How the hell am I supposed to sleep? Huh? How can I sleep not knowing?
How can I sleep when the mattress moves?
How am I supposed to live with that? Continue reading “Demon in the Mattress”
There was a trick to it. There must be.
Or there wouldn’t be so many.
Stories can’t all add up to nothing. Neither can missing people. If something is out there, it’ll drop hints. Leave clues. It won’t go unnoticed. It might stay mysterious, yes, but it won’t go completely unnoticed. Everything leaves a trail.
And this one? This trail?
It’s going to lead me to the jackpot.
There are no pearly gates. Not for me. I already know that. But there won’t be a hellfire either. No mouth swallowing me whole. Death will reach for me…
…and he’ll miss.
If only I can just get this right. Continue reading “Metal Eternity”
Everyone has something they fear. Whether it’s spiders or the boogieman or taxes, everyone fears something. And some of these fears are day to day things. Like walking alone in the dark, for example. Some of them are things you don’t face until you face them.
That one is a real kicker.
Everyone is afraid of the mistakes they’ve made.
It’s the thing people run from the most. Try to hide from the most. Try to ignore. Pretend that it never happened. People think if you do that, your mistakes will just go away.
But life isn’t a magic trick. You can’t just wish your mistakes away. You can’t just put them in a box and wait for them to disappear through some trap door. That’s not how this works. You can run and you can hide and you can pretend all you want.
But, one day:
Your mistakes will find you.
They’ll find you. Continue reading “The Mistakes We Make in the Shadows”