Shadows

shadows



The pure sensation of the bullet in his hand was just.  The smooth texture ran along inside of his palm. The bullet fell,  hitting the wooden floor with a “ting” noise, rolling to the corner of the wall.  The window was dirty; finger prints graced the glass making what ever was out side look like a crazed painting from the depth of the master’s own twisted mind.  The driveway lay empty, the wind blew the screen door open and grabbed Joe’s attention.  The  feeling of horror and excitement ran through his mind in a rush, pulling out his gun and pointing it at the flimsy screen door.  Putting the gun away in its holster, he walks to the door, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.  Birds lay quiet, the soft subtle breeze brushing along his hair, the forest of which his cabin lay upon  was desolate.  Looking up at the stars as he walked was comforting to him; bliss as you might think.  The rickety old dock resting ahead, the dock he and his father built four summer’s ago still stood in the trenches of the lake.  Joe stood there, realizing that all there is left is memory, and the utter silence will never go away.  He welcomed it in a way and in the past, all he ever wanted was that…silence.  The utter thought of the phone ringing was a horrid feeling that he never welcomed, and wished to the heavens man never invented such a distraction.  Taking off his blue sweater, he let it fall out of his grip, landing in the pile of dead oak leaves, making his way to the dock.  “if only I made things right in the past…” Joe spoke out loud in a quiet, yet serene voice.  Thunder clouds lay to the east.  Lightning danced within these clouds as Joe began to gaze into them; trying to be the one to finally figure out the reason of why “man kind” is here. Such a thought intrigued him and made him feel secure within his own mind.  “they’ll never go away…” he uttered out loud, startling himself as he moved onto the first plank of the dock.  The clouds grew nearer, never slowing pace as they move like wild fire across the black sky.  The lake was quiet for the most part.  Looking to the right of the dock, a sunken canoe lay dead in the bank.  Its twisted appearance challenged Joe in a way only he could understand.  His nightmare began with this canoe, and it will never cease as long as he breathes.  Questioning his motives were of no help at this point as he reached the end of the dock.  Looking down, the water appeared to be nothing but blackened glass, stretching along forever it seemed.  What grabbed Joe about purchasing this land was the hugeness of the lake.  Miles of comfort; miles of serenity and horror of knowing that you are alone, but are you really alone?  The thought passed through his mind from time to time as he stood there on the last plank of the dock.  The feeling of someone behind him came with his comfort. The shivering sensation ran along his back and passed.  Quickly he turned around and saw nothing but the landscape of his cabin, the swing porch to the left of his lawn swaying back and forth in the wind.  Joe began to turn back, facing the water once more, seeing his reflection in the water from the lasting brightness of the moon, or what was left of the moon at this point.  He also saw another figure beside him within the reflection, but was blurred out in a way he couldn’t describe.  The force and feeling of this been was strong and before Joe could turn around, the blurry figure pushed him into the water with the purest force he has never yet felt from anybody or anything in his entire life.  Water now consumed him entirely, and the feeling of death overwhelmed him.  Looking up, he saw the figure standing still on the dock, never moving an inch.  Joe held his breath not letting out one bubble and from what he understood was if you let the person that wants you dead, make it look just that.  The figure seemed to grow tired of waiting around.  It turned and vanished from Joe’s view.  He swam to the canoe’s resting place, letting up on his held breath.  Racing to the top of the water felt like forever, but never has the air felt so inviting towards his lungs.  He grabbed the canoe with all of his strength, or what was left for that matter and pried himself to stand , walking away from the drop off point that half of the canoe lay upon.  “thank god for that drop off.  It saved my life in a way, but how is it that something that doesn’t or couldn’t exist have so much force?”  Joe pondered this as he struggled to get back to the screen door to his cabin.  As he entered, he saw that his TV was on, his two end tables were knocked over and a message on his front door.  The paper looked jagged as if it was ripped out of a book or magazine.  Holding it up was a rusty kitchen knife, and the words were very bold:  “comfort lies in the beholder.  Welcome to your nightmare Joe Peterson.”  this has to be a joke.  No way would this ever happened in real life…or does it?  Joe was a problem solver, and a pretty damn good one, but this…it makes no sense.  Why now?  That was the major question on his mind; that and:  “am I going crazy?”  Feeling the presence again , he quickly runs out of his cabin; running to get to his car.  Seeing it not there shocked him so hard, he fell to his knees.  Gasping for air, he looks back to his door, seeing the blurry figure rip the knife from the door and begin to walk towards Joe smoothly and calmly.  Joe gets back up with quickness he never knew he had until now, and ran; ran for his life.  For miles it seemed he walked, hoping  that “life” is near, but  knowing that  the surroundings he planted himself in is only him and no one else.  The thought of never going back to his cabin; the cabin he loved and cherished crossed his mind as he walked on, but as he walked,  he thought of ways to get rid of this shadow of evil that rests in his home…but how?  Joe knew he had to get to a phone right away, but not knowing where he put his car was a real shit-kicker.  For hours he walked, always looking over his shoulder and feeling very paranoid as he remembers what had happened earlier within the night.  His best friend; the only link in his life is what mattered now.  Joe’s contacts were dim but not yet have they faded out into nothing…there is always hope, but is it at an end?  Joe needed to find out and find out fast.  He finally came up to a fork in the road.  Such ecstasy should never be bestowed on such a person, but the feeling ran through him like wine, and he fell to his knees in exhaustion.  The one and only question remained strong within Joe’s mind: “am I going to run forever?”  the answer pushed through the dark depths of his mind, revealing its true self.  Joe looked down and saw his gun flipped out of its holster to the gravel littered ground as he fell.  He picked it up with ease and a satisfied expression printed on his face.  Turning around, the blurred figure stood there, watching; participating in watching what Joe might or might not do.  Fear raged on, but he only felt little jolts of it to not even know it was there.  The car had vanished, no life around for miles, best friend miles away nestled in civilization, and yet the answer pulsed and would not cease to vanish.  Raising the gun, Joe pushed it to his temple, letting out tears that streamed like teaming rivers down his cheeks.  Looking at the blurred figure, the knife glinted in the moon light and faded as the clouds covered the last light of the dark unrelenting night.  Realizing what he was doing, Joe quickly got to his feet, never letting go of the gun still pressed towards his right temple.  The figure slowly walked forward and Joe slowly walked backwards, not letting up on pace.  With the knife raised, the blurred figure quickened pace.  Joe began to quicken as well, but fell on his back, hitting his head on a jagged rock.  “You’re not real…you’re not real.” Joe said in a whisper before he fell unconscious.  A couple of hours later, Joe’s eyes pulled open in a flash.  The figure was gone and so was the rusty kitchen knife it was holding in its grip.  Feeling the back of his head, Joe pulled his hand closer to his gaze, but to only see clotted blood from his head.  Wiping it away on his pants, Joe got up with a struggle and began to walk back to his cabin.  “the figure was only my imagination…something I needed from all this boredom I think.”  Joe said to himself as he walked, never keeping a straight line-chuckling at his own mind‘s demise.  An hour pasted and finally his little patch of road appeared leading to his cabin nestled into nowhere.  The front door lay open as Joe walked inside.  The lights were off as well as the TV, but something was defiantly wrong here.  Something was defiantly missing.  Retracing his steps, Joe found the notch the knife had made in the door, felt its presence and almost threw up on the hard wood floor as he grazed his fingers along its ridged spine.  As Joe looked forward, past the TV and into the darkened hallway, the figure appeared with the blade intact.  Before Joe could react, the blurred figure threw the knife with pin-point precision straight into Joe’s chest, making him beg for his wasted life.  “did it have to end like this?”  Joe thought as he took his last and final breath, never looking away from his killer.  As the blood trickled down, the figure walked over to him.  The blurred figure stopped dead in his tracks peering into Joe’s blood shot eyes-into Joe’s soul.  The blurriness vanished,  revealing its true self; Joe’s best friend john Steinwick.  Pulling the blade out of Joe’s chest was easy for john and as he did, he wiped the blade clean along Joe’s blood soaked shirt.  In the end, john lit up a cigarette, looking down on the decaying body of Joe, and vanished without a trace as the first puff of the cigarette was taken.

The End