Necromance in the Air - Chapter XV

Debs

Last time - Exploding heads, screaming security guards, typing tentacle arms, and a monstrous printer demanding magenta ink…so, the same as every printer in a way.

But what of the four normal everyday people trapped in this office of horrors…ah, well about that…

If you’ve no idea what’s going on, don’t worry, neither do I! But you can catch up here-

Photo by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash

Debs

Aged 6

First, it was the thing under the bed. A scuffling when the lights went out and she lay awake with the covers held up to her chin staring at the shadows that danced across the ceiling. The orange glow of a streetlight outside casting shapes from the old oak tree that scuttled across the walls. A deep noise like the sea, the sound of her own heartbeat throbbing in her ears made worse thanks to cold or flu.

The orange glow beneath the door was her lifeline. Footsteps outside, occasional and steady, reminded her that the world was safe—if only she dared to call out.

What if they didn’t hear? What if they didn’t come? The thing beneath the bed was closer, it was faster, if she drew its attention it would get her first. So she lay awake, terrified, staring at the shadows and wishing she was brave.

Then came the storm. The wind howled, branches clawing at the window as if begging to be let in. But still, the light under the door remained steady, a beacon against her fears.

CLICK

Don’t breathe.

Don’t blink.

Do not shout out.

Thunder.

“Can I come up there?” The voice beneath the bed asked, too soft, too polite. “It’s… scary down here.”

It’s not real. Just shout out for help. They’ll come, they’ll hear.

“Please?” The voice was deep, but she knew it. She’d used that tone before, when asking for things she knew she probably shouldn’t have, but might just get. ‘Can I have one more?’

“You’re not real,” she said, lowering the cover just enough to uncover her mouth.

The branches rattled against the window. The wind howled. The streetlight outside flickered and turned off. Darkness fell upon her like a smothering weight.

Tonight the moon was nowhere to be seen.

“Well. If I’m not real, does it matter if I come up there? It’s cold.”

“You’re not real.”

“I’m real enough to know these dirty knickers aren’t mine.”

“You’re not real.”

“Oh come on.”

The bed shifted, covers tightening around her feet. A faint creak echoed in the silence. Something heavy settled at the end of the bed, and she dared not breathe.

“Please?”

“Are you going to eat me?”

“I’m not going to eat you,” the demon said, it’s voice a little higher. “That’s… revolting. Do I look like that kind of monster?”

“Well,” she said, shuffling a little further up the bed until she was almost sitting on her pillow. “You are the monster that lives under my bed.”

“And you’re the monster above my bed, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a monster. I’m a girl.”

“Hah, semantics. Anyway, what does being a boy or girl, or anything else have to do with it? I’m a demon,” the thing said. The bed creaked once more and the covers pulled away from her ever so slightly. Two lights flickered in the darkness, sickly blue and hovering midair. They blinked once, twice, before locking onto her. “Are you scared of the dark?” It asked.

“A bit.”

“Me too.”

“I’m more scared of the monster under my bed discovering me and eating me before I can shout for help.”

“Oh. Hang on, you said I’m the monster under the bed.”

“Um. Yes, you are.”

“Right then. Well I’m not going to eat you, so that’s good, isn’t it?”

…

“Would you like a sweet? I’ve got some I hid in the bed side table,” she said.

“Mhm. What type of sweets?”

“Jelly worms.”

“Depends…are they wrapped?”

“No.”

“Ew. Did you wash your hands before you touched them?”

That’s how it began, with fear, darkness and shadows. That was also how it ended.

---

Well that was weird wasn’t it? I mean, where did that even come from? Can we get back to the office next time, yeah? Messing us around like this with a flashback interlude. It’s just RUDE. RUDE! You’re rude!

Remember, do not comment, do not show any interest in this story or what is happening here, because if you do you risk encouraging the writer. We don’t encourage the writer because we know that encouragement might cause him to continue writing the story, and why would we want that? So much better to let him suffer from the complete lack of validation that zero interaction causes - don’t worry, eventually he will definitely stop - PROVIDED YOU DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM.