Another three horror drabbles to haunt you…
A night of hushed reticence, deep and lethargic, spinning indigo into the air. I dream of stars, golden shimmers descending to ground in a shower of brilliant sparks and fiery death. I mourn them all as they scream, a shattering wail that cracks the cosmos in two. And the universe is no more.
Then I awake to the empty void that is my home, and a broken melancholy envelops me, knowing those dreams are my haunting memories. Here is what remains of the universe, remnants of what survived, left only to lament the fallen stars and an existence of regrets.
Shall we dream of pink cotton candy and the smell of roasting peanuts, while tin music fills the air? Laughs and shrieks and the grind of gears as the rides spin along their axis of amusement. Sticky fingers and win a prize, as the brazen barkers and the vendors smile. A family treat, a special outing, one last day of fun.
For the night will fall, and whispers summon, as garish lights and mocking shadows beckon. The clowns they smile, teeth now bared, and darkness swallows you whole. Gone are games and rides and sweet candy treats. Only terror remains.
“There’s no monster under your bed”, he tells you, and you know he’s right. The monster is standing over you, the man you call father. The one that laughs as he hits you. The one that lies.
So you nod and fall asleep. There you will dream of a better world, imagine something holding your hand and singing you a lullaby. The creature under your bed that comforts you. You hear it, feel it when you’re half-awake.
Until one night it speaks, with a whispered promise, “I’ll protect you from him. Nothing will hurt you again.”
And then you smile.