Flickering Night

Today I have finished a first revision of a short story I am working on. I added more to the background and general 'backstory' to make character development more obvious as well as enrich the story more. This is a pretty rough draft, so bear with me the minor errors and incompleteness.

Flickering Night

I ran. Light faded. Night arrived. I checked my watch. Six forty-five. 

Sweat dripped down my face. With a minute left, I sprinted towards the large house. 

Though it wasn’t tall, it loomed like a castle, covering the sun, as if a demon rising. A tower in the center stretches to the sky, and two windows on either side glowed with dim, flickering light. 

Once inside, I sank into the sofa, panting, and watched the battered TV play an old war movie. Today was closer than usual, but I had never been caught. I lived in a quiet neighborhood compared to the city, just a short yet wide street with four buildings on either side. One end of the road leads to the bustling city, the other end leads to a small forest with a local grave. 

I grabbed some water and food, then sat back down. I ate, absentmindedly watching TV.

A few minutes later, I washed the dishes, came back to turn off the TV, and walked through wide corridors and up the stairs, arriving in an empty room with a piano in the center. A candle stood on it, casting a soft, yellow aura around the piano. Through the window the outside world seemed just as normal: only a soft, gray mist floated around. The sounds outside weren’t as bad today; perhaps it was getting better.

I played every night, letting the music echo in the empty room. As I played, the world around me faded, and the air shimmered. But that was probably my imagination. Also, every time I’ve played, I’ve felt a dim dizziness. The world sort of spun around me, and I seemed to see each note flicker from the piano into the room and the outside air. I continued my slow, gentle, minor tone, putting my heart to rest. Suddenly, I heard soft footsteps outside. Thump, thump. I froze, fingers hovering over the keys. I saw a dim shape outside the window. It's one of them. I watched as it walked past my front door. Not me, at least. I let out a deep breath. It approached the house diagonally across from mine, and stopped. Then, it melted into shadows, which split, and twist, and fly into the house. I put my face against the window and squinted into the night. All I saw was the house, still sitting there. The soft lights of candles still glowed through the uncurtained windows, and everything seemed untouched, in place. 

I waited. 

Suddenly, a loud shriek pierced the night. It might have been a human scream, or it was one of them. These screams happened almost every night, but no one knew whether it was a person or them. The house was always empty the next day, as if all life had been sucked out. 

Then nothing. 

No one knew who they were, or what they did, but that they came out at six forty-five in the evening, roaming the streets, killing and devouring. No one has been able to kill, touch, nor get close to one without dying. So we hide in our houses each night, locking our doors and windows, hoping that the next one was not us. 

I continue peeking through my window, hoping to discover something. But all I saw was the house, now with more shadows than light. Perhaps the only people who knew the truth were the ones who disappeared. I turned back to the piano and rested my hands on the keys again. This time, I played a more intense tone, feeling the danger that came so close to my door. 

I played until midnight before going to bed sore, both in mind and body. 

I was fifteen. I sat in front of the piano and played. When I finished, I stood up and turned around, smiling. My parents and my little brother sat on my sofa, clapping. A soft, yellow lamp casted a warm glow, and I moved to sit down next to my four year old little brother, Tristan. 

My parents went to make dinner, leaving me alone to take care of my brother. Light faded outside, and night arrived. 

I played with my brother his newly bought lego set, handing him each piece and watching as he struggled to put each piece in the right place. When he lost focus I played him some piano pieces, which made him laugh and clap happily. I even helped him up the piano chair, and guided him to play a few simple notes, which he smacked repeatedly with his small fists. 

I jerked awake, aware of footsteps approaching from down the street. Clack, clack. I froze, heart beating, breath held, afraid to make a noise. Clack, clack. Now they seem closer, perhaps next door. Clack, clack. 

It seemed to stop right outside my door. The wood creaked as the front door opened.Thump, thump. It started up the stairs. Thump, thump. I thought of sitting up, grabbing a weapon to face the thing that is now so near. Clomp, clomp. It approaches my room. I remembered the thing that entered my neighbor's house. How could I possibly do anything? Clomp. In the end, I lay there, waiting for the last moment. 

Suddenly, a loud shriek came from downstairs, followed by loud crashing. 

“What happened?” I yelled as I ran down. The crashing suddenly stopped. 

I sprinted into the dining room, and from there I saw a tall and dark silhouette in the kitchen. 

As I watched in horror, the silhouette turned. Swirling dark mist made up the faceless, human-shaped creature, and the occasional blood dripped through, tapping on the floor. Quietness. I face the creature, frightened. It faced me. 

With a soft swoosh it charged towards me. I screamed and closed my eyes. 

“Don’t hurt him!”

Creak. When the door opened I set my gaze upon the hall, but I saw nothing. Then, a face appeared, dropping down toward my face, and the next moment I appeared in a small room. 

I didn’t know this room, but it seemed familiar. A door was to my left, and a small table rested next to it, with a soft yellow candle lighting the room. A small bed lay in the corner. A boy lay asleep on it. He was a child of about four, with short golden hair and a thin build. He seemed familiar, too. I paused when I saw his face—it was the same face that had come into my room. I started moving back slowly. I hit a wall behind me, making a small thump. I jumped. Luckily, the boy didn’t seem to notice. 

The door to the room opened, and a shadow appeared. Under the glow of the light, I saw a young man with a build about my height, wearing a black hoodie and blue trousers. He didn’t seem to notice me. He approached the bed and stood next to it. 

He stood there awhile, muttering something undistinguishable under his breath. 

After a while, he took out a knife and then stabbed it into the boy’s throat. The boy’s eyes opened wide, his legs kicked, and he attempted to grab the knife. He gargled as blood poured out. Moments later, he was dead. A figure appeared from his dead body, and I could see it was the thing that came into my room. It seemed to be the boy’s dead soul. It let out a heart wrenching and high-pitched scream that echoed in the night. The man, not seeming to hear it, left and closed the door behind him. I looked back at the bloodied bed. The small soul was gone. 

I opened my eyes to see my brother standing in front of me. 

“NO!” 

I reached for him, trying to shield him behind me. 

I was too late.

I watched as the dark mist collided with him. The expected impact did not come, but a soft breeze pushed me away, and the mist made a swirling whirlpool around my brother. He stood in the middle, back facing me. 

The mist started to fade, and I realized that the mist was entering my brother, tiny wisps flowing through his skin. 

A few moments later no mist was left, and my brother turned. 

“Are you … ok?”

“Yes,” he said, “I’m tired, let me sleep.” He walked upstairs. I followed, not daring to stop him. He went inside his room and closed the door. 

Suddenly, I heard the sound of a piano outside. I opened the door and saw a small, low hallway with a dimly flickering lamp on either side. A door rested on the right, and sounds of keys and notes slipped through the door. I walked towards it, finding a tall wooden door that stretched all the way to the ceiling. I opened the door and entered, the door creaking. Inside, a dimly lit candle stood on a piano, and through the window the outside world was clear. A man sat at the piano, slightly slouched. He had taken his hood off, showing a young face that seemed rather familiar. I noticed a small scar on his left cheek the shape of an ‘i’. As I opened the door, he looked up, music never stopping. He had the same dark, brown eyes as me, and as our gaze met, he smiled. As he played, the sound of the piano started to fade, as did the room around me. Before it all faded, I caught a glimpse of a small, white figure hiding behind the piano. 

I walked to my own room and lie on my bed, confused and angry. My parents had disappeared, my brother had absorbed the dark misty thing which killed my parents, and now he was sleeping in the room next to mine. 

I started crying. 

As the tears flowed, my thoughts took me. What if it was all a dream? Yes, it was all a dream, it had to be. But what if it was real? I could go down now and taste the blood in the kitchen. Why hadn’t anyone come? Is it just us? Had my brother been possessed? He had absorbed the mist, after all. What should I do? There would probably be novels where my brother has now become the host for that thing, and its going to kill me first and then the rest of the world. And the thing was just pretending to be my brother and go to bed because he needs to adjust to his ‘new body’. Why would it go into my brother if not to use his body? No, it wanted to use mine, but my brother! Oh! My brother! He stood in front of me…

Yes! That’s it! It wasn’t my brother, it was that creature! I need to kill it now for humanity! 

I stood up and sprinted down the stairs. 

The scene faded away, and I was back in my room. Now, the thing with the boy’s face had backed away, and I could see it clearly. It had a small, human-like figure like that of the boy, but surrounded with shadows that twisted and morphed around him. The boy’s face didn’t seem to be able to change, but maintained the same look as the moment he died—eyes staring, mouth wide open. He seemed to be waiting for something. I thought of the scene that I had witnessed. What is he waiting for? Why did the man want to kill him? 

“Hi?” was what came out of my mouth. The boy didn’t seem to be able to talk, but a shadowy arm lifted, pointed at me, and then pointed at himself. He opened his arms. Is he asking for a hug? The boy’s figure seemed more familiar than before, but I couldn’t remember when I had seen him. Perhaps we are related somehow? Since the boy doesn’t seem so threatening now, I sat up, and beckoned him to come closer. He hesitated, but then walked next to my bed. 

I put my arms around him. 

Downstairs, I stood in the kitchen, staring blankly at the leftover blood. There was not much, only drops here and there. Yet that was all that was left. I walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a knife, telling, convincing myself over and over that I was going to kill the monster. My brother had died when the mist entered him. 

I walked back up the stairs and opened the door to my brother’s room. 

His figure was cold, but still felt like human flesh. He then hugged back, finding comfort in my embrace. After I pulled back, the boy sat there, looking at me. I stared back. His gaze seemed empty, with no eyeball, just a drop of white in the hideous face. But I did notice a tiny light in there, as if a fire, waiting to be lit up. 

I stood up, not taking my eyes off of him, and started to walk out. The cool night air brushed against my skin, tingling. I opened the door, looking back to see if the boy was following. He was. I opened a door on the right, the one leading to my piano. A candle rested on it, now snuffed by the night. I sat at the piano, opened it, and looked at the small boy who floated, mid-air, next to me, expectant. 

I started playing. This time, I did not play those other famous songs by famous composers that I had learned, or one that showed off my technique. I just played—the song that rested deep in my heart, that resounded in every move. And that was how I played that day, urgent, hurried. It was a song of peace, with a tint of hidden secrets and memories—the quietness before a storm. At one point my hand started shaking, and the music with it. A tear trickled down my cheek. Then, as if a dam unblocked, tears started to pour out of my eyes, dropping on the piano and dampening my shirt. I did not bother to wipe it, but kept playing. Now, it was a sound of anger, a storm in the ocean unleashed, the swinging of a bloody knife.

As my tears ran dry and the storm calmed, my hands stopped shaking, and another peace seemed to rest upon me: one of loss and regret. 

Perhaps the boy heard what he wanted to, his eyes seemed to soften, and his mouth relaxed a bit—but perhaps it was my imagination. My music softened. His body started to lighten up, the once shadowy figure now encased with light. At the same time, a soft dizziness took over my head, but the music never stopped. The lights then floated away as his body slowly disintegrated into particles of light which flew out the window and away. 

Then it happened. The particles of light flew out and flew towards the mists that lurked permanently in this world. It flew in, shone brightly, and the mists dissipated, as if they were never there. The world outside, though still at night, appears much brighter. 

The neighbor diagonally across the road has their lights on, and through their window, I see an old man sitting on the bed, quietly reading. As I wiped my tears away, my hand stopped on a small scar that rested on my left cheek. It was, too, the shape of an ‘i’, but I couldn’t seem to recall where it came from. 

I continued sitting, thinking. After a while, I sighed, and prepared to play again. This time, I played the Fantaisie-Impromptu; of messy reality and a gentle dream. And the dizziness never came.