The Uninvited Guests
One
2:12 AM. God damn it. I sit up, cold sweat crawling along my brow. The dark edges of the dream that had awoken me just escaped my memory. Well, fuck. I try to sleep, but toss and turn fitfully. Ah well, whatever. I roll out of bed and stretch. Hm. I check the clock again. 2:36, huh? Well, what to do, what to do? I play some games on the computer, waste a whole bunch of time. As I turn, I see the first bright fingers of dawn stretching across the sky.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Huh, who could that be? It’s only five-thirty! I stood and peered through the peephole. I could only see black. Well, maybe the hall light was out again… As I cracked open the door, it exploded into shards of wood. I glance down at my arm and notice a jagged spear of wood, covered in blood, sticking out of my arm. I wonder briefly about the lack of a searing pain, and remember some crime show character talking about shock. My eyes flick back up to the hole where the door used to be. I see only blackness. The blackness is spreading across the room. I turn and bolt in fear. I throw the door to my bedroom closed and scream in pain. The door had snapped the shard of wood in my arm in half and whatever lack of pain I had before was burned away with searing agony. I crawl over and sit on the headboard. My arm bleeds in a flood. I start to feel lightheaded and realize I need to put pressure there. I tear a piece of blanket off with my teeth and my good arm. I tie off the arm. I look down at the space beneath the door and see the darkness bleed underneath my door. I scream in fear again and try to imagine a way to beat the darkness. I scrabble over to my bedside lamp and click it on. The beam is comforting and I aim it at the seeping darkness. It recoils backwards, but then surges forward, swallowing the light. I scream again as I, too, am consumed.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Huh, who could that be? It’s only five-thirty! I stood and peered through the peephole. I could only see black. Well, maybe the hall light was out again… As I cracked open the door, it exploded into shards of wood. I glance down at my arm and notice a jagged spear of wood, covered in blood, sticking out of my arm. I wonder briefly about the lack of a searing pain, and remember some crime show character talking about shock. My eyes flick back up to the hole where the door used to be. I see only blackness. The blackness is spreading across the room. I turn and bolt in fear. I throw the door to my bedroom closed and scream in pain. The door had snapped the shard of wood in my arm in half and whatever lack of pain I had before was burned away with searing agony. I crawl over and sit on the headboard. My arm bleeds in a flood. I start to feel lightheaded and realize I need to put pressure there. I tear a piece of blanket off with my teeth and my good arm. I tie off the arm. I look down at the space beneath the door and see the darkness bleed underneath my door. I scream in fear again and try to imagine a way to beat the darkness. I scrabble over to my bedside lamp and click it on. The beam is comforting and I aim it at the seeping darkness. It recoils backwards, but then surges forward, swallowing the light. I scream again as I, too, am consumed.