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This time, when it happens, night has fallen. The wind shoves Thomas about, taunting and teasing hidden within its howling.
He glances back through his dark whipping hair. There it is; down the road some distance, standing, unaffected by the powerful gales, illuminated by the only light the tired streetlamp affords. He can hear it whispering from all the way over there.
Thomas throws his slender body against the persistent wind, desperately trying to make headway. He sets his sights on Bill’s Convenient Store.
With its open sign slowly blinking in its usual pace, the shop stands at the corner of Westway Avenue, and Northdown Street. Its lights were dim and old, in desperate need of replacement. The isles of merchandise tower over the average customer, stacked full and precariously, one had to think before they extracted an item or they would be buried on the floor. The store's’ namesake, fits well with the dirty and old appearance, his round body buttoned into a faded and stained flannel, the shirt underneath no longer white. Despite his surly attitude, underneath his scowling bushy eyebrows, resides gentile brown pools, that calm and ease a troubled customer.
Bill glances up when the door opens and Thomas stumbles in. He slams the door rather frantically, and leans exhausted against it. “Hell of a storm out there ehy Tom?” Thomas notices Bill and seems to flinch away from his words, “What ‘dya see a monster or somthin?” he laughs nervously at Thomas’s startled expression.
“I didn’t see any monsters” Thomas mumbles and leaves the safety of the door, making his way to the bathroom and quickly locks it behind him.
Bill keeps a close eye out for the boy, but not for any fear of his product.
Once in the safety of the tiled room, he starts to tremble, sinking to the floor. He covers his face with his hands, staring numbly out between fingers at the mirror on the wall.
Thomas twitches and nervously stands, he paces over to it, takes off his jacket to cover his reflection. “It can get through the mirrors now” He keeps his voice down, talking to the emptiness behind him, hardly believing the words that slip past his dry lips.
Bill tries to keep his mind off the hectic, panicked way Thomas had looked at him, as if he had seen something horrible. I do hope the kid’s allright, somthin felt wrong about him. He absently begins to wipe the counter down, glancing from the bathroom, to the wind screaming against his door.
Thomas whimpers helplessly. The whispering starts anew, quiet and insistent. He slips down to the cold floor once again, his back firmly pressed against the wall, his hands knotting in his turbulent hair.
Come, it will be fine if you just come. We won’t hurt you if you do.
He clamps his eyes shut, to where it hurts, and curls down into himself, his body trembling.
No one will get hurt, we promise. Thomas we promise. Just follow us. Follow us.
His trembling evolves into quiet, panicked, sobs. He rocks back and forth, hot tears escape his eyes, fleeing down his face. The combined voices grow in volume inside his head, their tone now angry and impatient.
Thomas, we know you can hear us, listen, respond Thomas, Thomas, Thomas!
He shouts and slams his hand into the door, the voices quiet in satisfaction.
Good.
Bill, at the sound of Thomas’s outburst, spills his coffee over himself and his copy of The Notebook, his guilty pleasure. “Dammit, son, what’s tha matter?” he shouts worriedly, moving out from behind the counter and towards where Thomas has barricaded himself. He reaches the door and touches his fingers to it lightly, “Thomas? Everything okay ‘n there?” He tries the knob with no success.
Thomas flinches violently away from the door, huddling in the corner adjacent from the sink, his face hidden behind his hands, wide green eyes staring crazily out between shaking fingers.
“Thomas!” Bill shakes the doorknob, growing worried at the frantic shuffling. He grunts and quickly paces to the front counter, where the phone lies in its cradle,
Thomas whimpers and shakes his head, his little bit of resolve shattered by the voices.
“This shouldn’t be happening” he cradles his head, wild thoughts crash through his battered mind.
Yes it should Thomas and you know it
“No! it shouldn’t you’re not real!”
You don’t know that Thomas. We don’t appreciate your doubt in us.
He tries to shrink away from the angry tones slicing their way through his brain, a small pitiful sound leaks from his lips.
We are real and you are sane, trust us. We know.
He shakes his head and gasps through the returning sobs, trying to ignore their insistent words.
Bill picks up the receiver and diles the police station, his right hand tapping nervously in the counter.
“Springdale Police Office, this is Officer Grant, how may I help you?” A crisp female voice picks up.
“Yea. This is Bill, I’ve got a problem…”
“Yes Bill, what’s your problem?”
Officer Davees is out making his nightly rounds. He leans forwards in his seat, squinting through the rain that thrashes his vehicle mercilessly, as if trying to run the small cruiser off the slick road. At first, he doesn’t hear the voice crackling through his old police radio, the torrent outside drowning out all other sound.
“Officer Davees, come in. Officer Davees! Charley!” Officer Grant shouts mutely, Davees grunts and irritably jerks up the receiver,
“This is Davees, what do you need Cristeen?”
She says something that he can't quite make out, he leans closer to the speaker.
“You need to talk louder. This storm. I can’t hear you!” his shouts barely echo through the line.
Bill hangs up the phone with a click and trudges over to the bathroom, “Thomas… I ah, I called the, I called someone to help. Can ya hear me? Are ya hurt?”
Thomas flinches his gaze over to the door
Did you hear that Thomas? He called help, to take you away. Men in white coats, come put you in a nice padded cell.
He whimpers and presses his knuckles against his eyes, shaking his head slightly and trembling.
“No, no, no, this isn’t happening, you're lying!” he shouts the last part, making Bill jump, the clerk jiggles the knob again, Thomas huddles in the corner if the bathroom, farthest away from the door. His eyes dart frantically about, like a trapped animal, searching for an escape.
Oh where could you escape Thomas, where? The air, it, it goes through, the vent, no the window!
Bill flinches as glass shatters from behind the door, “Thomas!” he shouts, and slams his shoulder into the unyielding barrier.
He couldn’t possibly fit through that window, even as thin as he is. Must have been the mirror. Oh Christ, he’s gonna hurt himself.
Thomas wriggles through the small opening, his face a slight grimace as glass scrapes its way across his stomach, his spine, too, abused by the jagged shards stubbornly jutting out of the small window. He falls out with a quick yelp onto his back. Gasping hard to retrieve the air that was blasted away from him, he holds his busted hand to his chest, letting the blood mix with the maroon of his now ripped shirt.
When Bill finally manages to break the door open, he bursts in, expecting to find Thomas bleeding on the floor or something, but instead, he finds an empty bathroom and the mirror covered by Thomas’s leather jacket.
Thomas jerks as he hears Bill shout through the screaming torrent that engulfs the small town, he stumbles to his feet and hectically staggers through the stinging wind. Each droplet of rain that slams into him, slices through his exposed flesh like hundreds of airborne shards of metal.
Quick Thomas their coming! That wretched clerk, and the men in the white jackets. Hurry Thomas!
Officer Davees pulls his small cruiser into the parking lot, his lights are on but not the siren, he rolls down the window and Bill approaches.
Bill shouts something unintelligible, pointing to the back of his store, the wind catches the words and smothers them out. The officer leans out the window, straining to hear his cries.
Bill shields his face from the biting wind and screams, “HE WENT THAT WAY!” he throws his hand out, indicating behind him, the officer motions for him to get in and looks at him when he does.
Thomas nearly falls to his knees when he hears the wild shrieking laughter, he clutches at his head, tearing out chunks of his hair as he tries to continue through the storm
THOMAS! Now we can get you!
He sobs loudly and loses his footing, collapsing onto the cold sodden ground.
“No you can’t,” he whispers brokenly to the swirling mud under his face, getting up, he nearly is swept away, the wind crashing against him. He presses onward, his soaked and muddy clothes plastered against his straining body. He tries to tune them out, he does, but their outraged screeching still slices through his thoughts, like a knife through warm butter.
“You gotta hurry, he’s gonna hurt imself!” Bill jerks the officers shoulder roughly, Davees glances down at the clerks death grip on his arm and shakes him off.
“Get him for what? Because he locked himself in a bathroom? You’ve got to be
kidding me Bill, he was probably upset and wanted to be left alone.” he still has to raise his voice over the pounding storm, Bill stares at him dumbfounded.
Thomas falls several more times as he carves his way through the wind, by the time he reaches his destination, the voices are waging their own storm inside his battered mind and his body has lost most of its heat, past the point in shivering. Occasionally he has to stop, confused about where he is, the cold dulls his comprehension.
Thomas, if we don’t get you the storm will. They whisper quietly and fade from his thoughts, he almost weeps with relief, to exhausted to think.
He stumbles and his shoulder slams into the door of Abbigails house, his closest friend. He slides down to the porch, half conscious, there is a quick jiggle of the door knob as it is hastily unlocked and Abbigail opens the door, a frantic look to her gentile features. She gasps and kneels down in front of him, “ Thomas” she mumbles, holding her wrist to his forehead, “oh my goodness” she pulls her hand away, a cold sting to her soft arm, “we need to get you inside!”
She wraps his long arm over her slight shoulders and hoists him up, he slurs something out but she doesn’t catch it, Abbigail has some trouble supporting his six and a half foot frame, being almost two feet shorter than him, she doesn’t get much help from him as he drifts from reality to the dream world, his breathing alarmingly slow.
Her honey blond hair hangs in her face as she half drags Thomas to her couch, she whimpers slightly and starts to pull of the drenched clothes, “ What were you doing out there Thomas?” he stirs gently at her words but his eyes stay shut as he limply complies with her movements. She gets his clothing off, save his underwear, for privacy reasons and quickly moves to her linen closet, pulling out a thick wool blanket with shaking hands. Abbigal wraps him up as best as she can, and pads quickly to the kitchen, to make hot tea, her soft slippers emitting hushed whispers across the shag carpet of the small comforting living room. She kept it clean, her father, a drunk since her mother left, never really stayed long in the room.
An isolated whisper shatters the thickening fog in Thomas’s mind
Oh now you’ve done it. You know how this will be the end for her. Selfish, foolish boy.
This breaks Thomas out of his stupor, and he starts to shiver violently, he opens his swollen eyes to Abby coming back with a large mug of steaming tea, she smile when she sees him awake, but worry still shadows her soft face. She sits down gracefully, Thomas reaches his trembling hands for the tea but she shakes her head, “ do you want to spill it all over yourself?” The words are light but the voice carrying them is clouded. She bends forward and gently lets him take small sips of the warm liquid.
“Thomas, I… Why were you out there without a jacket on? You could have died!” she keeps her voice soft but insistent.
“B-b-becaus-s-se Abby, th-they w-we-were ch-chasing m-me” his teeth clack together between each word. “th-they w-were and n-now they they a-are h-h-here!” his stuttering voice raises to a panicked shout, she shushes him and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Sh-sh now, calm down” her voice breaks at seeing her best friend like this, “You don’t need to worry Thomas. you’re safe here, nothing can get you, I, I won’t let them” She holds back the tears that yearn to fall for him.
“N-no! they can’t be held back!” in his frantics he has stopped shivering, “They’ll get you, they’ll get me, they won’t stop until, until…” has voice fades and his hands move to his face, he starts to sob gently, “ No, no they won’t stop, not until they have what they want” He whimpers quietly and shakes his head.
Tears run freely down Abbigails face as she watches her closest friend fall apart in front of her, “Thomas” her voice fails her, “Thomas, its alright, calm down.”
There's a loud noise at the front door and Thomas flinches violently away from it, spilling the hot tea all over the two of them, his tear stained face jerks up to look in that direction, Abbigail turns, getting up as she does so. He shouts and grabs at her arm, she shakes him off and cautiously approaches the door, a light tapping from the other side can be heard, barely over the screaming wind.
Thomas stares horrified after her, his arms slightly reaching. “No don’t Abby its them they're here, don’t let them in.” His body starts to rock, accompanied by the returning shivers.
Abbigail steps lightly to the door and peers out the peephole, seeing nothing there she sighs, looks back at Thomas and opens the door. A monstrous gust of frozen wind forces itself through the threshold, throwing the door open wide for the tall shadow that stands there, its back stooped and its silhouette distorted somehow. She screams and falls back, her hands fly up to cover her face, the presence overwhelming her. Thomas shouts and curls into himself, completely useless in the face of his horror, he starts to mumble frantically to himself, his eyes never leaving the thing.
It soundlessly steps into the house, the wind seems to quiet as it speaks,
See what you’ve done Thomas? See what you’ve made us do?
Abbigal cowers on the floor and the shadow seems to peer down at her, contemplating, or remorsing in a way. It slowly stoups down and lifts her easily onto its unintelligible hand. Thomas shrieks as she struggles against the iron grip , and stands up, the thing whips its gaze to him, where its face should be lies an abyss, even darker than the void that is its body. He feels a chilling promise if death crawl up his spine, digging with its barbed claws into his flesh.
The thing tightens his grip on Abbigail, she gasps painfully as its fingers dig into her soft stomach. Thomas takes a shaking step towards it and it opens its mouth, bright burning light pours from the things maw, he can make out teeth, sharp teeth made for dismembering. Abbigail screams, and it matches her, howling impossibly loud and angry, undertones of sadness to its many voices.
Thomas falls the the carpet, his fingers digging at his hair and ears, he scrunches up on himself trying to drown out the awful noise, the wail tapers off and he looks back up, to see the monster sinks its jagged teeth into her neck, she whimpers and pushes weakly against its head. He hears the ripping of flesh as it starts to thrash its head about, Abby hangs limply from its jaws, thick blood bubbling out onto her back. Thomas can’t rip his eyes away from this nightmare unfolding, his tears stream, unheeded down his pale face. The monster looks at him and seems to grin, before shaking her one more time, the remaining flesh about her neck rips and her head thumps to the ground,ean expression of pure terror and agony frozen on her blood spattered face.
Thomas’s horrified shriek is blasted away as a tree crashes through the front of the house, crushing down in the monster as it stares at Thomas. The house crumbles inward, like a child's building blocks at the end of play time, burying the monster, and Abby, sweet Abby, who never did anything wrong. The wind howls in with the rubble, Thomas holds his head in his hands, his whimpers puff out his mouth in weak clouds, that are whisked away. He doesn’t move as he feels the ice of death bloom across his body, his gasps of breath come slower and less frequent, until the last shuddering inhale, followed by a shaky exhale that carries no weight behind it.
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The storm tore the whole town of Springdale apart that night, ravaged it and left it for dead. Thomas and Abbigail weren't found for days, and when they where, no one thought anything of it, only a cave in that caught two people unaware.