Managed to Clear My Head...er

Sorry this isn't fantastically exciting, but my new post is really above (a brand-spankin'-new blog header and, to a lesser extent, my blog background and such). Yippity-doo-dah...


I'll try to post something soon--"something" being the keyword, mind.


Here's something else to occupy you in the meantime:

Um, you're welcome?

Write or Wrong--You Tell Me.

Below is a fictional short story I've been working on since last fall or so. In case it's not your thing or your not in the mood, this isn't a happy story. It's fairly dark and eerie. I would love to have anyone that's (still) interested read it and tell me what they think. Any constructive criticism is quite welcome. The title's still not set in stone. Also, if at all possible, please try to be specific with exactly what you didn't like or (hopefully) liked (e.g. what worked or didn't work in the story why or why not). I can't wait to improve this and submit it to a literary magazine of some sort. Also, I promise I know quite well how to indent and when to. This word processing program on blogger doesn't seem to allow it. Finally, if you'd rather read it later or on/in a different format, I'd be more than happy to e-mail the story to you instead because this blogger is doing a wonderful job of not spacing out the dialogue and paragraphs as well.

Thank you in advance for taking the time to read this and critique/comment on it!

Fear Conversed

A young girl encased in a lime green bathrobe nestled against a couch's corner, her feet and body wrapped in folds of a sixteen-year old 101 Dalmatians comforter. The once vibrant red now pinkish orange material constricted further as her right hand slid down determinedly and secured a loose corner under her right foot. She yawned. Her exposed teeth gleamed dully from a late night TV show's ghostly grey light. The leather coach squeaked, groaned as her form sank further, further into depths of deliciously warm fabric.

A commercial selling greasy, slowly-rotating pizzas began. Her fingers and chin bobbed absently to the muted jingle about "2 pizzas for 10 bucks" while fists of 10 dollar bills and grinning families in well-furnished kitchens with immaculate dinners flashed across the small square screen. Another followed featuring a natural male-enhancement pill. Her lips and brows wrinkled downward over the ridiculous, distasteful innuendo.

Her sluggish, undecided thumb surrendered of locating a watchable program and switched off the jumbled images with a silent click. Black exhaustion lowered her into arms of waiting dreams. Her mouth became lax, a black void drawing air in…out…in…out…
A tall shadow crept through her closed eyes. A worn sole shuffled over laminate wood.

Charlie? She wondered with petrified hope. No ten year-old dog's paws made that noise but a large person, casually, the presence silent and thick as fog.

Her chest kept her frantic heart from escaping. Her breathing cut off. She refused to see.
Nothing was there. Nothing was there. Nothing was there. Nothing was th—! A whispering of smooth, light fabric brushed leisurely back-and-forth, like solidifying vapor. Closer…closer…closer…closer…closer…

The floor she cowered by creaked deliberately. She felt the presence of something, felt the air in front of her occupied. Someone was standing there. Watching her. Waiting.
"Dad? Mom?" she jerkily cracked. Why weren't they saying anything? This wasn't her parents. She knew their footsteps: a heavy shuffle or quiet, dry sweep of heels. This was another’s.

Her mind shrieked at her legs, Run! Get away! The waterless mouth struggled to function. What could she do? Her arms clenched each other. She wrenched open her quivering eyelids. A thin silhouette waited.

Knowing, quiet omnipotence.

"Hello, Elenore." A fluttering, soft noise.

The blanket and feet yanked back from the sound. The remote control, laid to rest for the night, catapulted off the armrest into thick ebony silence. Her mouth gaped.
A desiccated chuckle.

"Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help." Her whispered words lost in juddered breaths.

A smooth voice. "No need to fear. I won’t kill you tonight."

She shrunk from the response. Her chest squeezed air into frozen lungs and heart.
"Wh—what—who are you!?"

"I couldn't tell you, really. I'm fashioned from fear," a deliberate, heavy hesitation, "yours, actually. I’m unattached to any bonds of existence, yet your imagination and fear insist I…linger." The girl's pupils contracted. Her eyelids drew back, disbelieving.

"I'm awake so how can I see you?"

"Oh, I'm not a nightmare." A hint of jeering loftiness.

The floating voice paralyzed the girl. Each word cut, slowly, deeply, carefully into her skin, seeping, searing into her bones. Blood slogged icily through veins and heart.

"Get away from me!" "Help!" she wailed. The shadow laughed. Quiet, bemused.

"You arranged this to be private."

"…what?"

Each word drew, languidly from encircling darkness: a water-laden rope dragging up from fathomless depths. "No one can hear us. No one can see us.”

“Why are you here? What do you want!?”

“Now that’s a good, sensible response from you for a change.” Mocking incredulousness.

“Shut u—” Slender fingers slid quietly around her throat.

He whispered liltingly, his hand harshly directing her to his voice, caressing her ear’s ridge with one fingertip. A weak moan bled through her lips. “Should I break my promise? The one I made just for you, Elenore? Do you want me to kill you—right now? When I could give you more time to live, to ponder, wonder just what night I’ll return to unravel your mind and destroy you?” Her body quaked as fear held her. A trapped whimper longed to escape her.

“S-sorry—! Ple-ase …” The fingers allowed only so much air for her plea.

And then fear released the girl. Her body took over next as it convulsed with frenzied twitches. Perspiration coated her trembling flesh like liquid sequins. She inhaled slowly, fearing to do so too audibly for its ears--if it had any.

“Don’t be frightened, my sweet, precious Elenore…breath all you want tonight. Enjoy the sweet, fresh air surrounding you.”

“Ar-are you human?” The question had lingered on her lips from the beginning of the meeting.

A laugh. Humorless, dark. “Of course not. Most humans have eyes, I gathered.”

The young girl couldn’t stopper the sickened curiosity teeming within her, “How can you see? The last word a noiseless hiss.

“I don’t need eyes to see my prey, Elenore. Most humans produce an extraordinarily tangible representation of fear. Though I can't see others’ or your fear always, only when my prey gives in to thoughts and hallucinations.” She saw the shadow smirk though she could not see him. His voice was thoughtful, polite. “I've been watching you,” every one of her cells quivered, “I should say your fear, for quite some time. Sometimes I lost track of yours amidst the ever-growing forest of mindless victims, but as of late, it's grown stronger and clearer for me to watch and study.”

The young girl could feel boundless euphoria and a ringing note of reverence swell forth from the shadow with the next words: “How fortunate and rare you truly are to be selected by me." She recoiled, clutching at cushions, blanket, moisture between her fingers.

She feared the response before the question entered her thoughts, "What do I…What's my fear look like?"

"An odd, unwise notion to pursue. However, if you insist. A peculiar, rather delicious image.” He was surveying a great, succulent feast with those words. The higher tone and tempo ripped at her. She clung to the withered edges of the quaking blanket, furling the material around her.
“Fully-ripened fear always looks a deep, dark, old shadow.” He spoke slowly now. Ancient and far away.

“As fear matures and prey weakens, I always step closer to examine, being, of course, understandably incapable of disregarding my maturing curiosity and craving. As I come nearer, I look beneath, past what all other humans see and project. You. I see a crumpled, grey girl child. Scarcely does she raise her head or eyes. Whimpering, whining, weeping always. Her eyes always staring, never closing, never calm. Eyes so hallow, so broken, like an expired light bulb."

"You’re lying." She barely whispered.

"False hope, ludicrous hope usually springs up.” She imagined him waving a hand airily as his tone while he smiled ruefully and shook his head in jest. Then his voice was bubbling acid, “But soon enough I'll ruin it.” Just as abruptly, his voice became as quiet and assuring as each careful step of a feline. “My selections sometimes manage to hold onto a little bit of light that I can distinguish—like you. Each loses this dim glimmer though. Once I find them, I lead each to fade to darkness, utterly absorbed, lost in fear. He paused, breathing measured, peaceful breathes. His words smoothed out and became eager, exultant. “How I look forward to guiding you there soon, Elenore. Watching the little grey figure grow limper, darker. Watching those once shivering fists and arms lie silent, still, welcoming. Seeing—"

"No!"

Elenore sunk back, terrified and spent. A long, sinister gap of sound hovered and fell upon both. All she could muster was a dry, involuntary swallowing inside her throat. Still, he did not speak. Finally, a faint snigger, to mostly himself.

"My most sincere apologies, dear sweet Elenore.” Polite. Then, a rapid crescendo of obsession mixed with palpable resonances of jubilation. “I'm getting far too ahead of the agenda, so to speak. There's plenty time left yet to savor those happy moments.” He stopped, smiling wistfully to himself, she imagined. The voice became solemn and longing. “Yes. Those long, delightful moments." He sighed true bliss.

“Well then, until next time, my most extraordinarily fortunate friend." She heard a cold, pleased smile in his farewell as she sunk into the cushions from her body’s weight, limp and cold, unaware another slighter hand also rested upon her still, grey countenance.