Have you ever known the feeling of being lost in the wilderness in the dead of night? This short story is all about that heart-pumping feeling of terror and panic. Originally written on the 5th July 2016.
“Through the Night“
Long past midnight we trekked the country paths, timidly traversing the moonlit lands bathed in the phantasmal glow of a haunting moon, watching silently aloft from its throne of mists. Our footsteps whispered, accompanied by the sinister screams of malignant breezes which contorted the echoes of our inner fears. Whispering and wailing in turns through gnarled bones, those warped femurs of blackened night sentinels. These stern guardians of the ghostlands, the lonely and mocking trees of the shire.
You and I, we’ve crossed this realm of spectral sights for many a mile, with many more to go, on our way to the distant embrace of a warm amber glow, hiding somewhere out there in the swallowing mire of midnight obsidian. Beyond this veil of cold unease and tension, the benevolent light awaits our arrival.
Crunching, whipping, howling resonance urges us forward, surging at our backs like a racing stygian tide, ever pushing onwards through stony undergrowth and dense thickets. Alas, we’ve lost our way in this unforgiving night, exposed and fleeing through solemn fields, leaping bounds over gnashing burns. Directionless, we’ve lost our path. Even our lunar lantern shuns and hides away, cowering behind its billowing shrouds. To stop now is to throw ourselves down, offering up our souls to the mysterious haunters of the night.
So we run.
We gallop and we bound, dragging our aching bones across endless avenues of unknown skeletal formations, and down black corridors of groaning, creeping horror. Lost to the vastness of fear, we drown in nightmare adrenaline. The consuming panic sending us cascading like frigid falls of peat-stained water, headlong and wild into obscurity. We cling to hope like a choking candle. We dare not speak and dare not turn. We simply hope for swift reprieve.
Let it appear to us, let it tear this darkness apart and drench us in its warmth. Let these grasping arms of dead things lurch and retreat. Let them feel our fear. And let the screaming winds that command them scream no longer. Let the amber beacon emerge out of this atramentous dread. Hear our pleas, listen to our thundering hearts and bathe us pitiful lost souls in your beckoning light.