Fr. Nicholas sat frozen, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a vice-like intensity, as he grappled with the eerie radio broadcast. His gut instinct screamed at him to turn back and flee from the ominous message, but his rational mind countered that it was probably just a malfunctioning radio, and there was no reason to be afraid. Torn between these two conflicting impulses, he remained paralyzed for what felt like an eternity, before finally summoning the courage to make a decision. With a deep breath, Fr. Nicholas steeled his nerves and continued driving, determined to reach his destination despite the unsettling occurrence.
As he drove, he tried to shake off the lingering sense of unease, but a nagging voice in the back of his head persisted, whispering, "We are coming for him."
…
The sun shone brightly in the sky, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The air was cool and refreshing, carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, sending a soothing melody through the air, as the birds sang their sweet songs, creating a symphony of peace and tranquility. It was a day that seemed to stretch on forever, filled with endless possibilities.
In the dining room, Jeanette and Steve sat at the table, hands clasped. Jeanette's face pale with fear. The house was eerily silent, and Steve had already briefed her about Simon's chilling encounter with the ghost driver. Whatever it was, they had a strong hunch about what and where the problem was coming from. Jeanette was clearly worried and unable to hide her emotions. The atmosphere was tense and filled with concern.
Upstairs, their son, Simon sat in his room, trying to prepare himself for what was to come - his worried mother's face. She wouldn't be calm about letting him go out with such a heavy injury. He had just been through something terrible and was still reeling from the experience. His friend Jessica, who had been with him, would be very worried, and he was determined to go visit her despite his injury.
As Jeanette and Steve sat in the dining room, the oppressive silence was shattered by a loud thud from outside. They exchanged a terrified glance, their hearts racing in unison. They knew what it was, but they couldn't bear to acknowledge it. Twelve years had passed since they last heard that ominous sound.
"What do we do?" Jeanette whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
Steve took a deep breath and rose from his seat. "We have to investigate," he said, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.
Simon, alerted by the commotion downstairs, crept to his bedroom door and peered out into the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest as he recognized the familiar yet dreaded sound. He had to know what was happening. With bated breath, he tiptoed down the hallway, his senses heightened with every step.
As he reached the middle of the stairs, a chilling noise from below made him freeze in terror. "Oh God," he whispered to himself, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. "What's happening?"
He continued down the stairs, each step feeling like an eternity, as if time itself was slowing down. When he reached the bottom, a sight that made his blood run cold greeted him. In the living room, a towering dark figure loomed in the shadows by the window, its back turned to him, its tattered cloak billowing ominously in the wind.
The figure loomed before him, its tall, gaunt frame imposing and unsettling. Its skin was deathly pale, with a waxy texture that seemed almost cadaverous. A wild shock of dark hair crowned its head, and a long, flowing black cloak billowed behind it like a dark cloud. The fabric was as black as the night sky, absorbing all light around it and leaving a void where it stood. The figure faced the window, its reflection staring back from the glass like a dark specter. Its eyes were wide and unblinking, fixed intently on the night outside.
Simon took a step back, his heart racing in his chest. "Who... who are you?" he stammered, his voice barely audible.
The figure remained motionless, its gaze still fixed on the night. Then, slowly, it turned its head, and Simon saw its face for the first time. He gasped in horror, his breath catching in his throat.
The face was a ghastly visage of a four-horned skeleton, its flesh long since rotted away, leaving only yellowed, jagged teeth and empty eye sockets that seemed to bore into Simon's soul. Yet, despite the absence of eyes, the figure appeared to be staring directly at him with an unblinking gaze. Its eyes were like two smoldering embers, empty voids that burned with a malevolent intensity.
"What do you want?" Simon whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart.
The figure raised a bony hand, its finger pointing accusingly at Simon. In a voice that sounded like the scraping of rusted metal, it spoke in a low, raspy tone, "You... you will obey me."
Simon's instincts screamed at him to flee, but his feet felt heavy, rooted to the spot. He was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or escape. The figure took a step closer, its bones creaking ominously as it moved. A dark, malignant aura trailed behind it, filling the air with an oppressive sense of dread. The being exuded pure evil, its presence making the air feel thick and suffocating.
"You will obey me," the figure repeated, its voice dripping with malice. "Or else." Simon's lips parted to respond, but his voice caught in his throat. He stood petrified, unable to move or speak, as the figure loomed closer, its dark presence suffocating him. Just as it was about to reach out and claim him, a blinding flash of light illuminated the room, accompanied by a deafening boom that shook the air. Everything went black.
When Simon's eyes fluttered open, he found himself lying on his bedroom floor, his heart still racing from the terror. But as he sat up and looked around, the fear began to dissipate. The room was just as it had been before - the window open, a gentle breeze rustling the curtains, and sunlight streaming in. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and realized it had all been a dream. A vivid, horrifying experience, but just a dream nonetheless. Or so he told himself.
But amidst the relief, he felt an eerie calm wash over him. Then, a faint scratching sound echoed from the window, giving him a rush of adrenaline. He turned to see a single black feather drift lazily down from the open window and land softly beside him. His calm facade cracked. Had it been just a dream, or was reality blurring into nightmare?
He rose to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. And then, a low, raspy cawing echoed from outside, sending a thrill through his body. Fear crept up his neck. The fear of the dream replaying, making the hairs stand on end. With a deep breath, he approached the window, his hands shaking.
Slowly, he peered out. A crow perched on the windowsill, its black eyes fixed intently on him. As their gazes locked, the crow's beak opened, the crow's tongue slithered out, thin and slick, like a dark, wet blade. It flicked in and out, twitching unnervingly, its blackened tip sharp and glistening, as though tasting the air for secrets long buried. In the dim light, it seemed almost dead, pulsing with a life of its own, a sinister serpent trapped in the bird's beak, hungry for something unseen.
Then, it unleashed a blood-curdling shriek that sent Simon's blood running cold. The crow cocked its head, studying him with an unblinking gaze, before vanishing into the sky with a sudden flutter of its wings.
Simon recoiled in shock, his mind reeling from the sudden, inexplicable event. He pinched himself hard, desperate to confirm he wasn't trapped in another dream. Rubbing his eyes fiercely with his palms, he struggled to process the reality of what had just occurred. The scene was etched in his mind like a stark, unsettling photograph. He was wide awake, and this was no dream.
Bolted downstairs, he burst into the kitchen, eager to share his extraordinary encounter with his family. But instead, he found his mother in a state of distress, her face etched with worry and fear. The air was thick with tension, and Simon's heart sank. What could be the cause of this palpable dread that gripped his family?
Jeanette's face, a picture of distress, betrayed her attempt to compose herself as she caught sight of Simon. Her emotions had already been laid bare, and it was too late to hide them. Simon's eyes widened as he approached the dining hall, his footsteps slow and cautious, as if sensing the heavy atmosphere. Steve, however, maintained a facade of calm, his grip on Jeanette's hands a subtle hint at the turmoil beneath.
"Mum..." Simon's voice trembled, his concern for her eclipsing his own fears. He turned to his father, his eyes demanding answers to the unspoken questions. Why was his mother so distraught? What had happened to cause such anguish? He pulled out a chair and sat beside her, his presence a silent plea for reassurance. The silence that followed was oppressive, yet somehow, it felt like a moment of stillness before the storm.
"What's wrong?" Simon's concern for his mother was palpable.
Jeanette knew she couldn't shield him from the truth; lying would only fuel his worry and prompt more probing questions. She cleared her throat, locked eyes with her husband, and gently withdrew her hands from his grasp. Settling into a composed posture, she faced Simon.
"Your father told me about the ghost driver..." She glanced at Steve, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It must have been terrifying. I'm consumed by worry and fear." Her voice trembled, betraying her emotions.
"I'm relieved you're safe... but I have to ask, have you experienced any strange sensations or occurrences?" Her eyes pleaded for reassurance, but her tone hinted at a deeper unease.
"Aside from the ghost driver, I mean. Was it the first time something like this has happened?" She clung to the hope that Simon would alleviate her fears, but deep down, she dreaded a confirmation of her worst suspicions.
Simon's gaze darted between his parents, his mind racing with the weight of his response. He knew his answer would dictate the tension in the room. If he revealed the truth - that he had indeed experienced strange occurrences - his mother's worry would intensify, causing him immense discomfort. Yet, lying wasn't an option; his conscience wouldn't allow it. The memory of two unsettling dreams and a near-death experience, which his family had attributed to the bear incident, still lingered. Those dreams were a far cry from his usual joyful reveries, leaving him with an eerie sense of foreboding. Now, with this new development, he knew seeking help was imperative.
With a soft, barely audible whisper, he spoke the truth: "Yes." His silver eyes, filled with apology, locked onto his mother's, conveying the gravity of his situation.