The Nightwalker #3

You know why I keep letting Jack Frost hang around? Because he doesn’t talk.  In the 250 years I’ve known him. He’s never said a word to me. Don’t get me wrong. He digs those cheesy 80 anthems. 

I just want to reach out and touch you 

You make my fire come alive 

All I need is to be near you 

You get the picture, right? 

These things always start blaring through the air just as he comes strutting down the street 

Or popping up beside me 

Or my cigarettes freeze. 

Tonight was no different.

He was sitting in the window. His white hair covering his eyes. 

He handed me a cigarette this time. Without freezing it. And a drink. 

“I’ve been here before Jack.”

He looked out at the street. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s shaken. I’m a scientist. I’ll just fix him.”

Jack laughed and hopped down flashing over a bench.

“I’m an immortal scientist. I’m still part human. At least in  form. I have tendencies. I’ll talk to him.”

Who was I kidding, I went back inside. Opened my books and settled down in the darkness. All I could do was wait. 

3am Full Dark

Midnight is considered the beginning of night. But everyone knows 3am is full dark. It’s when all of your night terrors hit. Your demons come out to play. 

My subject was asleep. All you could hear was the clocks in the room. The light in the bathroom flickered before dying. The room was quiet. I closed my book. Looking over the room slowly.  I could hear Clayton’s heart beat…thump thump thump the air  went cold like a freezer. This was different than when Jack comes around. For one, everything was layered in darkness. This was different, like a living darkness. For another, Clayton’s heart beat started hyping. Faster and faster. He was in terror. 

I looked over at Clayton. I could hear him trying to talk. His hands shaking. He was staring into the ceiling. 

“Nooo! Go away! Stop it!” 

He sat up in the bed rubbing his face. 

I walked towards him. 

“Clayton. Do you know what just happened? Can you tell me what you saw?”

“I thought you were supposed to see those things for yourself?” He said while fixing the covers around him. 

“I tried, I couldn’t read anything in the room. It’s just a regular night. Which suggests this is just your insomnia again. ”

Clayton looked at me. “No. this is r  r real. Something was here. In the room. I saw it and felt it. It was dark, and absolute fear. I could smell it. Like sulfur. It was standing beside my bed. Just tall and dark. It kept saying ‘Harvest’.” 

I looked around. “Harvest?”

“Harvest. Why?” 

“I don’t know. This feels familiar.” 

I walked out into the hall. The words ‘Harvest.’ Were  carved into the mirror on the wall.

This was getting weird.

The Nightwalker #2

Maybe we’re not all made of magic. Not really. We just fade from one world to the next. Always on the fence. That’s what sleep is, death,without commitment. 
I  watch and wait, and when a child has fits of night terrors. I am there. To explain what and why, sometimes if they are young, I simply remove them. Like popping bubbles. Or turning off apps left running. 

Most of the time I am mistaken for a dream, staying  in the dark, my scarves and dark clothes…a drink or a book in hand. This is very very solitary work. 

Most of the time I never even have to return either. 

With the exception of one. 

I helped one child. A boy. Stayed with him for weeks. His case was hard to crack. Nothing added up. The child would wake up in fits of terror.  Hearing chains and smelling fire. 

Finally. Believing the boy was well. I moved on. 

Fast forward 6 winters. 

On this night. Under a full moon. Away in a college dorm. I drop my cigarette. Walking from the corner of the room. Recognise the face. 

“I know you. I’ve visited you before.”  

I walk towards him. 

He’s shaking 

I know this one. 

I know this one 

The Nightwalker 

Listen. I’m going to tell you a story. But you have to promise to listen. Otherwise, it’s all pointless and I’ve wasted your time. I don’t like to waste time. If you pay attention, I promise it’s going to be fun. 

I’m a Nightwalker. The last I suppose. I don’t really see anyone else. My name is Jack. Like Frost, but I deal with dreams. Not weather. I do see Frost from time to time. He’s always tampering with my cigarettes. 

When children sleep, they have night terrors. I don’t steal these, I simply find out why they are having them. And close those windows. 

Like apps left running in a phone. Sleep has layers. Once they understand this? Most of the time they are not afraid anymore. 

Why does John remember what he dreamed last night? Because he didn’t hit that deep sleep. Why did it feel real? Because his body and nerves were picking up his surroundings and mistaking images for interactions, again…not a  restorative   sleep. 

This is what I do. 

Did you pay attention? 



The only question left…

Do you want to have fun?

Halloween Writing Contest 

Halloween Writing Contest I was invited to participate in this Halloween Writing Contest by StephJ you can to. Just follow the link and all the rules are there. It’s going to be fun. If you were a part of her Fall blog party you know what I’m talking about. Make sure to give her a follow while you’re there. 
It was one of those nights on cemetery lane that made you feel electric with energy and somber with thought all at the same time. The air was crisp, dead leaves scattered as they ran underfoot and glided overhead, filling the night with noise. The moon was full and luminous casting an eerie light on the scene below. Halloween was in full swing, the streets were abuzz with hooded figures and lively children enjoying their annual candy hunt.

Hidden from the action at the end of the long lane of perfectly decorated houses stood the towering and dark-windowed number 13 cemetery lane. Behind it, the forest stood lightless and desolate, a depressing shadow on a lively scene. It was in this very house at this very moment that 

something old was waking up. 

Just as little Angela Lynch was stopping at the last decorated house. She was noticing this one…Angela wasn’t afraid. She was just curious. What kind of candy would be in  this house? She thought. 

She walked up the path to the steps of the house. The leaves  clearing in front of her.  She still wasn’t afraid. She knocked on the door. The one light at the back of the house, flashed back into darkness. 

She frowned. Raised her fist and knocked again. 

The door rattled and cracked and slowly moved open into the darkness. 

“Hello?” She asked. Still unafraid. Setting her candy basket down. She stepped into the house. The emptiness filled the stale air. She set her flashlight by the door. Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Adults were always bringing things to change the rooms they entered. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to learn something from this room. She wanted to adapt. To understand it’s emptiness. 

There was a staircase. A bookshelf. And a room…open…with a high backed leather chair…and a desk. With paper and ink…someone had been writing. 

“Aren’t you afraid,child?”  

The rough whisper came from the stairs. 

“I’m not afraid of anything ” Angela said firmly.

“And why not?” It asked. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She said confidently. 

“And are you so sure?” 

The shadow extended an arm towards her. The front door slamming shut behind her.  

Angela felt cold. She closed her fists and pinched her leg. “Yes. I’m always sure. My name is Angela. Angela Lynch. What’s your name? Are you a monster? Or a demon? Or a person?”

“You wouldn’t be able to say my name.” The shadow breathed heavily. Slowly moving down the steps to the floor with Angela. Which changed everything. Because some dark things are much easier to accept while  they are across a room or far away. But when they are there with you. They consume so much more .  “I am none of those things. Just old. Very old. ” It said. Slowly coming into the light from the window. 

She was surprised. It was just a man. A tall man. But darkness hung around him. His skin almost transparent. He could see her surprise and moving to the window said “Every year the monsters come out to play. But I’ve lived long enough, 900 years, do you know what that’s like? To live a lifetime times nine? “

Angela looked around the room. The books piled along the walls a lifetime of reading lists.

He continued “it’s long enough to outlive all of the history. Watch your existence and memories turn into folklore and children’s stories. I had a beautiful bride. But they burned her. I was the most powerful warlock and she was the oldest vampire. 900 is long enough to watch men turn into the things they fear and hate. They became monsters and we became shadows.”

Angela sat with her legs crossed sifting through the books with 300 year old handwritten notes in the margins. Stuffed with letters folded as bookmarks. She looked around “why don’t you Ever go out? There are a lot of good things left.” She rubbed her nose fighting off the urge to sneeze. 

“I’ve lived long enough. I’ve seen all there is. And every Halloween, We would go out among the people and keep current. I think it’s more than I could take now.” 

The door opened. 

“You can leave if you wish.”

Angela looked around. All the books. “Do you have friends?” She asked. 

He looked surprised. “People come…the pizza man. And I’m really close to the Chinese delivery man. They have the best sesame chicken. It’s secret is …” 

” I mean real friends. People who spend time with you.” 

“No. I’m afraid…I don’t think I’m ready. This house is so big anyway. Half the time I’m afraid of it. I only stay in these rooms.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not afraid of anything.” Angela said standing up.

“We can’t.”

 “It’s Halloween no one will expect anything less than …your dark creepiness thing. Come on, we’re going out besides, you owe me candy. Have you ever had falafel? Don’t. It’s over rated. Now let me tell you about tacos.” 


The Party Guest

Someone had told him about witches once when he was a boy. But he had laughed. Those were just fairy tales. Not anything real.

This Halloween party was boring him to death. The boredom was palpable.

That’s when he saw her in the corner. Black heels, a tight fishnet  dress with sleeves fanning  out over her wrists. She had a drink in her hand. He liked the way she looked at him-the way she smiled just as she slipped out of the room  into the library. 

He followed her. 

Someone told him once about ghosts. But he didn’t believe in things like that. They weren’t real. They were just stories we tell.

There was a conversation once about sex, but he couldn’t remember it. A science experiment, rats being electrocuted on a treadmill but followed by an orgasm. They kept going until they died. He couldn’t remember the details. 

The library was empty. Her glass was on the floor. The door was open. He walked out into the darkness. Her shoes were cast off on the path. The cold darkness was something he couldn’t feel. She was just ahead of him. Slowly undressing leaving a new article of clothing on the path. 

His head was pounding…he was burning up. 

It seemed as though shadows ran past him. Screams in the trees. Pitched echoes and whispers beside him, followed by laughing. 

She was standing there in the middle of the path. Waiting.

She turned her back to him, giving him her neck, he smelled her hair. Just the slip of her dress left cast on the ground. She took his hands and pulled them around her. She was completely naked. And warm.

His hands were shaking as he touched her.

Everything was so heavy and blurred. 

All of the voices.

He touched her. 

All of the voices came together. Right there before him. From her.

The dead girl in his arms. Blood warm. Her dress torn from her, left hanging by fragments. Her feet bleeding from running barefoot. 

There was only darkness. Only cold. Only silence. 

Turning back to the house. A white shirt in plastic was hanging from a tree. He took it. Changing quickly as he walked. Followed by a suit jacket. 

Someone told him once about vampires. But he knew, they were just the dead. The real demons were the living. Hunting for sex, for power, seeing everything as an invitation. 

Last- a pair of shoes on the well. He slipped them on and dropped his dirty pair into the dark water. He stepped  back into the library. Picking up the drink from the floor, he closed the door. 

“Great party!” Someone said. 

He turned around, smiling and raised his glass. He nodded to his guests.

Flowers for December #2

Part two 

What am I doing here? I hate crowds I hate people. People are the worst. Crowding out everything suffocating the air out of the room. Living between panic and depression and just one text message or notification  from a heart attack.

It’s unfortunate that I chose journalism as my profession.

I move through the hallway of the hotel making my way past the staff and the staff infections. To the elevators.

Everyone has smiling faces. I notice as the doors close. A drink in one hand and a phone in the other. Pitching ideas. Checking updates. Laughing about today. Planning out tomorrow. 

They don’t know. 

I look beyond the faces to the back of the conference hall. The empty platform waiting. 

They really don’t know. 

Or maybe they just don’t care. 

I check my notes…

Room 669 

The light counting off the floors.

It’s coming …

It’s almost here. Just in case you thought I forgot about it…I’ve been working on it all year. 

I’m talking about Haunted October.  All month long I post short horror stories and poems. I like summer just as much as the next person. But I am passionate about October. 

I also want to add. 

I have updated my About Me page. 

I know I write dark things humorously sometimes. But I want you to know, I care deeply about Mental and Emotional health. 

If you are ever here and you laugh from something you’ve read. I count this a success. I want to write things so you can relax and escape. The real world doesn’t always have to apply. You can do anything with fiction. You can make your own rules. Your own endings. Batman doesn’t have to face Superman. What if he faces Wolverine instead? 

If you’re ever on here and you’re struggling with anxiety,depression,thoughts of self harm or helplessness, It’s ok. There’s a link in my About Me page. and it’s always  There . 

Also…as you know, I write about my good friend Simon. If you want to look into adopting shelter pets. There’s always a Link for that too in my About Me page. 

Thank you all for your support and for sticking with me for these few years. 

You. Are. Awesome. And beautiful people. 

Take care. 

I’ll be seeing you. 




Grandmother always closed the curtains when the moon was full. “The moon is awake.” She’d say with nervous hands. “It will talk to you all night.”  I would laugh as a child and ask her if it were true. And she would get serious with a stern face, “ will even sing if you listen real careful. The moon has power over the waters of the earth and the minds of man. When it’s full…men change …and if you let its light enter your home? It will have the power to manipulate you.” 

She believed this…so much so that while I was staying there one night Carol, our sister, got her period more heavily than usual. So of course it was the moon. 

“Don’t look at it through the mirror,Francis.” She’d say. “It can possess you. The mirror is the gateway to your soul.” 

Of course it was all nonsense. But it all became much worse with her after granddad died. And later shortly after. She died in her sleep. 

Which brought us here. 

Back home. To grandmas.For her funeral. 

I woke up in the middle of the night. To a faint sound coming from the mirror… 

The moonlight shining in through the window…

I walked over looking into it…

There was me..leaning in touching the mirror and the bed off to the side. The rocking chair behind me…the window…and the moon.

A black crow landed in the tree outside. 

And that’s when I saw it. 

The rocker started rocking in the mirror. But not in the room. And it remained empty. 

In the morning. I told Carol. She just shook her head… 

“Francis, you’re an idiot.”

This happened three nights in a row. Finally I stayed in bed. And listened for the rocker…

But I couldn’t hear it…only a tap tap tapping from the inside of the mirror. 

And someone walking upstairs… 

I grabbed the flashlight and ran to the attic…

It was cold 

But not like winter…

A different cold.

That’s when I saw it…

a human Skeleton chained 

To the bed by the window

Teeth bare 

With vampire fangs 
We were always told grandfather died by drowning…

Grandmother said he was shaving and the moon passed over the mirror.

The tapping grew louder on the mirror…

I walked downstairs 

The rocker started banging on the wall.. I leaned forward looking into the mirror And saw grandmother. 

Dressed in white…sitting in the rocker – grandfather beside her…and that’s when I saw it….I had no reflection. 

Pandora #5

She’s dead. She’s dead. That’s just great. Wait,does that mean I’m dead? Oh he- 

“No,Michael that doesn’t mean you’re dead. Yet.” 

“What do you mean by yet? ”

Rachael sat back.

“I mean you’re being stupid. Everything you write comes to life.Everything.” 

“Well,I’ll just leave then.”

There was a shadow approaching their table …”Oh no. You couldn’t possibly do that. I love your work too much. You must finish it.”

The old woman was back. And she wasn’t letting up this time. Rachael just watched her. With fear in her eyes. 

Michael noted it. And brushed off the subject. 

“Hey let’s go read your book,huh.”
When they got to the library 

He grabbed Rachael’s arm. 

“What the hell is going on?”

“Listen. Every book in this library was written by a tenant. Someone who is now trapped here.They all died terrible deaths. They all built this place with their work. Hotels. Weather patterns. Murders. I was part of that. My death was written…I drowned in the bath on my honeymoon…while working on a summer in yellow…now you know.”

Michael felt sick….

“What do you mean? We can’t leave?”

“That’s right.”

“No…there’s got to be a way…maybe someone wrote a way…maybe there’s a loophole. A pattern or path.” 

“You could burn the library…”

“Yeah.It is what is holding the records. If there’s no records here’s no chains. We could leave .”

“But I may be dead for good…” Rachael said dryly.

“The library is all that’s keeping me here. But it’s also what brought me here.”

 I can’t do it 

“Yes you can have to…other  wise – we all die. Because we become forgotten. You have to remember us.”
She lit a book and set it on the shelf…the fire spreading …

“Now go you idiot…”