The Nightwalker #5

The Reaper is ancient. Lost in lore and bedtime stories. But in his time, he was terror. 

Carrying night with him like a plague. He would torture a home for months before dragging a soul to hell. 

After the Nightwalkers of that time captured him, they separated the days in honor of the lost souls.

Now we have night and day. 

Somehow he has returned 

Image origin
We pulled old magic from these tales.

” Apparently if you anoint a mirror when he appears before a person. Catching his reflection with the light of a full moon, shattering the mirror will trap him inside its pieces for eternity. ”  Clayton was reading aloud to us. 

“Sounds like a plan. We only have a couple of hours. Let’s get a mirror.  

He didn’t appear like I thought he would. He was just there suddenly. 

Choking Clayton. Voices filling the room with chattering. Cabinets slamming in the kitchen. The voices of someone crying in the bathroom. It was absolute cold terror. 

I opened the window to let the moonlight in. It struck the mirror. He saw his reflection and I struck the back of the mirror. It slowly shattered, pieces falling to  the floor. 

Shining at first, and then blackening like they had been through fire. 

The Reaper had disappeared 

Falling into the floor in pieces after the mirror. 

The room lightened. 

Clayton looked over to me. 

“Gee, I don’t want to go through that again. ” he said.

“Me either.” I shook my head. 

Maybe there was something more to sleep than I thought after all. In any case. I wasn’t quite sure what I would tell people now.

End

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