Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...
Into That Good Night
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(Dylan Thomas)
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Chapter Three: Frail Deeds
As a child, like most, I was inexplicably terrified of the Monsters and Ghouls that I believed hid under my bed or in my closet, only to pounce on me in the night. And it was that same irrational, childlike fear that clutched at my heart as I turned over to confront my intruder.
Unsurprisingly, as these things often are, there was no one there. Sighing in relief at my own paranoia, I leaned over and switched on my bedside lamp. Immediately the shadows that had cast eerie pictures on my walls dissipated into nothing and I found myself laughing humourlessly at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.
Running a still shaking hand through my hair, I kicked off the covers and donned my dressing gown before heading to the kitchen for some much needed water.
I knew from the moment I had turned on the light that there was no one in the room except me, but I still felt incredibly unsettled as I realised the strange smell that had alerted me to a masculine presence, had lingered.
Despite knowing that I was safe in my own home, and, in the harsh light that now illuminated my room, finding the entire situation completely ridiculous, I nonetheless took a moment to check the catch on my bedroom window before making my way down the hall and into the kitchen.
Owing to the unsettling evening I'd had so far, I found myself flicking on light switches as I walked through the house, eliciting comfort from their warm glow, checking each and every room for any signs of unwelcome visitors before finally reaching my destination.
In the hall, Schroedinger mewed at me in greeting and I took a comforting moment to reach down and stroke his warm fur before following him into the kitchen where he regarded me impassively for a moment before high tailing it through his cat flap and into the night.
Smiling, I searched for the light switch and pressed the button, but the bulb merely flickered and died. Cursing myself for forgetting to buy more, I reached blindly into the kitchen drawer and produced a torch. Using this and the dim light from the bulb in the hall outside to see, I reached into another cupboard and pulled out a glass. I placed the torch on the breakfast bar, facing the sink and turned on the cold water, letting it run freely for a moment before filling my glass.
Despite having my heating on full, the chill in the night air combined with my now easing paranoia caused me to shiver involuntarily. My night-clothes consisted of nothing more than a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms and an old military issue tank top that bought back fond memories of an early interlude with the Colonel. Ridiculously enough, this reason alone had persuaded me to keep it despite the fact that due to overuse, it was now little more than a rag and therefore not fit to be worn outside of my home.
The rain was beating harder on the windows now, and I put my glass down for a moment in order to pull my cotton dressing gown tighter around my goose-bumped flesh.
Images of Colonel O'Neill's face bought some desperately needed comfort to my mind, and I smiled wistfully as I turned off the faucet and took a long drink of water.
And here's where I made my biggest mistake of the night.
I closed my eyes, savouring the feel of the cool aqua sliding down my parched throat. I should have kept them open, remained alert to the sounds around me, but believe me when I say my actions were involuntary.
As my eyelids flickered closed and I smiled in satisfaction against the glass at my lips, someone grabbed me from behind.
The glass slid from my grasp and shattered on the floor as a hand clamped hard over my mouth and a voice hissed "Don't make a sound."
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Getting irritated yet? All will be revealed in the next chapter...that is if you want a next chapter...
Into That Good Night
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(Dylan Thomas)
---------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Three: Frail Deeds
As a child, like most, I was inexplicably terrified of the Monsters and Ghouls that I believed hid under my bed or in my closet, only to pounce on me in the night. And it was that same irrational, childlike fear that clutched at my heart as I turned over to confront my intruder.
Unsurprisingly, as these things often are, there was no one there. Sighing in relief at my own paranoia, I leaned over and switched on my bedside lamp. Immediately the shadows that had cast eerie pictures on my walls dissipated into nothing and I found myself laughing humourlessly at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.
Running a still shaking hand through my hair, I kicked off the covers and donned my dressing gown before heading to the kitchen for some much needed water.
I knew from the moment I had turned on the light that there was no one in the room except me, but I still felt incredibly unsettled as I realised the strange smell that had alerted me to a masculine presence, had lingered.
Despite knowing that I was safe in my own home, and, in the harsh light that now illuminated my room, finding the entire situation completely ridiculous, I nonetheless took a moment to check the catch on my bedroom window before making my way down the hall and into the kitchen.
Owing to the unsettling evening I'd had so far, I found myself flicking on light switches as I walked through the house, eliciting comfort from their warm glow, checking each and every room for any signs of unwelcome visitors before finally reaching my destination.
In the hall, Schroedinger mewed at me in greeting and I took a comforting moment to reach down and stroke his warm fur before following him into the kitchen where he regarded me impassively for a moment before high tailing it through his cat flap and into the night.
Smiling, I searched for the light switch and pressed the button, but the bulb merely flickered and died. Cursing myself for forgetting to buy more, I reached blindly into the kitchen drawer and produced a torch. Using this and the dim light from the bulb in the hall outside to see, I reached into another cupboard and pulled out a glass. I placed the torch on the breakfast bar, facing the sink and turned on the cold water, letting it run freely for a moment before filling my glass.
Despite having my heating on full, the chill in the night air combined with my now easing paranoia caused me to shiver involuntarily. My night-clothes consisted of nothing more than a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms and an old military issue tank top that bought back fond memories of an early interlude with the Colonel. Ridiculously enough, this reason alone had persuaded me to keep it despite the fact that due to overuse, it was now little more than a rag and therefore not fit to be worn outside of my home.
The rain was beating harder on the windows now, and I put my glass down for a moment in order to pull my cotton dressing gown tighter around my goose-bumped flesh.
Images of Colonel O'Neill's face bought some desperately needed comfort to my mind, and I smiled wistfully as I turned off the faucet and took a long drink of water.
And here's where I made my biggest mistake of the night.
I closed my eyes, savouring the feel of the cool aqua sliding down my parched throat. I should have kept them open, remained alert to the sounds around me, but believe me when I say my actions were involuntary.
As my eyelids flickered closed and I smiled in satisfaction against the glass at my lips, someone grabbed me from behind.
The glass slid from my grasp and shattered on the floor as a hand clamped hard over my mouth and a voice hissed "Don't make a sound."
-------------------------------------------------------
Getting irritated yet? All will be revealed in the next chapter...that is if you want a next chapter...