Dread. Pure black terror that streaks through the mind like some evil blood that flows through the veins of our souls with a chill that the fires of hell can’t seem to warm.

To lie in bed in the middle of the night, wide awake with eyes trying to pierce that never ending blackness that has enveloped the place you seemed to know so well when you had shut off the light not two hours before. The bedroom is different now. The shapes in the darkness aren’t the familiar and comforting pieces of furniture you knew before. They have become poisoned, twisted, with the onset of the night. When that ghostly shadow passed over the house, you were not afraid. You did not tremble and quake at the realm of possibility that opened up like a cavern as the lights went down. But now, curled up in a ball, huddled in the corner of your room, the darkness has become total and absolute. With a cold sweat, your eyes dart from wall to wall, frantically searching for something that will give you the reassurance that the terror that waits outside the window will never make it through that glass that has proven an impenetrable guard until now. In the farthest corner of your bed, as far away from any entrance as possible, you tremble.

It’s out there.

The night has brought it again and this time, you know more than ever, that there is no escape. The cold cruel wind plays havoc with the foliage outside the window. Sounds of the branches scraping on the siding and window gives the reminiscent sounds of the nails that you so desperately try to escape. The terrific sound of the bush outside brings back the cold sweat with new fervor. It courses over your already cold skin and makes you shiver as if you didn’t have the heavy comforter and warm sheets. Nothing could warm this chill that has taken up residence in the very heart of your bones. The cold stars out the window have often been a source of security and wonder but now they are the eyes of death itself. Your mind races with what seems to be every thought you’ve ever had and you can’t seem to grab hold of one coherent idea and stay there. Another snowflake lands on the window. It started snowing about 10 minutes ago. Not a good sign. Soon all of the people in the nearby area will be gone. They flee the snow. It is their demon. Yours is something more.

Cunning, intelligent, beautiful. Your demon is never so simple as the cold snow. The snow is harsh and bitter but pales to what lies in store for you.

Headlights.

The cars are leaving now. The heavy trucks laden with the belongings of entire families. The exodus of the town has begun. Even though there is only 500 people in the whole town, it feels that the whole world is emptying right before your eyes. The cruel night is lit with the blinding whiteness that is the lamps on the automobiles. Alas and alack, however, instead of shining light into the dark places of your refuge, the lights have lost their luster. It’s an empty light.

You begin to shake.

The tears start to come.

You fight to control the sobs that threaten to break the surface of your pool of calm. But to openly cry would betray your position. To make a sound would make you vulnerable.

No. No sounds.

The shotgun on the table next to you offers little solace. It will be no help. Hell hath let its fury from the deepest circles. It will not be contained by a 12 gauge weapon. But the cold steel of the barrel is still a comfort. Even though, the only real security that it provides is the knowledge that it can put an end to the suffering if it came to that. The cool feel of the stock no longer offers support with its supreme power to stop the living. Its only protection is that it will help it be over quickly. But the chance to use it is fleeting. With the last light of the headlights, you see the gun more clearly in the light. That is the end. It might as well have been a baseball bat for all the good it’s going to do.

The last lights fade into the distance. The snow has begun to drift on the base that had already been forming. The solid 4 feet that sat beneath your window has gained a height and is encroaching on you like a beast on the prowl.

It’s coming.

No weapon known to man can stop what is soon to arrive at your very door. How could they not see? How could they not sense the horror that was to befall the few that remained in the town. Of the 500 or so souls that once inhabited the town, you are one of maybe a dozen left. Do they know? Do they have any idea what this night will bring? How can they? Leave them to their blissful ignorance. They will lay their heads down on their pillows with the hopes of sleep and morning. The quiet of the night is just as relaxing to them as it is terrifying and paralyzing as it is to you. The streets are dark again. Not even one light shines through the blackness as if even the few people that were left had abandoned their soon to be tombs. You almost begin to laugh at the irony of it. You are the sole keeper. The one with the knowledge. Fools. They should see the evil that lies in the night, the pure and unadulterated blackness that will soon come to remove them from this world and pass them on into the next. And the next world, no matter its design, will seem a paradise compared to the agony that is soon to come. If there is no afterlife and the only retreat from this Hell is the cold hard ground then so be it. It will be welcomed.

The afterlife is so entrancing. Is there a Heaven? More importantly, is there a Hell? How will the actions of your life be judged by the almighty in Heaven? If they are at all.

No.

There can be no God. No loving and compassionate Lord would allow this kind of Evil. Even the Prince of Darkness would turn this thing away. This evil has perpetuated through the centuries and is as old as time. Older than that God we so desperately cling to. This evil was the darkness before the formation of the Earth. When there was nothing else there was this evil. That is your conclusion. There is no escape. No afterlife. Only death. Nothing. Your contemplation comes finally to the thing itself. Your breathing had slowed but now, it has regained the pace as if you had just run a marathon. Your chest closes up on itself and you see the thing in your mind’s eye. There is more than one now. You can feel it. An entire army from the coldest fires of Hell. There is not the heat of hate in them. Only a coldness. So cold. There is no hate in them that you fear. It is their unfeeling attitudes. The cold look in those lifeless eyes that stare back at you. They are bottomless pools. Caverns of unimaginable depth that draw you inward and hold you captive until their sick bloodlust has been completed. You saw them once. Only once. From a distance it was hard to make out if there was one or a hundred. But you saw those eyes. The most primordial fears in man were awakened and you discovered terror that is reserved for only the most horrific experiences of life. Death is a welcome sight after those cold, silver, haunting eyes.

This retreat is all you have and, even at this very moment, it is quickly losing its safety. The shadow of death has reached the street. It swarms up every drive and into every house. There is no safety anymore.

You recoil once more. It is coming.

It is here.

The end has come. Your heart catches in your throat. You grab for the shotgun. Its purpose? You haven’t thought that far yet. Your slick palms grab at the sticky oil on the stock. The wood is cold. You are cold. Yet the sweat continues. You begin to shake again. It becomes uncontrollable. One last contemplation jumps to your brain. It floats around in the transom of your thought for a second and grabs hold. You beg to God. Your brain cries to the Master that your heart knows does not exist. You swallow once more. It’s becoming harder now. The shadow has covered the entire street. There are hundreds of them. More than you could possibly imagine. They are darker than the darkest night. Then a sound comes from the distance. The sound that should have been muted by the snow seems to have been unaffected. It comes to your ears like an arrow through the blackness. You are brought to your senses at the instant your ear accepts what it has heard.

The first scream.

It has begun.

A bang at the door.

You grab the gun harder to your chest. You cock it with an arrogance that your heart shouldn’t have been able to muster. You are no longer afraid. The adrenaline courses.

Another bang.

You stand.

Point the gun.

It is inside.

The door to your room creaks.

It is ripped off the hinges.

My God

You freeze

No chance.

The End.