in horror

In horror.

Long has it been since anything has been written. Long has it been since the author has been able to take the time to sit down and think, much less write a story about the things that transpire in a persons life. Some people call it writers block, others call it burn out, but the truth of the matter is, creativity is like water, sometimes it flows and sometimes it stagnates, but with change of the seasons, the rain shall fall again. The writer knew today was the day, as he sat at his desk, preparing to type away at his computer…

It was a cold and rainy day when the world stood still. Depression ran thick like fog on a lake in the early morn. Most days like this would normal keep people indoors though, most days like this you wouldn’t see much activity in the world, but nothing like this had happened before.

The writer sat back and contemplated his words, waiting for the next flow of creativity to take him down his road of discovery. As he sat in contemplation he slowly smoked his cigar and took a drink of his 7-year-old scotch on the rocks. He looked around his office for a bit, and patiently waited for the muse to give him the next lines.

The storm blew upon shore with such ferocity, violently tossing the waves against the rocks and sand of the usually beautiful beach. No bird in sight on this day, no dogs chasing cats, nothing of the normal sort of animals running amuck. This made me feel weary of what was to come, it made me fearful knowing something was on its way. The sky was blacker then night, and swirled with majestic gothic clouds the lightning was fierce as rain and hail spilled to the ground. Not a car was on the street, not a truck on the highway, the world had completely stopped in this quiet bay town; something dark was sure to be on its way.


The writer sat and contemplated more, waiting for yet more of the story to unfold, when he heard the faint sound of thunder to the west. Thinking that there may be a storm on its way, he decided he would save his progress in case of any power failures. Then he got up from his chair and headed into his den to get more scotch and another cigar. This time he brought the whole bottle back with him, to sit at his desk. He poured another glass took a drink and began writing again.

Not long after the storm hit shore the town had a darker look to it a darker feel to it, this is when all hell broke loose. The creatures they came, without any real warning. They took people and animals without question or reason, one by one they would capture someone or something. It wasn’t much time past before the town was desolate aside from myself who watched it all go away in horror.

The writer awoke from his writing spell, by the distraction of the near by thunder and the flashes of lightning that appeared before him. He looked out his bay window only to notice how dark the sky had become, and the waves violently crashing against the shore. He noticed that no one seamed to be stirring outside, no people, no animals, and no traffic anywhere. Finding this odd he turned on the TV for the news report. Yet for some reason there wasn’t anything on the news, actually there wasn’t anything on the TV, it was almost as if the world had stopped in his quiet little bay town. When he said this out loud to himself, he realized that he had just written this, in his story. His hairs on the back of his neck stood up, as he worried what could be happening. “Could I be creating this reality?” he thought to himself. And then they came, the creatures without warning, as a dark feeling raised upon the writer. They took people and animals without question or reason, one by one they would capture someone or something. It wasn’t much time past before the town was desolate aside from the writer who watched it all go away in horror.