The Old Man
The old man sat looking at the deep dark blue night sky, the yellow stars piercing through giving more light than the moon. The clothes he wore were brown and rotten. He smelled of mold and soil as if he had just risen from the ground itself. The porch he sat on was just as rotten as he was. The house attached to it creaked and moaned as the wind blew fiercely in different directions. It wobbled back and forth with every gust hinting that it could topple at any moment. The old man sat on his rocking chair in fear. His deteriorating body crumbled at every touch, it was almost as if the body was dead but the soul still remained unwilling to let go. He sat and stared at the vast field in front of him, the shotgun he was holding clutched to his chest. His skin was weathered and dry like sandpaper, his nails were rustic and orange looking as if they wanted to be ripped off and free. There was a loud beating in his chest almost as if his heart was begging to escape its captive cage.
Constantly looking at the sky he hoped the night would end, so a new day could start and put this cycle of fear on hold, but the Sun never rose. Just as he looked away there was rustling in the field, the wind once blowing stopped suddenly. He shuffled in the rocking chair that held his delicate body, knuckles shifting between white and pink as he held the gun against him, aiming at the emptiness of the field. It was taunting him. The darkness fed on the small bits of sanity he had left. Behind the tree line that protected him from the haunting reality of the real world lurked eyes. Eyes that shined so bright that they could see through your soul. The drum in his chest grew louder and louder, The Eyes knew this. They were playing with him, of course, he knew that nothing could pass the thick trees in that forest for he had walked the treeline many times checking and placing traps to keep unwanted visitors away, and day after day nothing came to attack him. Now was different he didn’t fear the beast he feared the Dark, it was the realm where they roamed that scared him. The darkness itself was thick and empty, strange and unhuman-like noises flurried from it. He didn’t blink. He couldn't. The Eyes come closer at every instance where he looks away. The bones in his body rattled and shook almost like a rattlesnake's tail. The fear of what would happen to him if The Eyes got to him filled his brain. He didn't want to die, he knew it would happen but death scared him. He knew he was old and he knew his body would give up and he would collapse and let his body be one with the earth. Reality settled in too quickly and now he was afraid, sweat pooled on his forehead, it was greasy, yellow, and thick. The more the sweat gathered the heavier it got until it let go sliding down his face and got in his eyes blinding him. Quickly he released his hands from the gun to wipe his eyes closing them in the process. When they reopened darkness stood in front of him.
A blood-curdling scream filled the woods, the forest chased it, the wind blowing again more fiercely than ever towards the scream. Howls and laughs floated in the breeze as the beasts from the forest came to collect what fear left behind for them to eat. The house was silent and the creaking ceased. The chair that once held the rotten figure rocked back and forth in the wind, its white color pierced through the dark of the day. Eyes following its movements waiting, and stalking for the next victim filled with fear and despair.
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