Day 46 Writing Short Stories

Eyes

The walls were dripping with sweat. The night sweat was piling on you, and you could feel the sleep getting further away from you. All there was were her off-colored gray eyes and the warnings she had given you as a child in the old country. She had begged you not to leave. You hadn’t listened.

You weren’t sure why you were thinking of your Nana now. You rarely thought of her. Not here. Not when you had made a life with your writing and camera. Things were picking up. The newspapers were calling you, and not the other way around. You just had to sleep now, and all would be well.

You turned on your bed, landing on the wet stain on your sheet. You hated summer. You hated the heat. In the old country, it was always cold. You wore wool socks even in the heat of the winter, and you loved it. But here, where the skin could be shown, people didn’t eat cabbage and pray to the pagan gods. Here, people were happy and didn’t spit over their shoulder every time they thought something evil had happened.

But Nana’s eyes were there, following your sleepless night. You wanted to say you were sorry, leaving her behind; to tell her that she was the only family you ever had and would ever have. You weren’t made for others. Not with your past.

The night outside the walls was stagnant. It pressed on you, forcing you to get up and yank the window open farther. You watched as the shadows stretched between the buildings, drawing the city’s lines deeper. The streets were empty. They never were. There was always someone awake in the big city. But not now. The heat was locking people in under their air conditioners. You would get one as soon as the piece ran in the newspapers, and you would get paid.

Something moved below, drawing your attention. It was there in the shadows of your apartment building’s wall. The shadows made it hard to see what it was. You thought nothing of it. But then Nana was there, and her cold, dead fingers pressed against your shoulder.

“Move, boy,” she commanded and pushed him aside.

Something dark and monstrous surged through the window, and Nana stepped between it and you.

—

Ooh, ooh, this has the potential to be something. I have always wanted to write a book about a remote village with spooky things or a city haunted by monsters. Maybe one day I will.

Today I got contemporary, fantasy, overcoming a monster, and second-person POV. I will leave the chatter for another day. Now I have to hurry to work. A few more weeks and I will have my vacation.

Thank you for reading! Have a spooky day ❤