The Terror At Night|| The Inkwell Writing Prompt

The Terror At Night

The broad smile on Mr. Philip's face fade gently as he sights what glared like smeared blood on the wall through the glinted light that shone dully. It was still fresh dripping from a foible ceiling board, his eyes widened bickering in his eyes socket, the sight of it made his knee weak as he dabbled his steps. Shortly, the full moon shined through the pane windows reflecting the liquid on the wall and he realized it was a drip of water. He sighed softly, relieved of the tension. Mr. Philip had moved in here barely a week after his retirement in the military, he had bought a cottage located in the outskirt of the town close to the cemetery. What he loved most was the serenity he enjoys in the environment as people dread to raise structures around the vicinity.

He had resumed his reading when he saw a reflection in the window. "He wasn't alone", he said as his pulse ramped up. Weapon! his mind screamed, he darted toward the wide AK-47, he wasn't expecting anyone, not in the middle of this night. He walked slowly toward the window aiming at the direction the silhouette figure had enacted, he slid his fingers around the trigger, appalled by how much his hands shook. But, nothing, no one. His pulse roared and confusion flashed through him and realized the reflection was just himself. He hissed, reliving his nerves. It has been his reflection refracting by the position of the moon.


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He whooshed out, "Stop imagining things Philip", dabbing his head to knock out every intuition.

Fingers fastened around his ankle. He screamed drawing away from his AK-47 as he saw a sight that almost stopped his heart. There it was, a mummy, with rough hair, dressed in white apparel that looked tattered. He dart toward the door but it was locked, his hands became frozen trying to pull the knob. He began to hear footsteps at the door, "there was still more", he said. He tried to scream, but his voice seem to be swallowed up by terror. He wandered around the room looking for a place to hide, his panting became heavy. He rabble words as he threw off things that stood on his path. He watched the zombie sniff the air as if it can smell his existence as he hide in a vault. His heartbeat fast gawking the zombie approached where he was lying low. The floorboard beside the stove groaned distracting the zombie as it shift its scrutiny in that direction.

The howling of the owl troubled the night sending goosebumps on his skin as he watched the death walk in their skeleton. He closed his eyes hoping this was just an imagination but all the while he still heard the creature creeping. This time, he could see, the wall smeared with blood, there was no running, he could only wonder if he will ever see the sun frozen in the locker. He blinked his eyes opened disturbed by the sunray that penetrated through his window. It was morning, with no sign of ghost. He looked at the wall and there it was, a trail of blood, a sign that it wasn't imagination. He packed out to live among other people, it was much of a terror for him, no mortal can resist.

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