Archive of Nighthollow

I quietly place my hot cup onto the wooden desk, a quiet thud from the bottom of my cup fills the room for a brief moment before being replaced by the sound and of my pen, etching away at the pages of my book.

It was a simple leather bound journal, a pattern pressed onto its spine and the edges of the cover. It's pages are stained, riddled with inked words and images of creatures of the night.

The stained glass lamp that sat on my paint stained desk radiated warm light onto my desk slightly lighting up the rest of my room, shadows casted from the piles of books and nick nacks, trinkets and posters, the odd jar of random items like pebbles, small bones and moss. The light made my green walls look like some off putting colour and the white walls a light warm yellow. The cork board full of articles and images, news clippings and photos sat above me. The cliche red string and pins casting shadows on my wall.

I sat at my desk quietly, the old clock on my desk reading twelve o'clock as it quietly ticked. I sat there etching away at the pages below me, the pen in my hand gliding across the page with a scratching sound as I draw the last touches of the image. Reaching for ruler in my pot, as well as a pencil, I place said ruler onto my page and draw light lines upon my page before placing both objects back.

I cast my eyes back onto the page, a picture of a nasty creature scratched into the paper. A creature with sunken eyes and a twisted grin stared back at me. I stared at the picture I drew for a few seconds before reaching back for the pen and begun to scribe information beneath it.

Tap.

The noise stopped my activity, It sounded as though somebody threw a small rock at my window. I sit there in silence at first. I waited there, not moving a inch and continued to stare down at the page. There was nothing for a few minutes before I decided to move my hand again, the sounds of the pen filled the room once more as I continued to write.

Tap.

There it was again.

Tap.

Followed by another I sit up straight in my chair.

Tap... tap.

My head turned slowly towards the window this time round, I quietly placed my pen down on the desk, next to the journal.

Tap...tap...tap

The tapping becoming more frequent, I rose from my chair standing in place as I stared at the window.

Tap...tap

My feet lead me towards the window, the floor boards creak beneath my weight.

Tap.

Tap...

Tap...

...

The tapping came to a halt when I reached the window. The blinds were pulled tightly together. I looked at them for a second before prying them open with my two fingers, before going closer to take a look.

The fog had rolled in heavy tonight. The street light glowed and looked like floating orbs in the mist. The streets were empty and the faint silhouette of the houses was haunting. The only thing visible was the slightly visible lamp post outside near my house, I almost missed it as I gazed my eyes onto the front garden, which was littered with many small pebbles.

But there it was.

It wasn't looking at the window but the door. With its sunken eyes and twisted grin, its teeth showing from its lipless smile. presenting a display of rotten teeth. Its skin was pale,almost matching the colour of the fog if possible, and if you squinted hard enough you could see the folds of its wrinkled skin. it awaited me to come outside to investigate. It's bony hand wrapped around the map post and half it's face peaked out.

It awaited my arrival. One that will never come, I slowly closed the blinds with my fingers before I made my way back to my desk. I stare at the page once more, picking up the pen I wrote with , and I continued to scribe before finishing it off with my small signature at the bottom. Placing the pen neatly beside my journal I turned off the light and quietly made my way towards my bed. I slip off my slippers and climbed into bed, layers of blankets wrapped around me as I pull them close to my body and my head sank into the pillows and as i laid there, frozen in place as the night continued as before, the room was now silent and almost cold. No sounds of etching pens and flipped paper pages. No warm and comforting light flooding my room. Just the cold dead silence of the night. I laid there. Waiting. Waiting for the tapping to being once more. To hear the small pebbles ping off the glass window. An indication of it still lurking around the street and the front of my house. Or a sound of any sort really, a sound of it leaving would be a comfort, to hear it possibly give up on me and being to stalk the streets once more, looking for someone else. Or the wind. Or a car passing would be better. The lights would fill my room and the street and possibly scaring it off.

Yet there was a nothing. Not a sound.

When there was a sound, my blood run cold and a cold shiver went up my spine, keeping me frozen in bed as if my body was in some sort of sleep paralysis.

I did not wish to hear the quiet creak of the kitchen window opening.