Dark Corners

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I was young, perhaps six or seven, in a room the size of a small bedroom. Something — some horror that I knew — would be coming soon to get me, to destroy me. I wasn’t strong enough to defeat it and I wasn’t swift enough to outrun it. I knew this. Besides, I knew that if I tried either, the horror would hurt me all the more.

Listening, I couldn’t hear anything moving in the hall outside. My heart was beating so painfully hard, I could hear nothing else. I wiped my palms on my upper sleeves, my breaths coming shallow and rapid, my entire body trembling.

It was coming.

The horror was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

In a panic I moved to the door and made certain it was latched and locked. That taken care of, I examined the door. It was paneled, painted white, and very old. One panel was visibly loose, and I could see how loose the hinge on the top was. The door didn’t look sturdy enough to withstand any kind of onslaught, and the thing that was after me would come like an avalanche.

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