When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems by Kayla Krantz

Author:Kayla Krantz [Krantz, Kayla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, paranormal, supernatural, horror, fiction, dark, psychological, twisted, suspense, obsession, contemporary, 99 cents, magic, ebook
Publisher: Into the Darkness Publishing
Published: 2018-01-29T23:00:00+00:00

Where are the dreamers; the wishers; the believers?

If there’s no mystery left in the world, we must create our own.

Stained

THE BLOOD.

It was always the first thing I felt in the morning, stronger than my own consciousness. Every night, the nightmares were the same. I would awaken with the clammy chill of blood on my hands and face. It happened like clockwork, almost like it was scripted. When I opened my eyes, I found them clean.

The blood only existed in my dreams.

Therapists couldn’t help me. They labeled me with various names and diseases and offered alternative pills—more money for them, but all useless to me. I was “sick”—untreatable. None of them dared to mention the reason for their diagnosis. I always left my sessions feeling confused. I wasn’t a bad person—the closest to crime I had come was watching Scooby Doo as a kid. I was a romantic—a comedic one, at that.

My subconscious disagreed. It harbored a secret, one kept secluded from the rest of my mind, inaccessible to logic. The dreams continued on schedule. Sometimes they were different, sometimes they were the same. No matter what I dreamt, I woke up with that awful feeling of blood on my hands. Every morning, I comforted myself in the knowledge that they were just that—dreams.

Until my next door neighbor disappeared.

Police said it was a blood bath, but the body was nowhere to be found. Without it, her disappearance could only be marked a missing person’s case. When I woke up that morning, my hands were clean of any blood, but I could hear a woman’s screams ringing in my ears—as though I had been next to her the whole time. Sirens drew my attention away from the reoccurring dream. I threw on the nearest outfit I could find and went to stand among the crowd that had gathered around her property.

The police wandered in and out of the house to gather their evidence. Members of the growing group pushed a bit closer, each of them attempting to glimpse the fresh gore. What it is about us that draws us to terrible things? Like people who slow down to see a car accident on the highway. I couldn’t complain—I was one of them, peeking through the caution tape strung along the lawn. I wondered if the inside of the house matched the images from my dreams.

Annoyed with the requests, the police ushered us away. I was hesitant to leave, so I stood in the grass alone, watching them work for the better part of an hour. Where had she gone? Who harmed her? If the culprit had struck just one house to the left, it could’ve been me, instead of her. I had to know what was happening, but every police officer I asked either ignored me or gave me a sympathetic smile. Like my therapists, they thought I was twisted and wanted details for some sick reason they couldn’t place.

But I didn’t. I wanted answers. No one was willing to share a word about the tragedy, not while the wound was still raw.

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