Page 8 of Dark Rapture
I wait and listen, but no other sound can be heard. Everything is eerily silent now.
Staring at the closet door, I wonder what the hell just happened. I always leave that door shut, and it remained closed every time I glanced at it tonight. I did hear a door creak earlier, so perhaps something happened and it popped open.
Maybe I didn’t close it properly, and the latch didn’t fully engage. Perhaps it was a draft from the open window that somehow made it open. Maybe a mouse pushed it open.
Or it could have been a ghost.
Turning my head to look at the only window in the room, my hope for a rational explanation dies when I confirm the window is closed and secured with the lock.
My bedroom door was closed, too. I just threw it open so hard it bounced off the door stopper with a loud rattle. There is no reason that the closet door should be doing anything other than remaining closed.
My skin is crawling while I stand there and try to decide if I want to leave the apartment, or go back into my bedroom to figure out what made that door slam shut. A sane person would leave and come back with a police officer. Someone both saneandsmart would have someone qualified investigate this during the damn day.
I shake my head and let out an audible sigh, my eyes traveling around the seam of the closet door. At the bottom, ever so faintly, I see a warm flickering light. I reach inside the room and hit the light switch to confirm what I think I’m seeing. A weak, gentle light spills from beneath the door. Turning the lights back on, I suddenly feel like throwing up.
“What the fuck…” I take several tentative steps forward until I’m standing in front of the now closed door. My hand reaches out for the door knob, my fingers curling lightly around it. It’s unusually warm, which is strange considering how chilly my apartment gets in the colder months.
The knob turns slowly with a twist of my wrist, and my heart rate picks up yet again as I pull the door slowly towards me. I stand there in the doorway, peering inside the dark space, holding my breath as if expecting something to jump out at me.
Something definitely isn’t right. One of my protection spell candles is lit, the tall black stick positioned at the farthest point of the pentacle disk at the altar’s center. The tapestry that covers the glossy surface is rumpled in a few places, and the other candles I left organized to one side have fallen to lay haphazardly in spots I definitely did not leave them.
The candle that is lit is the one on which I carved that arcane sigil, the sigil I found in that ancient book from the occult shop in Rome. The wick harbors an impressively large flame, the light dancing as it flickers purposefully among the shadows.
Although the candle’s flame is significant and tenacious, the candle does not illuminate the room the way it should. I glance from wall to wall, but cannot make out any features inside the closet. The only thing I can see is the surface of my altar about a foot all the way around the candle.
That’s definitely not normal.
The candle should brighten the whole closet, but it just… doesn’t. The shadows are so dense, I can’t make sense of it. It’s like the laws of physics decided to go on vacation.
There’s a dark and oppressive energy in here, swirling around like an insidious creature. Intuition tells me to run, to get out of the house and wait for the light of day to chase the darkness away. Unfortunately for me, I can’t seem to move. My mind and body are disconnected, because instead of stepping away, I stand firmly in place.
Everything feels very, very wrong. Obviously whatever is happening here has nothing to do with an ordinary human intruder. This is definitely paranormal.
I’m a witch. I may be new to my practice, but this is my world now.
I can handle this.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I pretend to have all the confidence in the world as I step into my altar room. The second I enter, the shadows close in around me, and the closet door gently shuts at my back.
I startle slightly at the sound of the door closing, immediately turning to open it again. It doesn’t budge, no matter how hard I try to turn the knob. Movement from somewhere in the closet has me spinning back around, my back pressing tight against the door frame.
The darkness is so heavy, and that one candle’s flame is soldiering on but something sinister is at work here, preventing the light from doing its job.
The sound of distant laughter carries around me, shifting deep and low. My hair stands on end as my eyes try desperately to find the source of the sound, but all I see is the inky blackness.
My bottom lip trembles as the fear overtakes me, my hand reaching behind me to once again try to open the door. Witch or not, I am not equipped to deal with this. I groan with frustration when the door refuses to give.
Before I can scream for help, with the hope that one of my neighbours might hear me, a wave of tranquility washes over me. All of the fear and panic swirling around inside of me like a destructive tornado suddenly diminishes, the feelings dampening under the calming fog that settles in.
My lips part on a heavy sigh as my body relaxes, the shadows pressing against me from behind. Taking two steps forward until I am closer to the solitary candle, I watch as the flame dances wildly on the lengthy wick. Back and forth it sways, mesmerizing, captivating.
Warmth spreads through me as I watch it, lost in the hypnotic way it moves. I don’t know how much time passes as I stand there watching it, but eventually a stream of thoughts flutter through my mind.
This isn’t right. Something is manipulating me. Scream for help! I should be scared!
Another wave of calm washes over me, and the thoughts drift away as though they don’t matter at all. Lifting my shoulders, I peer into the darkness beyond the candle’s light, only to see the silhouette of someone standing there.
A large, towering figure. A shadow against the rest of the shadows, so easy to miss. I question my sanity for a moment, until I see it move.
