It was a stormy evening, the rain falling in heavy sheets, the wind howling like a chorus of lost souls. I sat alone in my dimly lit living room, cradling a glass of whiskey, its amber liquid casting a warm glow in contrast to the tempest outside. The sound of raindrops drumming against the windows provided a haunting soundtrack to my solitary evening.
Suddenly, a knock at the door shattered the rhythmic pattern of the rain, the sound jarring and unnerving. Cautiously, I approached the door, curiosity mingling with a growing sense of unease. Who could possibly be out in weather like this? I peered through the peephole, and my heart caught in my throat.
Standing on my porch were two children, a boy and a girl, their bodies unnaturally still, as if they were mannequins brought to life. Their faces were devoid of emotion, pale and lifeless under the flickering porch light. Their clothing appeared outdated, as if they were lost travelers from a bygone era.
“We need to use your phone,” the boy said, his voice unnervingly calm and steady. “Please let us in.”
My gaze was drawn to their eyes – pitch black orbs that seemed to swallow the light around them, void of emotion and humanity.
My instincts screamed at me to shut the door, to lock it and retreat from the unspeakable darkness that stood before me. But something in their gaze held me captive, as if invisible tendrils were wrapping around my limbs, rendering me motionless. Their voices echoed in my head, whispers that quickly turned into an overwhelming cacophony.
“Let us in. We won’t harm you. We promise.”
Unable to resist the invisible force that held me, I slowly unlocked the door, my hands trembling with fear. As the door creaked open, the storm outside seemed to intensify, as if nature itself was protesting my decision. The children stepped inside, their eyes never leaving mine, and a wave of dread washed over me, settling like ice in my veins.
Over the next few days, my life spiraled into a waking nightmare. The children never left my side, their black eyes and emotionless expressions haunting my every waking moment. Nightmares plagued my sleep, vivid visions of unspeakable horrors that left me drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.
My friends and family abandoned me, unable to comprehend the torment I was experiencing. They claimed I was delusional, that there were no children in my home. But I knew the truth. I could see them, always watching, always waiting.
The whispers in my head grew louder, more insistent, their words echoing like the tolling of a funeral bell. The children seemed to be feeding off my fear, their presence growing stronger with each passing day. My sanity slipped away like sand through my fingers, the line between reality and nightmare blurring beyond recognition.
In the end, I knew there was only one way to escape their relentless grasp. I stood on the edge of the bridge, the frigid waters below offering the dark embrace of oblivion. The children were there, their black eyes watching me intently, their voices still reverberating in my mind.
As I closed my eyes and stepped off the edge, I felt a fleeting moment of relief. The whispers faded, and the crushing weight of their presence lifted. But in my final moments, I couldn’t help but wonder if my surrender was exactly what they had wanted all along.
As I fell into the icy depths below, the last thing I saw were their eyes, two pools of darkness that followed me into the void. Their inescapable gaze would be the last thing I ever saw, a haunting image that would haunt me until the end of time.