Whispers from the Darkness

“Whispers from the Darkness“

I move in silence.
A ripple through the fabric of night, unseen yet felt—like a shadow cast by fear itself. I glide, unseen by most, but this one is awake. I sense it: a flicker of life, warmth, something ripe for taking.

I draw close, slipping by the bedside with the grace of a predator long practiced. The pulse of their heart drums like a signal in the still air. I taste the fear that curls like smoke in their breath. Perfect.

I rise.

They do not run. They cannot. Frozen beneath my gaze, a mortal tethered by dread. I watch as their eyes stretch wide—bright orbs reflecting the void I carry within. Their life’s light.

I hunger for it.

They close their eyes, as if that will save them. But I am the dark between their lids, the cold beneath their skin. I seek the flicker of hope, the spark of joy, the very soul that gives them light.

I extend my shadowy fingers, reaching, probing the edges of their being.

But they hold fast.

The battle is subtle—an invisible war waged in whispers and heartbeats.

Time flows slow in this half-life realm. I rise and fall like the tide, testing, waiting.

They pray. I sense the power—brief and fragile—but it weakens me, if only a little.

Tonight, I retreat, folding back into the abyss from which I came.

But I will return.

For darkness is patient.

And I am eternal.