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NightBride. That feeling washed over her again. Like the blackness washing over the light

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NightBride That feeling washed over her again. Like the blackness washing over the light. It creeps in gradually enveloping the earth, devouring the last traces of the struggling dusk. Suddenly, with the dark, plump and full on its feast of the light, everything turns a little bit uneasy, and the world shifts on a weary axis. That is how it starts. Slowly it crawls inside, eating away at her until she is filled with the dark sensations most others never admit to having. She weakly resists, as does the light; but they both know, they will never win, it's just a force of nature for the both of them... beyond their strength, and beyond any reasoning...That is just the way it always was, since the birth of them both. She found this amusing, how her and the light had so much in common...and yet she had the feeling, whom ever it was that made them, were not of the same. She no longer fights as hard... Usually muses over memories while it enters. Has "he" always been with her? ...read more.


He was very persistent. So she waited... impatiently to just get it over, yet knowing this was only the beginning. She wondered if she would be able to hold onto some trace or aftermath of humanity...To store remembrances of the ones she will never see again, and realized she hoped she didn't. After he came, she was sure she would want to forget all of them. He never meant to hurt her. And in a way she knew no other would ever understand, he loved her. She felt it very strongly. She also knew if she could pass on the love he has for her to another like a cold, or a nasty bug, they would die. They would burn up instantly, if that is, they didn't die of fright at the first hit of it. Not her thought. She has been conditioned. Given small doses long before her soul took shape. It was different tonight she did notice, but of course this was the night. It start hotter, and became increasingly more uncomfortable. Her heart started to beat uncontrollably and beads of sweat broke at her temple as the heat grew faster like a fever the could drive a person to delirium. ...read more.


For many years to come, people would tell stories around the campfire of that night. The stories told by their father's fathers, of that Wicked Eve. The night the clock struck midnight and there was a homicidal scream heard throughout the entire neighborhood, that hung in the air like the stick of dead fish in their small New England town. The screams of a manic, or the scream that is produced by the sight of one. Of course the people who were still alive to live to tell the tale, were said to be exaggerating for the sake of the story. That of course there were screams. Screams of that came from the heart of "her" mother... No one know what led her over the edge, maybe the strange disappearance of her daughter. Maybe she was heart broken over her running away, the girl was known to be troubled. What ever the reasons, those were the screams that the tall-tale-tellers are exaggerating about. Yet those of them who knew, those of them who heard it that night, well they still have troubled dreams near and around Halloween. Usually they dreamed of "HORSES" and heat. ...read more.

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