The Scratching Man

By Tanner Linares

 

          A scratching down the halls with no identifiable source. It was time.

          “No…” Naomi said, digging her fingers into the couch.  “No, no, no.”

          “Naomi? Please, this can’t be true…” Steven said. He frantically eyed the room, but found nothing to put him at ease. “This isn’t real.”

          “I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner.” Naomi muttered.

          The scratching grew louder. The hallway darkened, now seeming to be an endless path of dusk, only the scratching emanating from its depths.

          “There’s still time, right?”

          “I—I don’t know.”

          The windows blackened further, deepening the isolation. There was no salvation to be found past their sills. The scratching sounds grew yet more intense, deeper.

          “Naomi, please, if this is true, you need to say what you did.”

          She did not answer, simply staring down past the world, frozen.

        “What did you do?” Steven grasped Naomi’s shoulders. The scratching in the distance grew louder. Stronger. Nails to the chalkboard of the very soul. “Naomi, you need to tell me, now. What did you do?”

          More stunned silence, and the only thing she could offer was a weak “I’m sorry.”

          “Naomi, please.” A begging man’s words at the gates of infinity.

BLEED ONCE MORE.

SETTLE THE SCORE.

          A booming voice bellowed down the halls. Like a fist tightening on the heart, invading their bodies, enveloping every single cell.

THE SCRATCHING MAN WILL FIND THE ONE.

 THE SCRATCHING MAN KNOWS WHAT YOU’VE DONE.

          It grew closer. The air grew thinner, the lights grew dimmer. The stench of death imbued the house. Steven pulled Naomi closer, their faces mere inches apart. Howling winds began battering the home. The scratching multiplied, and the sounds of banging on the walls echoed about from no source at all.

          “Naomi! Please! I’m begging you!” Steven could feel his nails digging into her shoulders, but she remained locked.

          “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean it…” Naomi muttered repeatedly.

YOUR BODY STRETCHED; YOUR SOUL CRUSHED.

MIND ENTANGLED; AWARENESS UNTOUCHED

          Louder, now, the scratching became. Closer. Raggedier. It was relentless, unstoppable. Forces beyond comprehension were growing nearer. Steven screamed to Naomi, pleading for her to cooperate, but she refused to operate any further. Not knowing what else to do, Steven grasped his fiancée’s shoulders and slammed the two of them to the floor.

          “Naomi! What did you do!?”

          “I didn’t mean it! It just happened! I thought he would be ok! I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know I could still save him, ok!?” Naomi screamed back.

          The howling winds grew louder. From the darkness of the hallway, a looming, gangly man, skin black as night and shredded, nearly bark-like, with eyes as white as snow and small as pearls stepped in.

CHANCES WASTED; TRUE COLORS DISPLAYED.

THE SCRATCHING MAN’S DECISION HAS NOW BEEN MADE. 

 

End.