[Bluejay]

Under the oppressive tyranny of night, his dreams spilled out and flowed into the streets. Deprived of the pleasure of temporary oblivion, he staggered through the chilly air, seeking an outlet for his nervous energy before the sun rose and subjected him to another unbearable day. He longed in vain for a cessation of thought, for a dark, sweet nothingness to descend upon his consciousness and relieve him of the mental torment that comprised his daily existence.

He was irritated. His head felt tight, as if his brain had swollen such that it could no longer fit in the echoing cavern he carried between his ears. If he had a fork, he would have jammed it in, to relieve the pressure, pressure crammed in from without by all the chains that squeezed his being as he tried with futility to live a passable life.

His soul was filled with an agony that knew only periodic solace, when he could close his eyes to his daytime dream world and his mind to his nighttime one and find the peace of the dead. That peace was not to be his tonight. He was tired, more tired than he could remember having been. He felt that he had half a mind, that his mental vitality had been sucked away by the cold corporate world that held him enslaved for ten hours a day. To fill it back up, he had only to put his body to rest, but it refused. His bed was thrashed; his emotions were stretched to the snapping point. In the end, his body won. He indulged it now, clothed in hope that it would be satisfied enough to behave for the few remaining hours before dawn.

The neighborhood was empty, with everyone tucked away for the night, steeped in shrugging ignorance that he walked among them. His shoes were barely audible in the tenuous silence. The street lights gave only spotty respite from the creeping darkness, with much of the world slinking in the shadows, trying itself to fade into nothingness for just a little while, freed from the attention of prying eyes. He hadn’t come out to look at it, and it was too much effort to try. He only wanted to rid himself of his jitters, to pound them step by step into the sidewalk so he could return home and finally slip beneath the surface and cease to be.

His footsteps were weary, just skimming the ground. But they still propelled him on, from darkness to light to darkness. Leaving the neighborhood, he headed down a narrow tree-lined access way, one side dominated by a tall concrete wall. Here, the light was more consistent, and he was suddenly aware of his dark alter ego pacing him, the somewhat familiar silhouette sliding along the wall beside him. They walked together, side-by-side.

A black movement on the ground stirred his sleepy brain, and he jumped back in fright. His irritation rose when he realized the tall grass blowing in the wind beside the path was playing tricks on him, making wriggling snakes at his feet. He stomped on them, but they continued to writhe, in silent mockery of his superiority.

Halfway down the street, he was on the verge of engaging in mental correspondence with his dark counterpart there on the wall. The poor thing was probably as exhausted as he, dragged out at that ungodly hour to keep him company on his lonely trek. He offered unspoken apologies to his companion as it moved along with him, silently, without complaint.

Suddenly, a dark shadow appeared out of nowhere, clubbing the image on the wall. Instinctively, he ducked and spun. There was no assailant. A high tree branch whipped about, passing in front of the street light, creating a shadow that blotted out the light as it passed. He blinked at the flickering light, mesmerized by the chaotic movements.

Regardless of his physical state, he knew it was time to head home.

As he turned and started back, the wall was on the other side, and his image paced him there now. Soon they would both be back in bed. Having taken in the sights on the way out, the journey home was mindless and unseeing. He was only dimly aware of the sidewalk passing beneath his feet and his shadow dancing on the wall beside him.

Despite his dampened state of mind, he clearly saw the intruder. Another shadow had joined his on the wall, approaching from behind. It stood half a head taller than he, and it walked with a menacing creep. He spun, but there was nothing there. The new shadow, too, was gone from the wall. He looked around. He looked up, along the top of the wall and in the trees. There was nothing there.

Turning slowly, with a cautious eye toward the wall, he resumed his homeward march, somewhat faster now. Before long, the shape loomed behind him again, closing the gap despite his livelier pace. Not wishing to be tricked again, he maintained his step, walking stiffly and watching; he struggled to resist the overwhelming urge to spin. It grew closer behind his poor shadow. The profile of its head was hideous, that of a creature from the depths of the darkest nightmares. It had an elongated jaw and a flat nose. As he watched, dark shadow hands rose in front of it, approaching his head, and the mouth parted slightly, exposing jagged teeth.

With the claws mere inches from his silhouetted head, he couldn’t take it any longer. He spun and thrust out with his hand. Once more, there was nothing there, his arm slicing through empty air. He turned to his panting, wide-eyed partner. Once more, it was safe.

On a whim, he started backing along the street, watching the wall closely. It could not creep up behind him… Then it was there. His staggering shadow was backing right toward it, and it waited there, arms raised for the final blow. He flailed about again, but as before he stood alone on the street.

Bed called to him. He wanted to be home. Precious time was passing as he stood there, and his sleep-deprived brain was playing games with him, creating phantoms out of dark edges and wind-blown flora. Disgusted, he turned and strode with certainty homeward.

When he saw the shadow stalking him again, rippling along the wall behind his, he clenched his jaw and strode on. When it approached directly behind, he held his head tall, though his eyes were wide. As the hands crept toward the outline of his neck, he tensed his shoulders and continued forward, despite the chill at his back and the drool stretching down from the creature’s enormous jaws.

He laughed at his own creativity, that he could conjure such a marvel of horror. If he could only bottle it, he could quit the rat race once and for all. But the laughter ceased abruptly as the shadowy fingers wrapped around the dark throat on the wall, and he finally felt the slimy, icy tendrils caressing his skin. He reached up with his own hands, but there was nothing there to grab. The creature throttled his shadow, and his own breathing became strained. His instinct was to fight, and he twisted and struggled, but there was nothing there to fight, no enemy to lash out at. He danced and swayed all alone on the dimly lit sidewalk.

Falling to the side, he saw the end of the wall a scant distance away. On impulse, he pulled against the darkness that held him, clawing his way forward. Unseen fingers held him back, but he pushed with his legs and managed to creep, step by step, along the sidewalk. He gripped the wall like a sheer cliff, fighting the force of gravity that threatened to send him careening down into the abyss. And, little by little, he made progress.

With a final thrust, his hands finally found the edge, and his fingers found a firm grip that enabled him to pull himself past the towering wall, sliding around it into the shadows. His dark doppelganger disappeared, and with it went the pressure around his throat. He sat in the gloom, gasping for breath, rubbing futilely at his wounds.

Then, he leapt to his feet and, emerging from the shadows, raced down the street, his shadow struggling to keep up. He went from darkness to light to darkness, never in the light long enough for his twin to risk harm.

Reaching the safety of his home, he entered and made his way to bed, without ever once turning on a light.

The next morning, he woke with a burning sensation around his neck. He staggered to the bathroom, still half dead from too little sleep. There in the mirror, he saw the results of his night’s journey: deep red welts around his throat. He moved forward and examined them, running his finger in the grooves.

He stepped back and studied his face, the tired lines under his eyes. Perhaps he wouldn’t go into work today. He froze as a shadow fell across his reflected face. He turned, but there was nothing there. Then he felt the icy cold embrace his neck once more. As it tightened, he looked frantically around the room, but there was no shadow.

Then his eyes met his own in the mirror. And he finally saw the awful hands that gripped his image’s throat so firmly, squeezing tighter and tighter. He and his reflection pulled and struggled, but there was no escape in the tiny bathroom from the monster that held his counterpart, turning his face a blue that grew deeper and deeper, as the shadows crept in around his vision.

[Ryankia]

Fascinating story Jay. Insomnia - gotta love it >.>

[foxblade]

"...pressure crammed in from without by all the chains..." - I don't get it :'(


Okay, Although the beginning of the story was a little bit confusing and just a bit more redundant, the story in itself was really cool! Very original, very creative.


As for the redundant parts, what you could have done is dropped the JRR Tolkien writing style, (Where one utilizes more description than story) and gone with more of an actiony based plot line; short sweet and to the point.

Honestly, I don't think that you had to go that in depth with the main character and his mental status. Just a few lines of who he was and what he was feeling would have been acceptable, rather than a few paragraphs.

['Ginnis]

Oh, that was eerie. I loved it! Your voice and diction were amazing, the darkness of the innerself was prevalent enough. I also adored your use of the word "dopleganger" but that's just a weird quirk of mine. Great flow and style. Sorry I can't find any flaws to outright call on.

[Bluejay]

foxblade: Yeah, I can see where it's a bit redundant. I could justify it by saying it follows from his state of mind (being somewhat foggy and stuck from lack of sleep), but I hadn't thought of it ahead of time. By the more wordy opening, I was trying to establish both a dark mood and reasonable doubt about the character's mental state. (Was it real or just imagined?) Perhaps I went too far with that. I'm glad the action part worked for you.

googgaggle: Thanks much!

(And Dragoness, too. Thanks!)

[maxaynjj]

I enjoyed the story although very descriptive. I was more interested with the ending, I felt it was the best part of the story.

[ea_blue]

Hey Bluejay,

I enjoyed this one. I felt this story describes a man a war with himself. He is killing himself slowly in a life, that for whatever reason, he is completely unsatisfied with. The worst symptoms emerge as his inability to sleep. Later it becomes a menacing shadow, and finally a physical manifestation. I may be reading too much into it. But viewing it this way it is a very satisfying story.

The setup is a bit long, but I would argue it is appropriate to the subject. About the time I started to wonder when the 'conflict' would occur the shadows of snakes appeared. That was the warmup for the real menace. If this warmup could be incorporated into the earlier paragraphs, I think it would move the story along a little better. Keep the intro as you have it. It sets the mood so well. Just combine it with a little more action.

The nitpicks:

Here, you are describing the enormous pressure in his head and then this:

it could no longer fit in the echoing cavern he carried between his ears.

An echoing chamber describes a large empty space for me. It contradicts what you were talking about.

This seemed odd to say:

creating a shadow that blotted out the light as it passed.

Shadows "do" blot out the light. It's not unusual. This phrase didn't do anything for me.

This paragraph was confusing to me:

With the claws mere inches from his silhouetted head, he couldn’t take it any longer. He spun and thrust out with his hand. Once more, there was nothing there, his arm slicing through empty air. He turned to his panting, wide-eyed partner. Once more, it was safe.

I "think" this is his own shadow, but that couldn't be it because it couldn't be "wide-eyed". I could imagine it panting next to him though. Cut out the wide-eyed part and this would be very good.

At this point, the action is really beginning. Still, his reaction to what he is seeing seems too tame. I would enjoy seeing some of the language you began the story with to describe his horror at seeing this doppleganger. Milk it for the shock and revulsion. I think I would completely freak if I saw something like that. I might try to explain it away, as he did, but I would still be shaking and ready to bolt into a sprint at the slightest leaf crackle.

I liked this one a lot. I love horror that is more felt than seen. Creeping just at the edge of vision. Hope to see more like this.

Cheers!

ea_blue

[x_lovely09]

You captured the depths of the psyche very well! Amazing writing, dear. :] Keep it up!

[RENA HANDS]

What about to match the elegance of the sentences and thought…

Under the oppressive tyranny of night, his dreams spilled out and flooded into the streets.

Perhaps even "trickled out into the streets."

What can I say except that I love any story where there is a great illustration of conflicting action between the consciousness and subconsciousness. And this definitely is a great example of such a brilliant plot.

[Lubesh]

Whichever, for whatever and why, the cumualtive 'happening' to this man was chilling and chillingly portrayed, again, but at the end of it especially.

I disagree about and over elaborating...anyone can type...I am a man with insomnia or problems..let's mvoe on - JKR prob had that very dilema...how much si too much or use shorthand lol

[timtornado3721]

Wow, what a way to go, strangled to death by a shadow. Absolutely suspenseful during the middle and end but as you already have heard the beginning was a little slow but as soon as you got it going it picked up nicely.

[Vorcla]

Man.

This was before my time. I'm glad someone brought this one back. Once again proves why "you da man!" I can think of any other superlatives that haven't already been mentioned.

Damned fine, Jay.

[Bluejay]

Thanks much! I appreciate it.