Let Me Whisper

Reads: 48  | Likes: 2  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 4

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Cover image: pixabay.com.

Let Me Whisper

There’s a reason why you don’t like to walk home alone, especially at this late hour. During the daytime and early evening there are plenty of other pedestrians and even more traffic. If there’s a problem – of any kind really – there is bound to be someone that will step in and come to your aid. At least that’s what you tell yourself, although you have yet to prove if that assumption is true or false.

What on earth made you agree to work late? You’d promised you’d get the job finished, but it took much longer than you anticipated. I know this because even then I was watching you.

That by itself would not have been too bad, but then when you got to your car, turned the key and it wouldn’t start, you cursed aloud. Go on, admit it or deny it; I really don’t care which for I know the truth. I was right there standing behind you even then.

I watched as you checked the time. I’m sure you already realized that you were so late the last bus had long gone. You could have called a cab. You didn’t, and I know why. It was for exactly the same reason as had made you agree to work the overtime. Debt can be such a hard task-master, especially when you are receiving final demands from all directions.

I’m not usually a gambling person, but this time I was pretty sure my bet would pay off. When you pulled up your collar and hunched forward, hands in pocket, it was pay time. Or perhaps it would be better described as play time, for I really wanted to shout out: ‘Let the game begin!’ but it’s better just to stick to a very faint whisper.

For a while I hang back, letting you get a reasonable distance away from me. Even if I lose sight for a moment, it won’t matter. I know where you are going. I had considered waiting for you outside your destination but this way... well, it’s so much more fun.

The main streets are still well lit. Not only from the street lamps either, for many of the stores keep their windows lit in an attempt to entice a bit of window shopping. If only ten per cent of the people that look return to buy, that’s ten per cent extra to add to the takings. I’m way back when you begin to look over your shoulder. Perhaps you sense me there, or perhaps you suffer from slight paranoia.

I’m a master at the silent approach. I am suddenly no more than five steps behind you, and I know I have not made a single sound. Now for the whisper. It’s so distorted that I could be saying anything. It really doesn’t matter if your name is Cynthia, Graham, Megan, Cole; substitute any name that you can think of and that is the word you will hear.

The pause in your step proves that I’m right. You’ve waited one step, and you suddenly realize that your hesitance has allowed me to get even closer. When you begin walking you pick up the pace. So what; I match it and add a bit.

As I move forward I let you catch a tiny glimpse of... what? There’s no form to what you have seen; no real substance. It could easily have been a trick of the light, or your own shadow, but now that I’m just a mere two steps behind you I can whisper in stereo. First it will come from your left, then it will come from your right.

This time when you look over your shoulder it is done while you are still on the go. I keep in your blind spot, just tantalizingly outside of your vision. It’s delightful, the feel of your fear.

You are approaching the crossroads. I know how much you want to keep to the main street where the lights are, but you can’t reach your home from there. If you don’t turn here, you will have to turn five minutes later.

I’ll let the distance increase enough so that I am hidden, should you decide to look again before committing to your choice. Our progress slows as you delay coming to a decision, and then you’re off, almost running down the much darker street. I whisper your name right into your ear and, I can’t help it, I let out a whoop of laughter before I catch you in an embrace that is strong enough to hold you immobile.

My master told me not to question him and I didn’t. Now I have no need, for the proof is on my lips; blood tastes so much sweeter when it’s laced with a frisson of fear.

 

 


Submitted: November 06, 2020

© Copyright 2020 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:

Comments

Mike S.

Spooky-good tale again, Hull

Sat, November 7th, 2020 5:54pm

Author
Reply

Thanks for reading, Mike. I really appreciate it.

Sat, November 7th, 2020 12:51pm

Joe Stuart

Another creepy story, Hully. The exact nature of the creature is left to the imagination of the reader, and that makes it even creepier.

Sat, November 7th, 2020 10:35pm

Author
Reply

Yes, I guess. I had a vampire in mind while writing, but not a Hollywood style one. Thanks so much for giving this a read, Joe.

Sun, November 8th, 2020 6:45am

chrisr82

I really like your style of writing here. It helps to build the suspense, and adds to the general creepiness of the story.
I am inspired to try this type of story myself.

Sun, November 8th, 2020 1:59pm

Author
Reply

That's great! Let me know if you post anything and I'll be sure to give it a read!

Sun, November 8th, 2020 6:43am

Mark A George

Creepy suspense. Very Poe-like. In fact, you remind me of Poe, as both you and he wrote creepy stories as well as poetry.

Sun, November 8th, 2020 9:58pm

Author
Reply

Oh, I wish, Mark! Thanks so much.

Tue, November 10th, 2020 6:03am

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