Ill Ridden Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
this tells of a boy frightened of himself and his parents

Submitted: February 24, 2016

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Submitted: February 24, 2016

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Ill ridden overnight a boy slept dumbfounded against the edge of his chair. Why there? The shadows cast underneath his door told him otherwise. Those familiar shadows, parental in some distinguished professionalism, paced beside the boy’s door. His door vibrated to the calm shouts of rebuttal from the two shadows until the boy could no longer conceptualize it happening in due time. In fact, his eyes lay still toward the floor, begging for answers to questions he no longer wanted to have. So the boy left his chair and comforted himself to the sheets atop his bed, willing to sacrifice a colder slice of his humanity to the warmth his bed provided. But his humanity was only lost to the cost of the two shadows beyond his door.

With a click of his pen he pulled from the side of his dresser he began writing in a book underneath the frame of his bed. That book, personal and trivial, collected all his thoughts that ill ridden night. 

Criminal? He wrote the word down twice. Not mentally provoked, but he found it intrusive. Who was a criminal? His father? Or his mother? Saying neither in his mind felt safer. It was heavenly soothing, like hearing a whisper from a commoner saying that the richer man would help all that are poor. But the boy knew better than lies. Or rather, he knew better than to trust in hope. 

But something spoke to him amongst the journal he clung so desperately to.

“Funny isn’t it? How we always find ourselves here. In this room. Writing in that journal there. Funny, wouldn’t you say?”

Real is as fictitious as the mind would like to believe. Sure enough, this was the case for the boy. He found in the darkness of nights like these that the very illness he suffered from was a byproduct of hallucination. That, and pure sanity. 

There, from the darkest corner of the room, came a mirror of the boy. It was him. A comedic version of him, smiling in the shadows and laughing in the light. The ill breaded night brought this version of him from out of his sights, and sure enough the mirror of the boy sat beside him on the bed. 

The mirror of the boy touched his leg.

“My, my, my! Don’t tell me mother bruised you again! Dearest! No! She wouldn’t do that right? After all she is your mother? Mothers are kind are they not? They are pretty! And quaint! And oh so fragile!” 

The mirror of the boy laughed afterwards and touched the boy’s neck. The boy slapped the mirror of him away and wrestled away from the bed altogether. The journal made a small thud to the floor, giving the shadows beyond the door a distinction to end their quarrel and their paces. Soon after, the shadows dispersed behind a closed door beyond the boy’s room. From there, the quarrels continued, except softer and more pleasant to quiet peace.

Peaceful still, the mirror of the boy laughed harder.

“Let me touch your neck,” said it to the boy. The boy shuffled his neck from side to side, indicating his desire to be left alone. 

But the mirror of the boy did not take kindly to this. And instead of raging like the shadows, he smiled and reached for the boys neck anyway.

“Child! Poor child! Father wrapped his hands around your neck today did he? No! Father wouldn’t do such a thing! He’s respected in his community! He’s respected in his home! He is a father! Not our Lord and Savior, but our father nonetheless! You can’t let him down! You must accept his strangling! He only loves you!”

The mirror of the boy shoved the boy to the floor and laughed harder as it jumped to the bed and rustled underneath the covers. The boy quickly stood up in a fit of fright and removed the covers altogether to find the mirror of the boy had vanished. Except underneath the cover was his journal, inscribed with the dialogue in which the mirror of the boy spoke of. What frightened him more was that he could not recall writing any of it. Suddenly, the ill ridden night that he thought to be afraid of was no longer his fear. What he feared most were the shadows beyond his door. So the boy could only await daylight and pray to a certain Father of his that the shadows no longer existed. That hopefully, light could extinguish all darkness.


© Copyright 2020 LeoHarp. All rights reserved.

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