Each piece of art will be paired with a short story of 200-1000 words. The art will be at the bottom of the chapter.
The prompt list I'm using can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CUSzT18LbFp/?utm_medium=share_sheet
I've always walked the same route to and from my dorm. Every night, I go out for dinner, and when I'm done, I walk back. Maybe its habit. Maybe I just take comfort in the routine, as consistent as the evenly spaced lampposts that light my path.
I know every part of this route, every street sign, every fire hydrant, every ridiculous club sign staked into the grass. Specifically, every source of light.
Not that I'm afraid of the dark or anything. Really, I'm not. It's just.... it feels safer. To stay in the light. I know I don't have much to fear. I'm a pretty big guy, I've thrown a punch once or twice. But still, anything could happen.
So when I stepped out of the dining hall, and saw that all the streetlights had gone out, I was already on edge. The windows of the buildings around me were still mostly lit, but the sidewalk was barely visible. But I had to get back to my dorm, and so, I stepped into the dark.
My walk back was oddly quiet. No cars passed, no bicyclists, not even another person. The only sound I could hear was the chirping of crickets.
My footsteps were quick as I hurried along, aching to be able to see further than the tips of my shoes. Every step felt like walking into a dark puddle, not knowing how deep it actually is.
And then I heard it. Something different than the sound of distant cars or the crickets or my steady footsteps.
It was a clicking sound. Like the noise a dog makes when it walks across a hardwood floor.
I whipped my head around, stopping for just a second, peering through the dark.
There was nothing. Of course there was nothing.
I continued forward. The clicking started again. Once again, I whipped my head around, this time not stopping my walk. Nothing, but the clicking hadn't stopped. In fact, it sound closer.
I started running, but it only got closer, and louder. If it had at first started like the sounds of one dog, it now sounded like a pack.
I sprinted, running as fast as I could. Running from something I knew was following me. Hunting me. It might have been my imagination, but I swore I could feel hot breath on my neck.
Finally, I managed to make it to my dorm, slamming the door behind me. I leaned against it, breathing heavily, my heart beating out of my chest.
The sound was gone.
But that night, as I tried to sleep, I swore I could hear scratching at my window. But when I looked out, it was only dark.
No light to be seen.
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