The Terror #wattys2017 #TNTHorrorContest

TERROR

Origin of terror

Middle English, from Anglo-French terrour, from Latin terror, from terrēre to frighten; akin to Greek trein to be afraid, flee, tremein to tremble — 

First Known Use: 14th century

Jimmy, The Miner had my full attention. I must admit I was a little in awe of him, not only because he was the strangest yet most amazing person I had ever seen, but his reputation as something of a spirit, a ghost who was known to haunt this area by the old mine.  What I had thought was just a scary story told around campfires turned out to be partially true.  You could easily mistake this kat running around in the dark under the moonlight for a ghost, he nearly glowed just sitting there at the table. When he took off his shades and I saw those eyes, I did my best but I'm sure I reacted in some undesirable way.

I was attempting to explain to him what's been happening and as I began thinking about Dale, I started to feel the presence in my lap, under the table. I paused and shifted in my chair and said,

"It's starting to happen, Jimmy, right now, Dale's head is starting do his thing under the table, there's nothing I can do about it."

"Give me your hand son." He extended his hand to me across the table and I grasped it, my palm waxen and wet with perspiration. Those pink orbs looked through me, into me, his brow furrowed as if looking at a puzzle.

I began to feel the action on my lap dissipate and a calmness overtook me, a sudden calmness, Jimmy nodded his head slowly as if understanding something he just read in a manual.

"There we go Merrill, calm down now, I gotcha. How are you feeling?"

"Much better Sir."

"I told you, no more of that, 'sir,' Business."

"OK Jimmy, The head went away, that's the first time I ever felt it coming and not make it."

"That's why we're here now ain't it?"

"Yes, yes it is, exactly why we're here."

Everyone else at the table was silent, all attention was on my new friend Jimmy and myself. He and I were in a zone of some kind.

"I need some time alone with Merrill here, you guys drink your tea and make yourselves at home, we'll be back in a bit."

With that, he stood up and waved his hand, "C'mon son, we have some things to discuss."

I followed him through his living room and down a hall with many pictures, into a room on the right that was as big or bigger than the living room. The walls were nothing but dark wood shelves covered completely with books, every shape, size, color, and author.  Many I never heard of but some were the classics as well as some modern, current writers. In the middle was a long heavy table with six chairs, carved with lions heads and cushions of silk with a criss-cross pattern, all very baroque.

At the end of the table near the wall and facing each other were two overstuffed arm chairs accompanied by a smallish yet working fireplace, a small table with a Blue Willow tea pot and a pair of matching saucers on which to place our cups. He motioned for me to take a seat on the right as he sat on the left.

"More tea Son?" He asked

"No thank you, I'm fine for now."

"Good, good, that's fine; comfortable?"

"Yes," I said, "Very, I love this room, it must have taken a very long time to collect all those books."

"Indeed, hundreds of years in fact. So lets us get down to the brass tacks, shall we."