Fiction In A Flash

Nightmares

Sitting ominously on the edge of the city's oldest neighborhood is my uncle's estate. Like most of the houses in the neighborhood, it was built in the early 19th century with strong French influences, but something about my uncle's house had always set it apart. Perhaps it was the white stone used to build it. All the other houses were built of red brick similar to what paved the walkways. Even more so than the stark contrast of color was the daunting tower that made up half the house. Its sharp angles had always made me wary of entering the yard as a child. The sight of it towering over me on a moonlit night was enough to give me nightmares. Even now as I stare at it, full moon in the backdrop, I get a shiver.

"Mr. Farrow, if we could hurry this along, that would be great," the attorney says clutching his coat closed. I hurry over to the shivering man, but not before taking one last look at the tower.

"It is a shame what happened to your uncle," he says fumbling in his pocket for the master key,

"Tragic really. I always told Martha sleeping pills were bad. At least now, I can give her a reason."

The irritating man continues to talk as he opens the door. Dust settles in the doorway and he makes no move to enter the house. Stepping around him, I walk inside. Piles of books litter the entranceway. Some lay open on various surfaces. Medieval paintings of mythical creatures line the walls. To my left is the stairway to the tower. Looking straight up, I can see it wind up two stories. A cough brings my attention back to the man behind me.

"If you could just sign this," he says unfolding sheets of paper, "I would very much like to get out of here quickly. Never much cared for the home of this particular client."

"You should try living here," I say taking the pen from his hand, "This place gave me the creeps, a bit like my uncle. The man would tell me ghost stories for bedtime."

"If it made you so nervous, why do you want to stay here?"

"It's hard to explain. I guess I just want to remember him one last time before I sell the place."

The attorney looks at me as if I'm insane but doesn't say a word. Instead, he grabs the papers and begins to leave, "Well, I wish you a good night, Mr. Farrow. My condolences about your uncle."

The door slams and I am left alone in this big house. It has been over fifteen years since I had been in this house and yet, it looks exactly the same. Books of dark folklore were strewn about in piles and stacks. On the shelves were novels of horror and disgust. Uncle was certainly an interesting person.

In an attempt to restore order, I begin to gather some of the books and put them onto various shelves, wherever there is space. As I clear off the open books on the side table, something catches my eye. Yet another book of folklore, but something about the drawing itself bothers me.

The image is a small sketch of a creature beyond words. It looks like a demonic wild dog. Its muzzle is menacing and ears point like a large bat. No matter how I try, I can't seem to look away from the page. Underneath the sketch in small black letters are the words, "Mare- a spirit or goblin thought to be the bearer of bad dreams."

I can't help but notice how fitting that I should stumble upon this page; this house brings nothing but nightmares. My eyes wander back to the sketch. The longer I look at it, the more grotesque it is, but it is not the creature's body that captures me. It is the pair of yellow eyes that almost seem to glow in the dim lighting. The creature's amber eyes bore into my soul in a way that I know I will never be able to shake. A loud boom of thunder pulls me away from its hypnotic trance.

It seems fitting that it would storm the night I stay at my uncle's. Changing into an old pair of my uncle's pajamas, I burrow into the comforter of my childhood bed; not nearly bold enough to sleep in his bed. The rain pelting against the window creates an unexpected lullaby that lures me into sleep.