The Listner
This is a wee story i wrote, about a time machine:)
I walked up to my bedroom, in the darkness and the cold. I jumped as the wooden floor creaked beneath my bear feet. Everything scares me now, since the summer of nineteen ninety five...An unexpected voice, my cat walking about, the storm, wind, even the shadows of trees I see through my old, filthy window. But I can't see a therapist, I can't talk to anybody about this, I can't even think about this for too long. I don't trust anyone, I don’t have a family, and if I think about this for too long, I start to shake and cry.
So I went over to my mattress, which was lying on the grimy, wooden floor and I knelt down, flattened out the pillow and got ready to sleep when I heard two voices. No... one voice. A familiar, man's voice. I closed my eyes, and calmed myself down. Then I stood up, still ducking a bit so the man wouldn’t notice me, and went over to the window, shaking all over again. I hid behind the soft, dark green curtain and took a deep breath. I could smell the curtains... a sour smell of oldness. I jumped a little again as I saw four woodlice running across the room. I had to keep myself from squealing as the traveller couldn't know someone was in this lonely house.
“Is anybody there?” The man asked as he smote upon the door. A black bird flew out from my turret, and above the traveller's head. I stood still behind the curtain as quietly as I could. After about five seconds, I heard a horse. It neighed loudly and stamped its hoofs on the forest's ferny floor.
I carefully looked at the man, he looked about thirty. Roughly the same age as me. His hair was brown although his details were hard to make out in the darkness of the night. But I could see that his eyes were a grey colour. And that he was wearing blue swimming shorts and a red t-shirt that was too small on him. He seemed too familiar, as if I was looking at the older version of my child hood friend, Charles. But why would a thirty year old man wear summer clothes in autumn, especially that the weather wasn't very pleasant? I looked at him closely, as he knocked on my moonlit door for the second time.
“Is anybody there?!” He shouted again. He got no reply from me, so he got a bit inpatient. I heard my heart thumping against my chest. I was scared now, and I knew for sure this was the devil. The devil who had tried to kill me. Back in nineteen ninety five.
“Tell her I came... That I kept my word,” he said. He took out an old-fashioned pen and a scrunched up piece of paper. He wrote something on it very quickly and left the paper hanging from my door knob. I heard his laugh, a high pitched giggle, as he got back on the horse. And all I could hear now was the iron hoofs of his horse on stone. And how the silence surged softly backwards, when the plunging hoofs were gone..
So I went over to my mattress, which was lying on the grimy, wooden floor and I knelt down, flattened out the pillow and got ready to sleep when I heard two voices. No... one voice. A familiar, man's voice. I closed my eyes, and calmed myself down. Then I stood up, still ducking a bit so the man wouldn’t notice me, and went over to the window, shaking all over again. I hid behind the soft, dark green curtain and took a deep breath. I could smell the curtains... a sour smell of oldness. I jumped a little again as I saw four woodlice running across the room. I had to keep myself from squealing as the traveller couldn't know someone was in this lonely house.
“Is anybody there?” The man asked as he smote upon the door. A black bird flew out from my turret, and above the traveller's head. I stood still behind the curtain as quietly as I could. After about five seconds, I heard a horse. It neighed loudly and stamped its hoofs on the forest's ferny floor.
I carefully looked at the man, he looked about thirty. Roughly the same age as me. His hair was brown although his details were hard to make out in the darkness of the night. But I could see that his eyes were a grey colour. And that he was wearing blue swimming shorts and a red t-shirt that was too small on him. He seemed too familiar, as if I was looking at the older version of my child hood friend, Charles. But why would a thirty year old man wear summer clothes in autumn, especially that the weather wasn't very pleasant? I looked at him closely, as he knocked on my moonlit door for the second time.
“Is anybody there?!” He shouted again. He got no reply from me, so he got a bit inpatient. I heard my heart thumping against my chest. I was scared now, and I knew for sure this was the devil. The devil who had tried to kill me. Back in nineteen ninety five.
“Tell her I came... That I kept my word,” he said. He took out an old-fashioned pen and a scrunched up piece of paper. He wrote something on it very quickly and left the paper hanging from my door knob. I heard his laugh, a high pitched giggle, as he got back on the horse. And all I could hear now was the iron hoofs of his horse on stone. And how the silence surged softly backwards, when the plunging hoofs were gone..
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