The old woman smiled that sweet, warm smile. The one that made me feel warm and safe.
She said “I’d catch a little mouse and one by one I would cut off it’s tiny toes with my dull pocket knife. When it’s screaming started to irritate me…I’d snap it’s furry neck with just a quick flick.” She chuckled softly.
“Now a days they’d lock you up for doing things like that.” she whispered.
I hate light at night. When there is light I can see things. Things no one would want to see. My bedroom must be as dark as possible because any light invites them. If I can’t see them I can pretend they aren’t there. Even the smallest sliver of light sneaking in between the curtains gives them a spot. A spot to be visible. A spot to torment me again. These things that I see, they don’t go away when a light is cast on them. They stand in the light brashly. Knowing there is nothing I can do. Knowing that I can’t breathe. Knowing that as a tear runs down my terrified check they will disappear as quickly as they came. I know that tomorrow night they will be back, searching for that sliver of light. That tiny little sliver where I will have to see them again. Night after night after night after night after night they are there. The things I see at night.
Welcome to A Little Dreadful, an homage to the Victorian Penny Dreadfuls. On this blog you will venture into the minds of the twisted and tormented. Take quick, little trips into the supernatural and the unsettling. I do hope you enjoy your stay.