Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
The Chill By Summer Wyatt
You find you see him more and more as the days go on; his emotionless, cold eyes watching your every move. Never fully, and never for long but you know he’s there, silently waiting. You were visiting your mother when you saw him first, saw his dead gaze peering through the eerie fog to stare at you as you placed the flowers down. He wasn’t smiling, but to you that made sense, no one really smiles at a graveyard. So you ignored it, put the unnerving experience out of your mind, returned to your family.
But you couldn’t ignore the other times. A flash, dark and sinister out of the corner of your eye; a frigid air would surround you, freezing you to the core. You felt the ice spread through you veins slowly, creeping through and tearing at your skin. You’d look around, to see if anyone noticed your agony – and there he was. In the corner, watching you, with his dead expression and dull gaze. His ebony hair covered his face but his eyes still watched.
You blink and he disappears, there one moment and simply gone the next.
The chill, that stays; you put on layer after layer, but it achieves nothing, your limbs ache with the cold. People notice, but you wave off their worry. ‘I’ll be fine’ becomes your most said phrase, even as the chill gets worse. Moving becomes harder, standing takes preparation and walking for long is practically impossible. He starts to appear more, always watching and waiting, though for what you do not know. You aren’t afraid, the cold numbs not only your hands but your emotions as well. You push people away but you can’t help it.
Cold, cold, so cold.
It invades your thoughts, how cold you are, how tired - sleep, just rest, just fade away – and it’s hard to concentrate. University is impossible now, the words blurring in front of you, the teachers voice only background noise. So you stay inside, your heating constantly on, always wearing at least 3 layers. You think, after two days of nothing, the man is gone.
Then you see him in the mirror.
He’s stood behind you, eyes are dark and lifeless as before. But his mouth, you notice has changed. His one still mouth had twisted, the ends curling up in a cruel and taunting smirk. He’s never got this close before, and you are too weak to run in terror. He takes a step - he’s never moved before – and his footsteps echo round the small room, pounding through you head and you turn –
Just the frost on the floor. You hear a crack – the mirror.
It’s not your reflection when you turn, it’s him, his ghoulish features replacing your own.
Not replacing, because the features are yours. You look closer and his smirk turns menacing, his arms reaching out the pull you in.
You see him turn his hands – no yours ¬– and his smile is yours but now it’s his, just like everything else.
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