Just a quick draft of a short story based on the urban legends of black-eyed children (ITT
). I might write a proper version when not in a fever of 39 C. Any feedback would be appreciated.
“Um… I don’t know, really. Shouldn't you be home at this hour?”
The child’s face reflects a strange horror, that of a person who realizes he has made a fatal mistake, and is currently trying to cope with the fact that it might be impossible to undo. He shakes his head slightly, almost unnoticeably, and touches the elbow of his companion, as if to warn her. (He knows – he has seen them.
She keeps a friendly expression, a smile on her beautiful mocha face, but behind it I can see a dark flicker of something else. I suddenly feel like throwing up and dizzy oh it’s all a haze and no child should ever feel that way never think those things never ever be
those things -
“Please, sir, we only need to get home. It lies a few blocks away from here. Our mother told us not to walk the streets this late, but we missed the last bus and I broke my cell phone. We need to get home before eleven. Please.”
She talks with an oddly calm voice as she explains the situation over again. Not a voice of a child who’s alone with her little brother in the middle of a dark city with no phone or money.
Her clothes, a tight purple hoodie and jeans, seem completely normal for a young girl nowadays. Her teeth are white, perfectly shaped, her hair a thick cascade of chocolate tied on two curly pigtails. But it’s too dark to see – are her eyes… yes. They are black, in the light of the lamppost, utterly devoid of colours, and with no visible irises.
Despite the chills her stare sends down my spine, she is cute; she will probably grow up quite a beauty. (We do not grow up.
“Let us in your car, sir. It’s cold here, please.”
This is the first time the boy opens his mouth. He looks somewhat like his sister, with the same slightly darker tone of skin, and is, perhaps, ten of age. But his expression remains despaired – he almost looks like he is about to cry. (He knows he knows we should have picked the old man.
) He is not that beautiful, a bit chubby and with carelessly chosen clothes and messy hair.
The girl turns her face towards his brother in horrible anger, looking like she’s going to punch (SLAUGHTER
) him right away. Realizing that I am still here, she composes herself and looks at me again, but casts one last glance on the boy. (Shut the fuck up, HE HAS NO IDEA
“I am sorry, sir. But we seriously need to get inside before some dangerous freak lays his eyes on us. You don’t want to read that a girl aged twelve has been raped and beaten and killed, and see my face in the pictures of tomorrow’s papers. Let us in.” (LET US IN
The girl keeps her voice as friendly as possible, but despite that, I feel the fear creep down my neck, follow my spine, fill me up and somehow make it hard to breathe in the presence of these two children. Are they going to kill me if I let them in? I have no money. My car is ten years old. I don’t look rich. Why should they feel a need to harm me?
What if they speak the truth, and I’m just paranoid because of their eyes – such a ridiculous reason to leave two kids in lethal danger on the streets. I am a rational person and such things as black magic and malicious eyes are bullshit. And surely they wouldn’t try to strangle me or beat me up or anything, I am an adult, for crying out loud, they must understand it. I can’t fear a couple of little kids, even if they should attempt something silly. (Do it, now, tell us we can come in. Let us in let us in let us in.
Another shiver as I look at the little boy. I have always laughed at horror movies with those silent children with pale faces and their horrible porcelain dolls. It’s not enough that they are such a terrible cliché and surely don’t manage to scare anyone anymore, no, they are annoying and stupid, just there to disturb the hell out of people.
And now I’m staring at one of them in the face and suddenly it’s not so funny. Actually it really is fucking scary.
His sister is quiet and politely waits for me to say something, despite the growing impatience I sense in the air.
He begins to weep and I still have no idea what to do. This is where what I know and what I believe strongly disagree: I know they are just ordinary kids trying to get a ride home, but I can’t help believing that there is more to it, something beyond the world I’m used to.
“So. Are you gonna let us in or do we have to ask someone else? The clock is ticking. Our mother must be very worried at home.”
I remain silent. (Just open the door, silly, you will be safe. We are innocent children.
“Come on, spag”, the boy whispers. Now I see his eyes are dry despite the fact that I just saw him cry. And the darkness –
Another wave of horror. What was the word he had just used?
The boy had called me a spag. With a stunning fear, I realize that I am not going to wake up next morning. I am not going to wake up ever again.
These kids are from that place
Two pterodactyls descend beside my car, and with an ear-breaking roar, they tear it apart. A 23fnordRealDiscordian hits me in the head.
The pain streams down like cold cold water, and oh so slowly it drags me down into the black.