The Black

 This...this is more than just a story...it's a warning. You are not safe at night. The moment your head touches your pillow you are in grave danger. I cannot stress how imperative it is that you do not wake up. You hear everyone talking about how if you're having a bad dream or a nightmare, how you can pinch yourself and wake up. I would have happily gone along with this a couple weeks ago, not knowing just what exactly goes on when you are in an unconscious state.

 It started with a boy. Just a small boy, around the age of five. Me and the rest of my friends in the local police force were investigating a series of massive drug deals that led to this boy's house. It was around 3:00 in the morning and we had awoken his parents with our furious ringing of their eerie doorbell. When they came to the door, they looked terrified and shooed us away, telling us:

 "It's not safe to wake him!"

 I flashed my badge to show these people that we were here on business and needed  to come inside to check the house for signs of drugs. They had the nerve to try and shoo us away again stressing even more of some unseen danger. Why on earth would I listen to these people? You could see in their blood-shot eyes they were high as a kite, so I walked in not giving a flying fuck about what they had to say about it.

 I started the standard procedure search. I checked inside drawers and closets. I searched the kitchen and I had one of my lieutenants do a search on the man and the woman, who reluctantly gave in. I looked inside one drawer in the kitchen and found it a little odd to be keeping a Bible in such a place. As I searched more and more I found at least three Bibles in every room, all in the most obscene places that always tended to be at least five feet off the ground. I completed my search with a quick look around the ground floor one more time, and swapped with my lieutenant that I may question the parents while he searched the upper floors.

 The questions were to be normal procedure questions for someone who might be involved in drug dealing. Simple things like:

 "Have you been in contact with any unknown persons over the past few weeks?"

 "No, we have been at home for the past three months, we dare not go outside."

 Odd.

 "Do you have any knowledge of what happened at Lionsville Park yesterday?"

 "Yes, we saw it all over the news. Some sort of shooting, correct?"

 "Yes."

 I don't ever recall anyone opening up the case to the media, but somehow it must've gotten out.

 We had received a call the other day while looking over the other five cases we had to work on about a death in the park. We rushed to the scene and while I looked over the general vicinity of the body, my men set up a perimeter and taped it off. The man himself was a mystery. His eyes were open wide and his mouth was agape, missing both top and bottom teeth. His body was in an awkward position as well, both hands were up on his neck and his legs were bend backwards, a full 180 degrees. There was no blood, besides the bullet hole in his throat. I was about to touch him when one of my men snapped a picture, and what in that picture would haunt me for the rest of my life.

 I was about to continue my 'reminiscence' when I heard a loud popping sound come from the inside of the house. The parents were on the verge of tears as I ran up the stairs wondering just what happened while I was thinking. I ran down the hallway as fast as possible when a small, bloody object made contact with my head, it knocked me down and I saw stars for a full five seconds before I realized I was looking into the eyes of my lieutenant's head, completely severed from his body at the neck. And then the body flew in, bit by bit from the other direction. I was disgusted, who could have done this to the most healthy man I had ever known? And how had the head and the body flown in from opposite directions? Then I heard a small innocent voice:

 "Why did you wake me up?"

<p class="MsoNormal"> I turned around slowly wondering what kind of thing killed my lieutenant. And before I knew it, I was looking into the eyes of a small boy, no more than five. It took me a  while to realize the voice belonged to ''him. ''We stared at each other for a long time, me assessing what he could have done, and I can only assume he was doing the same for me. After a while he must've gotten angry because he asked again in a mad tone:

<p class="MsoNormal">'' "Why did you wake me up?" ''

<p class="MsoNormal"> I looked him dead in the eyes and said:

<p class="MsoNormal"> "We're in the middle of a case right now regarding the drugs that have been going around recently. What happened to my lieutenant?"

<p class="MsoNormal"> He looked me dead in the eyes and responded: "The same thing that's going to happen to you for waking me."

<p class="MsoNormal"> And then he raised his small, frail, little arm, and pointed at me. Immediately from behind him four large black hellhound looking creatures sprang from the darkness and went straight for my chest. I turned and ran, I bolted out the door with one hot on my heels. It jumped and bit my lower leg just before dissolving when I passed the verandah. I looked to the parents for an explanation as to just what the hell is wrong with their child, only to find both of them dead. They had had their heads torn off in a similar fashion to my lieutenant. I got in the car and drove away as fast as it's little wheels would carry me, my mind lost in thought about the horrors of that night.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Every night after that my head was filled with wicked dreams about that boy and the four creatures he summoned. And every day I awoke with a start, screaming. And every time I awoke, something caught my eye. A figure, or at least I think it's a figure, standing just outside of my field of view, staring at me. Every night I dream of this figure, every night he takes my life, and every night I awake with his gaze piercing into my soul like a burning blade. Even yesterday he was in my dreams, and I suspect he will be in my dreams tonight as well. But then again, after the horrors I have experienced, I don't think anyone could ever have a decent dream again.

<p class="MsoNormal"> ---

<p class="MsoNormal"> I've figured it out. I know what happens, how these...creatures are born. This may seem cheap but, it's the darkness. Not the video game or some figure of speech, no, it's the actual darkness itself, the absence of light. It sees into your mind, and it can fabricate anything from in there. I don't know how it can do such a thing. I mean...it's not like this darkness is some sort of being...right?

<p class="MsoNormal"> I remember the picture that one of my men took. The dark shadow encasing the dead man's body. Animating his arms and face, giving off the impression of pain and torture. But...I couldn't see the darkness then, like I can now.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I remember walking out into the street, and seeing dark shadows covering everything. All the people, the streets, even the wildlife was enveloped in a massive cloak of darkness. I asked some of the people on the street what they saw, only to find them blind to the nature of their predicament. Then, what was different about me? My leg, one of the hounds from  that night had bitten me before I escaped. Maybe that had changed me? Possible. I went to sleep that night with such thoughts filling my head.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I dreamt of the figure again, his dark blade hanging low to the ground, about knee height. He didn't say anything, he didn't have to. I knew what was coming, and I could only stand and wait for him to kill me again. But then I fell  backwards by mistake. My head hit the ground and my hand flew up and to the right, striking my face, waking me. Back in the natural world, I saw that figure, the one from my dream standing above me, blade drawn, about to strike me down in my bed. I screamed and he lunged out to silence me, I drew my gun from its holster that I keep beside my bed and unloaded into the shadow's chest. I emptied my entire clip into him, hoping that he would just die. He never did. He looked up at me, and for the first time, he opened his eyes. The smoke around him swirled viciously as he slowly opened his eyes. They were nothing more than two oval shaped white lights, but the message they conveyed was enough to chill me to the bone for the rest of my life.

<p class="MsoNormal"> ”You should not have seen this." 

<p class="MsoNormal"> Oh God please help me. And he dissolved, back into the night, but I could see his eyes on the floor, watching my every move, everywhere I go I see his eyes gazing at me. And every time I see him, he looks away. I went to a crime scene of another murder the next day. And another after that, and another, and another. They all had the same story; The body was covered in darkness, except for the wound, on his chest were words, simple words, in English. The words said:

<p class="MsoNormal"> ”Don't wake up."

<p class="MsoNormal"> I don't sleep anymore, I can't sleep, or I'll end up dead like all of the murder victims. Don't you sleep either, if you can, try to stay awake as long as possible. The darkness knows you're there, it knows what you're dreaming, it will kill you, if you wake up too soon. It will kill you if you wake up at all.