That Which Waits

Halloween is just round the corner or two. So, here's an offering to start my annual short story horrorfest. The gov is still scarier -s-.

No matter how far flung the barriers, That Which Waits is just beyond.

It's quiet, patient and when you're behind the wall, unseen.

If it's too quiet, TWW sorties out, very low. It might be flies, or a stench of waste or even worse, death, but TWW gives itself away to those who see and hear.

Sentries are trained to detect infiltration. It's almost always quiet, still, whether in the night or noonday. But most of the time, TWW cannot wait long and tries to provoke.

It masks itself as insanity, doubt, fear. But, it is evil. It cannot be quantified.

It's like a cold breath of wind, scurrying, whipping round, chilling at the darkest time, making us want to burrow under the covers, compelling us to lock it out.

Like a silent bell, one feels the vibrations, and each reverberation ripples through time and space.

We are only as strong as the weakest link. We are only as safe as the breach in the wall.

Some are worn down and TWW creeps nearer, stalking decency and spreading murky oily decay.

Not even fitful wakefulness can banish TWW.

That is why we must have our sword always unsheathed. That is why we must outwake the sleepless.

The slithering presence will claim closer and closer til it chokes, smothers light, which must surely dim and die with a quiet last weakened flicker.

Don't wait for it. Forever hunt, always seek. Don't look for trouble, find it and fight it, meet it face to face.

For the limits put upon TWW only give it time to grow.