Posts Tagged ‘spooky’

Those Eyes

by L.V. Gaudet



As I stand in the damp shadows of the night looking through the muted sheen of drizzle in the night lights, a darker shadow comes into view.

It moves as if apart from the world around it.  Coming slowly towards me.  It cannot be more than four feet high.

I turn and scurry, ducking to hide behind a large tree spreading its darkly leafed limbs in the front yard of a house behind me on the street.  Peeking out, I look up the rain slick street.

The clash of cool rain against the warm night air thickens into a fog, filling the air with its ghostly aura.

The light of the street lamps still glow sallow and mute despite the rain misting them and the fog folding them into its thickening embrace.

The shadow moves, untouched by the dim light, the rain, and the fog.

I am filled with the urge to duck deeper into the tree, to become one with it, hiding like the little grey squirrel who I know lives in this very tree.

Fear breathes from my mouth and I imagine I can feel the little squirrel trembling in fear inside its tree home, holding its breath and listening.

I look again and the shadow is closer now.  It has split into two somehow.  Identical.  Almost.

The urge to laugh at how stupid I must look sits heavily in my chest.  I have no idea why I am afraid.

Swallowing the sick bile of fear in my throat, I force myself to move, darting for the darkened house behind me.

Yanking at the door is useless.  The door is locked.

Ringing the bell brings no solace with the impotent pushing of that little button on the wall next to the door.  No one is there to let me in.

Looking around quickly, I remember there is a shed behind the house.

The shadow twins are still there, closer now, in the middle of the road where the street lights reveal them to be nothing more than two children, a boy and girl.

A laugh bubbles up my throat, filled with the tension of unease.  I feel foolish.  They are just a couple of kids.  The smile that cracks my face is a little sickly looking.

I move to step towards them.  I should greet them and ask what they are doing out here in the middle of the night, in the rain.  Are they lost?

They are staring at me.  I know this by the way their bodies look in the dark and the rain, the dim light glittering with a fiendish wet sparkle that touches everything but them.  They are facing me, staring at me, although I cannot see their faces, their eyes.

As we face off in the rain glistening in the street lamps dark of night, the warm air loses its clash against the chill air brought by the rain, and the fog thickens.

The other night shadows recede, but somehow the two children seem to be shadow and real at once.  An aura of shadow that is a part of them.  They are untouched, somehow, by the street lights.

Fear oozes through me, slithering dark and oily.

They move towards me in perfect unison, taking a slow step, unhurried.  They have all the time in creation of the planets and the universe.

I don’t know when my feet moved.  I only know that somehow, inexplicably, my feet are moving beneath me.  Running.

It feels like I cannot take my eyes off those children.  I feel bad that I am not offering to help them.  They should not be out here.  Yet, I know I cannot be looking at them because the house passes to my right in a fear-fogged blur.  The driveway moves beneath the slap of my feet. The rain soaked grass of the back yard dampens the bottoms of my pants legs.  I see the shed coming at me, the hand that moves as if it is not a part of me reaching, grasping, and pulling the door open.

The darkness of the shed’s interior with its lawnmower squatting like some strange alien bug, the rakes and shovels, and the spindly spokes of a bicycle rearing suddenly before my eyes, hanging from the roof or the wall, I am not sure which.

My breath is panting raggedly out of my mouth and I am certain I can smell my own stink of fear sweat.

The two kids are outside of the shed as I pull the door closed, jamming a gardening utensil into the handles on the inside to lock the doors closed, even as my displaced thoughts wonder why those handles are even there on the inside of a small shed.

Utter blackness fills the shed with the closing of those doors.

I can feel them out there, staring at me.

The last image of them is burned into my eyes, my mind.  Their faces, so strangely devoid of emotion, of life, of whatever it is that magically makes the living feel animated.

Their eyes, twin orbs of blackness staring out of twin pale moon faces.  Expressionless.  Lifeless.


Their eyes are all black.  The pupil, the iris, the sclera, the part that is supposed to be white.

Their voices come through the rough wood door, close on the other side; hollow, surreal and weirdly dreamlike.  As if they are speaking to me through some strange mutant sound muffling and distorting mist from far away.

“Please, let us in.  We only want to come in.”

“Let us in out of the rain.”

“It is dark out here.  Please let us in.”

Everything that is human and decent in me tells me that I should open that door.

The slithering dark oily fear filling me holds me prisoner.  I cannot move.  I cannot scream.

I somehow manage to look down and wonder at my bare feet.  The bottoms of my now wet pajama pants.  I am dressed for bed?  Did I go to bed?  I don’t remember.

How did I get outside?  I don’t remember.

I can only see those black eyes.  Strange and lifeless, staring at me without expression.

The all black eyes.  Football shaped marbles of black that do not, cannot, glisten in the light the way eyes do.  Light cannot touch them any more than it can touch the strange children or the shadows that became them.

They are the absence of light.  Of life?

I want to scream.

I can only see the eyes.




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Halloween 2009 – 4 More Sleeps


Halloween party planning is afoot.  Rumors are spreading faster than notes and invitations, kids are eagerly discussing who brings what treat, and mothers are frantically thinking fast how to “make” 25 of the best boo-and-goo orange iced pumpkin cupcakes on the block with little or no warning.


Today’s feature story is a flash fiction story (1,000 words or less) called “The Woods “.  It is about two brothers doing as brothers do, daring each other to go into the spooky woods beyond their house.


And just for fun, here is a Halloween poem I wrote to get the kids stomping and yelling.  “Witches, Goblins, and Spooks – Oh My!


A Halloween did you know:


Did you know that the jack-o’-lantern got its name from the will-o’-wisp, a torch made from a bundle of sticks or paper?  There are numerous folklore tales from around the world.  The details vary, but the premise seems to be much the same.  A soul of ill repute appears in association with a strange flickering light.  It may be the soul of a man or beast, depending on the culture.  In some stories it tries to lure the unwary, in all it is something best avoided.  When you see strange flickering lights at night or twilight resembling a flickering lamp, make haste for home.  It might be something not of this world in search of a victim to torment.


What are the lights really?  Some believe these strange lights, the will-o’-wisp, or ignis fatuus in Latin, the “ghost lights”, are the product of gasses created by organic decay.  Another theory is that they are the result of electricity being created by a tectonic shift, and the heating up of rocks containing earthly goods like quartz or silicon.  Yet another theory is glow in the dark owls.  Yes, apparently owls do glow in the dark.  Those darned barn owls and their luminescent plumage apparently may have been terrorizing lone travelers for centuries.  And of course there will always be the original (and more fun) folklore myths about what those eerie lights in the distance really are.


Just in case, I think I’ll walk a little bit faster and keep my eyes steady on the road straight ahead the next time I happen to be strolling at twilight past bogs, swamps, or marshes, and any other lonely stretch of pristine land – just in case.


And now a very spooky picture just for Halloween.


Tia (R.I.P.) the Devil Dog

2008 10 15 tia 8yrs - my couch! (7)






And for something even more frightening … I don’t know what they are or where they came from, but they sure have a scarily uncanny resemblance to something I know … but what?  I know those can’t possibly be MY kids.  My kids don’t eat bananas, swing from trees, or chase down gazelle for dinner   – much.  Whatever they are, I think they ate my kids.  (You are what you eat and all that).

2007 01 21 Robyn 25mos & Sid 43mos in constumes (12)

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Halloween is just around the corner.  The decorations are up, kids costumes bought, the pumpkin is awaiting carving, and we’re putting off buying the candy so it doesn’t get eaten before Halloween.


In honor of Halloween, I’ll be sharing a few ghouslish tidbits.

Today’s feature story is a flash fiction story (1,000 words or less) called “Knock on Ginger“.  It is about (yes you guessed it) the game we have all played at some point as kids.


A Halloween did you know:

Did you know that Halloween has Celtic roots?  According to an article on Wikipedia, in the festival of Samhain the end of the harvest was celebrated with tones of the  festival of the dead, a festival honoring deceased community members.


Quoted from source:  Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samhain

“Celtic Reconstruction”

“According to Celtic lore, Samhain is a time when the boundaries between the world of the living and the world of the dead become thinner, allowing spirits and other supernatural entities to pass between the worlds to socialize with humans. It is the time of the year when ancestors and other departed souls are especially honored. Though Celtic Reconstructionists make offerings to the spirits at all times of the year, Samhain in particular is a time when more elaborate offerings are made to specific ancestors. Often a meal will be prepared of favorite foods of the family’s and community’s beloved dead, a place set for them at the table, and traditional songs, poetry and dances performed to entertain them. A door or window may be opened to the west and the beloved dead specifically invited to attend. Many leave a candle or other light burning in a western window to guide the dead home. Divination for the coming year is often done, whether in all solemnity or as games for the children. The more mystically inclined may also see this as a time for deeply communing with the deities, especially those whom the lore mentions as being particularly connected with this festival.”



And as a final note I’d like to share with you  HALLOWEEN 2007 (cue spooky music):


Halloween Princesses

Halloween Princesses







2007 10 31 robyn 34mos halloween barbarian fairy princes (7)

2007 10 31 robyn 34mos halloween barbarian fairy princes (9)-2cropped

2007 10 31 sid 4yrs halloween snow white (2)

2007 10 31 sid 4yrs halloween snow white (3)-2cropped

Bookmark Halloween 2009 - 5 More Sleeps by L.V. Gaudet

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