Archive 165 The Shadow Weaver

something tangential. Imagine if you feel darkness itself and feel it on your skin like a ray of warm sunshine. It would be frightening or worse still, imagine if something could come from that darkness and touch you. I was touched by something from the darkness. This is my story. It seems too good to be true. What's the catch? The house must be haunted, I said to the landlord, as he absent mindedly scrolled on his phone. What's with all the stuff? He looked up at me with a

perplexed expression. Huh uh oh. Yeah. The old tenant moved out about three weeks ago, left all the furniture and stuff. Hence why I listed the house as fully furnished. Keep whatever you want and toss the rest. I don't care. It ain't my stuff, he said, as he went back to checking his phone. The backyard's fenced in, obviously, and the doggy door here is open if you have a dog. There's an extra deposit of two hundred and fifty dollars.

I walked through the three bedroom, two bathroom home, again built in the nineteen fifties, The one story brick structure was a simple rectangle divided into rooms, a common design back in the day. It had fallen by the wayside in the name of open concept floor plans long ago shotgun houses. They used to be called I remember my grandmother saying that phrase once upon a time. Still it had been recently remodeled, didn't reek of cigarette smoke like a few of the other places I had seen for rent.

Trying to find a decent place within driving distance to work for under eighteen hundred dollars per month was nearly impossible. When the home just off Clifton Road sprang up on my app I thought it was a scam. I perused the built in shelf in the den which surrounded the wood burning fireplace, large thick books on anatomy, psychology, and the like filled at least three of them. One book stood out. It was faded green and lacked a dust jack. I started to remove it from the shelf, but left

it hanging slightly. Ajar, these weren't my things to touch. There sure are a lot of medical books here. She worked at Big wake Over on Newburn Avenue. It was a short drive for her, but she found something else. Might have been a traveling nurse. I don't remember, he mumbled. I inspected the couchs thoroughly before walking into the bedroom. The lovely wooden French doors opened to a long hall away from the rest of the home. I pulled the sheets up and checked the corners of the mattress for

signs of bed bugs. You want the place or not, little lady. I have another person coming in an hour to look at it. Should I cancel him or he called from the kitchen. Let's do it, I told the man proudly, as I walked back down the hall. Contracts on the island sign all three initial where I have the little tabs. Rent is due on the seventh, late two months and you're gone. I will pro rate this month, since it's already the second weekend. Everything in here is

yours now? Well, that sounds fair. When can I move in? His hand vibrated softly as I asked the question soon as you sign, do you mind if I take this in port and call my new landlord said as he pushed through the screen door and went to the back deck. I quickly read the document over and signed each one meticulously. My first lease, I was officially on my own. It had been hard coming right out of the university to

find a place to stay. Apartment prices were insanely high in Wake County, but I had lucked into a one thousand square foot home. It would be all mine for the next eighteen months. I thought, No, she isn't as pretty as the last one, not by a long shot. More of a normy, I thought. U nc W grads were all hotties, being from the beach and all. Guess she's the oddball, I heard the man say on his phone. As long as the rent gets paid, I don't care. Hopefully she doesn't vanish in the night like the last

one did. Excuse me, what did you just say about me, I asked, incredulously. He looked at me with an annoyed expression and pointed to his phone. He saw I had the signed contract in my hand, and he snatched it quickly, flipping through the pages. He nodded in satisfaction and gave me a thumbs up with a smile as he continued to walk. He walked off the porch and got into his car, and he was gone. Two days and a large U haul truck later, I was completely moved in.

As I removed the small things I brought from their boxes, I realized quickly I did not need most of what I brought Lenen's plates. It was all still there. The cableman came and went without issue use, and I streamed music from a small speaker as I moved throughout my new abode, glass of chilled wine in hand. It was late when I finally got to the last box, and it contained a small basket given to me by my late mother. I hoisted the cardboard container up and my

hand found the massive hole in the side. No, no, no, I said, as I hastily cut through the packing tape. Something had punched through the side while in the truck. I ripped out the packing paper and stuck my hand into the box. The basket had splintered into pieces. It was handmade, woven together from thin strips of pliable North Carolina ashwood. I would never find another like it. It was wildly and a little crooked, but it was from my mother. My heart sank, but I couldn't bring myself

to toss it. A few soft tears ran down my cheeks as I thought of her. She never saw me walk the stage at Wilmington to receive my diploma. She didn't get to hear my excited phone call to tell her that I had found a place of my own. I wanted to tell her these amazing things, to share the experience with her, but I couldn't. And I laid the broken pieces on the kitchen table, and my night was ruined. I preloaded the coffee maker and decided to go to bed. I took one last glance at the

ravaged basket before I turned the lights out. My first evening there, I had fitful sleep. I woke with the sun bursting onto my face through the curtainless window. I tried to turn away, but I found I couldn't move. I tried, but I was stuck. I could not even move my head and my neck. My ears rang with a deep vibration and panic gripped me for an instant. Was I going to die? I only graduated six months ago, and now my life ends here. In my first night in my new home, the fear subsided as my feet

became tingly. I could wiggle my toes. After a few moments, my entire body slowly returned to normal. The process took a few minutes, but those minutes were stretched along infinitely. When the scorching rays of the sun slap you in the face at six in the morning, I need to get some blackout curtains today, I said aloud. As I finally regained control of my body. My steady breathing returned, and I sat up in bed now immediately reached for

my phone. It was six six a m. I opened Chrome and typed in can't move when I wake up? And then scan the results. The top bar read sleep paralysis, and I click the link from the National Health Service and I read through the information. It said sleep paralysis could be caused by disrupt in sleep patterns. Suppose moving is a disruption of sleep, I thought. I stepped onto the plush carpet of the bedroom and opened the double doors. A board groaned in protest as I stepped onto the

hardwoods in the hallway. The strong scent of fresh coffee waffed it down the corridor to my nostrils. Each step drew me closer to sweet, delicious Columbian goodness. My toes danced in anticipation of that first sip. I stopped dead in my tracks as I entered the kitchen. The basket sat on the table. A vibrant ray of sunshine illuminated it in its perfect form. I rushed to it and immediately picked it up. I could see differences in color where new strands of wood had been used. It was

no longer off kilter. It was perfectly shaped. I dropped it onto the table and I took a step back. What the hell, I said, It's not possible I saw it broken into pieces or did I dream it somehow? Deciding to see someone, I took myself to the urgent care clinic in Nightdale, and I spoke to a physician's assistant. She told me there was nothing in the way of

medications that had proven effective in stopping sleep paralysis. She said people used to think it was caused by demons in your home, which would sit on your chest, but that it could cause visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as cloudy memory. My mind immediately ran to the basket. Was my memory distorted from the sleep paralysis? Was it ever really broken? No, I remember the basket. It was crude crafted by an amateur during her final months of

life in physical therapy. Something was terribly wrong. I returned home with a bag of takeaway chicken tenders, and I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the basket. I chewed a tender with an open mouth while my eyes burned into the ash wood. You are not the way I left you, I said to the basket. I know it, and you know it. So what's the deal, I asked, as I jabbed a cold French fry in its direction. Okay, fine, don't talk to me, but we

will get to the bottom of this. I spent the afternoon setting up my computer and streaming a show as background noise. I would have to get back to work Monday, and I wanted to be ready that night. I turned in around eleven. I began to drift off to sleep, and my phone blaring a video of a makeup channel I subscribed to. I heard a creak and I realized one of the two doors to the bedroom was slightly a jar. As my eyelids became heavy, I felt a vibration in my ears. It was nothing painful, but it

was still something I could feel. It seemed to grow louder, or perhaps it felt louder. I wasn't sure if I was hearing it or feeling it. I wiped my dry eyes and I realized I still had my contact lenses in, and I blinked a few times, and I screamed. A large pair of glowing eyes stared at me from the corridor, and when I screamed, they appeared to move back slightly. Almost startled, I heard the creak again the floorboard I

had stepped on earlier. Something was there, and it blinked rapidly a few times, and then suddenly vanished without a trace. I sat there, stunned. What the hell could that have been? I don't dare move from my bed, and fear utterly gripped me. There was a strange clanking sound from the kitchen. Something was definitely moving inside my home. After a few moments, it ceased. I didn't sleep the entire evening and only moved when the sun arose. I gripped my softball back

tightly with sweaty palms. As I walked down the hall to the kitchen, my coffee maker clicked softly with the fresh brew. I didn't remember loading it the night before. Did I do it instinctively? Out of habit? I called the landlord immediately, mister Burke, there was something in the house last night, some kind of creature. It was in the house and it was staring at me.

home and I slept blissfully and without worry. My week went uneventfully, and I procured my blackout curtains and hung them myself. Sleep came much easier for someone working what amounted to a second shift with the sun blocked out. It was Friday night and I had just logged off the computer after a long meeting with clients from Europe. Companies in Sweden put in their IT tickets at the end of the day, and I stayed up all evening to make sure their software work when they logged in

the next day with a five hour time difference. Going to bed at one in the morning was a regular occurrence, and I was mentally exhausted and decided to relax. I poured myself a drink and grabbed a book from the shelf. The faded green text caught my eye again. With a book in hand, I grabbed my wine and I wrapped up in the warm sheets. Upon opening the groaning spine, the cover page took me aback sleep paralysis. Visitors from the other side of the door. Did the previous tenant

have bouts with sleep paralysis? That couldn't be a coincidence. I flipped to the first chapter and I began to read, but the wine went straight to my head. The room spun ever so slightly, and a soft hum started to make my head feel fuzzy. I gently tapped the base of the bedside amp to turn it off and laid my head down against the silk pillowcase, and I was asleep within a minute. My eyes snapped open instantly. I knew that sound. It was the board in the hall.

It was ingrained in my brain after the other evil. With my vision blurry, I fumbled desperately for the light, and in my heightened state of alarm, I slapped the lamp, turning it on but also knocking it to the floor. The shade landed with a crunch, and the lamp rolled from side to side on the soft carpet. I pulled my glasses from under my pillow and hastily positioned them on my nose, and I wish I hadn't. A set of long, spindily pale fingers creeped over the footboard of

the bed. It grasped the wooden frame, followed quickly by another. They were gnarled and had four or five knuckles. The fingernails were yellowed, and the skin around them appeared to be raw, like an open wound. Two gargantuine ears, the size of a human hand perked up out of the darkness. They were rigid and erect and pale and distorted. The insides were a muddled pink. I gasped, and they instantly redirected toward me, like the ears of a hunting dog.

The nails dug into the wood slightly, and two large, bulbous eyes rose slowly inch by inch. They were the size of lemons, jaundiced yellow and semi luminescent. The creature's face crept above the board, I switching ever so slightly as it looked me over. The small angular face had sunken, skeletal cheeks, and the nose was merely two slits in the face above the thin, cracked lips. My voice caught in my throat, a scream silenced by utter terror and

the soft rocking of the lamp. Distorted shadows danced across the morbid visage of the human, like emp before me. The ears began to twitch rapidly until they appeared blurry, and my ears, in turn began to hum. It was the same hum I heard before I went to bed. It made my head spin and caused a wave of nausea to wash over me. In a single swift motion, it leapt to the footboard into view. The whole thing must have been less than three feet tall if it

stood up. The legs were strong and muscular, but then the feet were massive, like the feet of a rabbit or a kangaroo. The body was horribly emaciated, with the ribs clearly visible through the taut almost albino's skin. A strange, hairless tail wrapped around the feet and thumped softly against the wooden bed frame. It had something held tightly by the tail, using it like a gripping appendage. The arms were gaunt, nearly twice the length of its legs, and

riddled with scars. It huffed softly in short bursts, like a flat faced dog with breathing problems. The creature put the palms of its hands together and opened them up, displaying three fingers and a thumb on each hand. It wriggled the fingers out, forming something akin to the shape of a spider. Each finger seemed to move independently of the others, like they each had their own wrist joint. I screamed a deep, harsh, shrill scream, and the amp fell from the foot of the bed, letting out a

yelp as it clattered to the floor. I tried to peer over the top of the bed to see where it had gone, and the bantam monster scrambled across the floor. The light of the lamp shone like a spotlight against the wall. It cast a harsh shadow in the corners, and the amp scampered quickly out of the light in short bursting hops. In one bound, crossed several feet of space and into the wall. Only it didn't crash into the wall. It seemed to jump through the wall, and

then it was gone. The object held by its tail thumped softly on the floor, and I climbed out of the bed and cautiously walked to the spot where the creature vanished. I listened closely for any sounds, as if it had gone inside the wall, but there was nothing. After a pregnant moment, I stole a glance at the thing on the floor. I was astounded. It was a basket, A small basket, maybe big enough for a phone. It was intricately woven from what appeared to be some kind

of black wood. It was perfect in every way. The realization dawned on me, and I began to panic. Had that thing repaired my mother's basket? Did it see me when I cried over it? Did it make this for me like a gift? I did not sleep for three days after that. I stayed in a hotel room until that Thursday, with out a second of rest. I called the police, but my home was locked up tight from

the inside. And I looked at the pictures of monkeys and animals with maine and any other abnormal creature I could think of, and I found nothing that would explain a hairless, nearly albino thing that could make baskets and vanish into shadows. That Friday, I finally went home and I walked in the door to the rank odor of rotten food, several pieces of fruit spoiled into a sticky, sweet ichor. On my counter, I saw an apple that had small bites taken out of it, and I scanned

the kitchen for any sign of the little imp. The coffee pot was haphazardly loaded with grounds. The dried black dunk of a four day old cup sat burned onto the bottom of the pot. I know I did not do that. It had returned at some point for me. Perhaps it thought I wouldn't return like the other person did. And I checked each room meticulously but found no other evidence of its presence. Deciding it was safe, I settled down in my bed and I locked the bedroom doors

from the inside, and I finally fell asleep. I woke with a start. The room was dark, with the old digital alarm the only source of light. I wanted to reach for my eyeglasses on the bedside table, but I found I couldn't. My eyes were open, but I felt as if I were not fully awake. I willed myself to move, but nothing happened. I was stuck in my bed, lying on my left side. The first pang of anxiety washed over my body, and the thought occurred to me

that something was definitely wrong. The feeling was momentary, and I realized this was just another bout of sleep paralysis. I tried to and I tried to say something to gain a bit of control. It's okay, the doctor said, it will pass in a few minutes, I told myself. Unfortunately, my lips did not move. Instead, it sounded more akin to gurgling mumbles. I would have laughed a little if I had been able to. At least I was in

a comfortable position. I began to calm down a bit when my astigmatism riddled eyes caught movement near the bedroom doorway. Was there something really there or was it part of the mild hallucinations from the sleep paralysis. A creaking board, soft and subtle, was as loud as a gunshot in the deathly silence, and I knew that creek. It was the loose board right in front of the double doors. To my bedroom. In the soft green glow of the

alarm clock, a silhouette slinked into the room. It seemed to pass right through the sturdy wooden frame without any issue, a darkness which was darker than the very shadow that it came from. It hopped on two back legs, almost like a deformed wallaby, without making so much as a sound. The awkwardly long arms dragged along the carpet as it hopped toward my bed. It drew near and the tapedum lucidum and the lemons sized eyes created an other worldly illumination,

much like a nocturnal animal. They seemed to glow in the dark as they stared directly at me, unblinking. That grotesque, hairless thing crept right up to my bedside, clicking its tongue and thin lips together in a sound that reminded me of popping bubbles. In one sudden burst of speed, it sprung up onto the bed and landed on my hip. The gangly malformed hands grasped me by the shoulder with impossible strength. The grip was like a vice, and it rolled me over onto my back and stared down at me.

And it sat on my chest, the thin worm like tail slapping aimlessly against the bed covers. I could do nothing to fight the thing back. I could only lay there helpless. It lazily turned my head to the side and ran its tongue, a fat, disgusting lump of flesh against the hooked, yellow finger nail, over and over, like it was cleaning itself. But no, it wasn't cleaning itself.

I realized it was lubricating its finger. The eyelids retracted to reveal the full size of the bulbous orbs, and it slowly carefully jammed the finger into my ear canal, stretching. Sensation burned momentarily, but I was soon overwhelmed with a searing pain. I could feel the nail push my ear drum to the side and continued deeper, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to die. This was a violation,

and I was defenseless against it. Warm blood began to feel inside my ear, and sound was drowned out by the steady thump of my own heart as my blood pressure skyrocketed. Perhaps I would just have a heart attack and die so I would not have to endure whatever this thing planned for me. Next, I squeezed my eyes shut as tears ran down my face, hoping and wishing and praying for it all to be a terrible dream. In an instant, the pain ceased. A warm, fuzzy feeling

permeated my joints. It was delightful. My mind seemed to spin, but not in a dizzy, nauseous way. I slowly opened my eyes and they needed time to readjust to the blanketing darkness. Had this all been a dream? My mind was overwhelmed with an outpouring of emotions. My stomach cramped instantly, and I would have winced in pain if I could have. I was hungry. It was an immeasurable hunger, as if I had not eaten or drank anything in days. This

must have been the sensation that came with starvation. A massive wave of sorrow rolled over me. It was an overwhelming sense of loneliness, like I had been alone for a thousand years, no friends, no family, not even another human soul to talk to. It felt like a crushing weight so heavy I could never get out from under it. The confusion faded as I regained my grip on consciousness. If it were all a dream, what I woke to

can only be described as a nightmare. The creature was still there, and it sat on my chest, just below my collarbones. The finger was still jammed in my ear, almost to the knuckle. It looked down at me. His head cock to the side, and the massive bat like ears were protruded forward and out. It rotated its head back and forth like a dog hearing a ce word for a treat. The lips were distended and the lower one quivered slightly. A droplet of drool spattered onto my nose,

and it was smiling at me. It was a hideous, demented smile, showing row upon row of jagged, snaggled teeth. With its left hand, the double jointed, morbidly long fingers ran through my scalp with machine like precision. They bent and twisted in emotion. I could feel, but I could not keep up with I knew the feeling though. My mother used to do the same thing when I was a child, as she would lull me to sleep. I could almost hear her voice as she hummed, hush, baby,

don't say words. Mammy, buy you a bird. My mind cracked in a moment of insanity, and the first words were inhuman mutated, but as it finished the line from the lullaby, it sounded soft and soothing. This thing, this monster, was trying to sing to me in my mother's voice. As it braided my hair. It was in my mind these feelings. They weren't my feelings. The crippled pangs of hunger, and the confusing mixture of nervousness and infatuation, the overwhelming

burden of soul crushing depression. They were coming from it. I was thinking its thoughts, I was feeling its feelings. The hand worked at a feverish pace. My left leg jumped suddenly. I was regaining my ability to move. The massive eyes glanced at the movement. It looked back at me, blinking rapidly. Sh It whispered to me. The fingers doubled their efforts and spun intricate braids on the other side

of my head. I bounced my wrists slightly. A long, padded foot like a rabbit, pushed down on my hand. I felt the retractable talons, ever slow slightly, dig into my exposed flesh. Almost done, I began to find my voice, and it started as a low murmur. I screamed inside my mind, but each time I did, the stumbling sound grew louder. The spider like appendance turned my head face up and retracted from my head. A moment later, it pressed hard into my chest, and it felt like an anvil.

The strength this diminutive abomination possessed was impossible to fathom. I could feel the finger begin to squirm out of my ear canal, and with a moist PLoP, it came free. The amp held the finger to its face and inhaled the coppery scent of my blood through the slits Just over its upper lip. The bumpy, blistered tongue protruded, and the face was suddenly just inches from mine. Slowly the tongue touched my chin. It was feverishly hot, and it probed my face up. The side of my lip, passed

my left nostril and lopped lazily on my cheek. My chest jumped suddenly as I regained control of my limbs, and I rolled onto my side and tumbled out of bed. The creature landed flatly on its two kangaroo feet and bounded across the room. It was shadow in the corner seemed to open and engulf it, and it was gone. I stared, barely able to see, as a small trickle of warm blood coursed down my ear lobe. It followed the slimy streak of spittle the creature had left on

my face and on my hands and knees. I sobbed on the bedroom floor until I threw up. The next day, I called my father and I told him I needed to move immediately and needed a place to stay. He offered to let me crash in his spare room until I got back on my feet. He drove up from the seaport and picked me up that evening. I left everything there, just like the last tenant. I didn't even care about my own things. I just wanted to get

the hell out of there. As I rode in the passenger seat of his truck, I looked out the window at what should have been my dream but was instead a living nightmare, and from the open curtains of the bedroom, a pair of yellow, luminescent eyes stared at me, unblinking.