Shadows In The Dark

Written three years back for Commonwealth Essay. (I got a Commendation)  I had a word limit of 700 words, hence the extreme lack of colourful vocabulary. I hope I've  improved.

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They were back again.

Hundreds, no, thousands of glowing bulging eyes, eyes that glowed in the darkness, eyes that were so obviously inhuman, stared at the boy as he tried to get to sleep. He did his best to ignore them, but even when he closed his eyes, he continued to see them. 

This happened every night, whenever he was alone in his room with the lights switched off. It started when he and his parents moved into the house where his grandfather lived. His mother had insisted that it wasn't safe for the old man to live by himself. There were only three bedrooms in the house, the boy getting the smallest one.

When he had first seen the eyes, he had screamed loudly, so loudly, that it seemed the old house had shook with alarm, or so his father had put it. When the lights were switched back on, the eyes would always disappear. His parents had simply dismissed it as a nightmare. They gave him a cup of hot chocolate and told him to go back to sleep.

It happened, again and again. Finally, his mother made him sleep in the same room as her and his father. He did not see the eyes there. After a week, his mother moved him back into his room. 

From that day onwards, whenever he saw the eyes, he would clamp his lips together and huddle in a corner of his bed. He would only be able to fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He would be exhausted in school and would often fall asleep in class. His schoolwork was, of course, affected and he was sent to the discipline master’s office at least twice a week.

Suddenly, he heard it. Thump!  Thump!  Then again. Thump! thump! The eyes blinked with every thump. There was the stench of rotting eggs in the room. The boy could not take it anymore. He took in as much air as he could, and screamed.

His parents dashed into the room. “What’s wrong?” his father exclaimed, alarm in his voice, but still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

They could not get him to talk. He kept crying, and would not be comforted. All they could get out of him was “The eyes! The eyes!” and “Stop the noise!” amongst incoherent screams of terror.

The grandfather, who had heard everything, told the parents to bring the boy to his room. After a few more minutes of fruitless consoling, the parents did as they were told, and left the boy with his grandfather.

“Boy,” the old man said as he stroked his wispy beard. “Let me tell you a story, a true story. It is about a boy I had known well. He lived in this house and slept in what is now your bedroom. The boy claimed to see eyes which would stare at him as he tried to sleep every night. His parents never listened to him whenever he told them about the eyes.

One night, the boy was alone at home. His parents were out attending a wedding dinner. He stayed up as late as possible, reading his books in the living room. Just as he was about to doze off, all the lights in the house went out. Slowly, a stench of rotting eggs filled the still air.

The boy screamed as loudly as he could. One by one, the eyes appeared, glinting like diamonds in the darkness.”

The old grandfather paused to catch his breath. His grandson shivered in his thin pajamas, whether out of anticipation or fear, he wasn't too sure.

"The boy suddenly heard a thumping sound. Thump ! thump ! The stench got stronger.

That was when the boy felt a hot, sharp pain on his bare arms. No one heard him scream as the nearest house was at least ten kilometers away.

“I was born from your imagination," a soft sibilant voice hissed. “Your fears have nourished and strengthened me, enabling me to leave that prison of your mind at long last.”

The little boy shrieked. “You’re not real, you’re not real!”

The demon howled in pain. “You’re not real, not real!” the boy continued to chant. With a final screech of fury, the demon disappeared, and the boy never saw him again.”

The old man concluded his tale with a sigh. His grandson stared at him, wide-eyed. 

“Thank you grandfather,” the boy finally said. He gave his grandfather a hug and left the room. The old man gazed at the long, thin scars on his arms, daily reminders of what had taken place in the old house.

The little boy snuggled in his warm bed. Then the eyes were back again.

“Go away,” he cried, his voice quavering only slightly. “I’m not afraid of you anymore.” It was a lie, but he hoped they couldn't tell. 

Then the eyes disappeared. There were now a hundred, ninety, eighty, fifty….and then, there were none.