The Silence
The soft whispering of a cooling fan slowly ticked away inside the computer tower, and drifted slowly through the damp night air. From the monitor, a gentle florescent glow washed across the outstretched keyboard, with the sound of clicking keys slowly gliding through the relative silence. He was on the verge of completing his last entry in his new book, which he had already begun to deem his masterwork. He considered himself a humble man, but, with the recent addition of this new novel to his already impressive collection, he was bound to earn a real name for himself, fully deserving to be placed among such figures as Mark Twain and Jack London. The novel itself was based on modern times, and a young millennial's struggle through a fast paced life of rampant confusion and new tribulations, which the author considered the definitive work of the New Millennium, to be read by future scholars in the same light as Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. It was these kinds of thoughts that had completely taken hold of his mind, and left him in the kind of productive trance which was usual for the young author. The words flowed freely from his keyboard, and he made no attempts to correct his foul spelling, and did not even attempt to add any sort of recognizable grammar. It was one of those rare moments when he knew exactly what needed to be said, and exactly how to go about saying it, causing his fingers to fly across the keys in a kind of literary ecstasy. It was in times like these that it was hardest to wake him from his trance, and those that where closest to him, and thus knew him on the most intimate terms, knew never to try and do so, as tearing him away from his work at such a crucial time would only result in an articulate and intellectual rage. So, thus undeterred, his nimble hands flew across the keyboard, pausing only to find a rarely used key.
Sitting at the man's feet, and wallowing in a lazy silence, was his dog. Though the dog was much beloved by the author, to the point of a mundane obsession, the dog knew fully well the perils that lie in waking the man from his trance when it seized him. So, the dog had contented himself with laying beside the man's feet, graciously waiting his turn for the man's attention. He was a fairly large dog, of a rather convoluted breed, with long yellow fur and large floppy ears that hid his eyes. In most occasions, or rather, all but the most dire, the dog was calm and remarkably well behaved. He was well liked by all of the author's friends, as he seldom ever interrupted, and was the only dog they had seen which had refused to bark at the mailman. This made it all the more peculiar when the dog began to growl. He did so faintly at first, and the author failed to notice, obliviously pattering away on his keyboard. The dog sat up, ears erect, and stared into the darkness beyond the author's door. The dog remained quiet for a moment, but his gaze never wavered from what he saw in the murky darkness. Suddenly, and without any real warning, the dog jumped up from his bed and began baying. This startled the author, who nearly fell from his chair, keyboard in tow. As long as he had owned the dog, he had never so much as heard it growl, much less the almost violent wailing it shouted into the unseen darkness. The author jumped from his computer, angry at having been so disturbed. He shouted admonishments to the dog, which, in any other circumstances, would have sufficed to silence the dog. Instead, the baying turned to a savage half-howl, and the dog planted itself firmly between the door and his master, as it desperately tried to ward off what ever it had seen at play in the darkness beyond.
This had sufficed to shake the author completely out of his trance, and his following rage, as he stared through his door, by the fading light of his computer monitor. The man rushed to the light switch and switched it on, as fear began to slither up his rigid spine. The small incandescent bulb threw a dim light out of the opened door of his room, into the hallway that lie beyond. He could see nothing out of place, at least in his immediate vision. The hallway, much to his relief, was vacant, and he could see no other presence other than himself and the dog. The dog, however, did not cease in his barking, which had only began to grow worse. The author tried once more to calm his dog, running his fingers through it's coarse hair, and whispering reassurances in it's raised ear. This did nothing to ease the dog's furious howling. The author, if in any other situation, would have most likely been angry at the dog, had fear not suppressed his frail emotions. Now on the verge of terror, the man followed the dog's unwavering gaze. The man had imagined the dog would be looking towards the front door, or perhaps out of a window. Instead, the dog was staring straight into the empty doorway to the basement, it's terrified howl ringing in the man's ears.
The man had never truly invested much of his time in the basement, since acquiring the house a couple months ago. In all honesty, the crumbling and half-finished basement had always slightly unnerved him, with it's stale air and almost consuming darkness. The basement had no windows, and only one light bulb to illuminate the space. In addition to this, the singular light bulb had a habit of flickering, even when the man replaced it with a new bulb. This, however, was not the only reason the man had refused to visit the basement. Something about it had always slightly unnerved him. Sometimes, when he woke in the night, he thought he had heard small pattering sounds under the floorboards he could not quite place. He had consoled himself by saying they were nothing more than mice, though he would never venture down to investigate. Once, on one of the rare occasions he ventured down to the basement, he thought he had seen a flicker of movement, out of the corner of his eye. When he turned, however, to both his horror and delight, he saw nothing save crumbling stone and all-encompassing darkness. Now, things were very different. He had always fancied that his fears toward the basement were largely imaginary, and thus usually solved with a small glass of bourbon. Now, the dog had sensed a real threat in the vast darkness of the basement. A real presence lurked beneath the creaking floorboards, that had, for once in his life, truly terrified him.
The dog continued his howling, now mixed with a low snarling. His soft yellow fur stood on edge, every muscle in his large form shaking violently. Still, his gaze never wavered from those set of darkened stairs. The man, still trying to calm the dog, began rummaging through his desk for some type of weapon. He had a small rifle, but he had been previously cleaning it in the den, which was across the hall. As much as he wanted it, nothing would entice him to walk toward what the dog saw beyond those stairs. Instead, he found a small letter opener tucked away in his desk. It was not much, but holding it made him feel somewhat better. Beyond the circle of light, he thought he saw a flicker of movement. A feeling of dread washed down his spine, causing the blood to freeze in his veins. Apparently the dog had seen it too, and it rushed past him, leaping into the waiting shadows beyond the door.
What followed were perhaps the worst moments of the authors life. He tried to stop the dog as it rushed forward, but to no avail, and his beloved dog, his stanch protector, dived into the darkness beyond. The dog still did not stop his howling, which grew only fiercer. This was followed by a resounding crash as something fell to the ground. A savage snarl echoed up the staircase, followed by what he could only described as a sort of moan. Then came a loud crack, as if someone had crushed a handful of walnuts, followed by a sort of moist tearing sound. A loud whimper resonated through the house, and something else crashed to the ground, and then there was silence. A dark, deathly silence.
The man stood in his room, clutching feebly to his small letter opener. He now felt a terror beyond what he had ever known. His dog was gone, of that he was sure. He was alone. Completely, hopelessly, alone. Part of him wanted to dash across the hall to his den, and retrieve his rifle. Maybe if he could run fast enough, he could make it. He had no other plan, but he found he was unable to move, primordial terror holding fast to his shaking legs. He stood, staring down at the black curtain of darkness that hid the basement, and what ever else was down there. Then, shrouded in tomb like silence, he heard what the dog must have heard, the sound that had drawn it into a protective madness. He heard a slow, rhythmic pattering, as something slowly ascended the basement staircase.
The man backed away from the door, pressing against the far wall. The terror had now crept up his throat, choking out the air from his lungs. He could no longer think, or do much of anything, save clutch his small letter opener. The slow rhythmic thump continued as the thing slowly made it's way up the stairs. It had to be close now. He could feel it. Still, he could see nothing through the blackness beyond the stairs. It was then that a small click sounded from across the room. He looked over, and saw that the soft blue light of his monitor had gone dark. The tower must have already shut off, as the pulsing light of the power button had already disappeared. Then, the rhythmic thumping stopped abruptly, purging the room in the same grave-like silence. Though his mind was slowed, he knew all too well what that silence meant. The thing had reached the top of the stairs.
Still the man could see nothing. He thought he could see an outline of the creature, but it just kept moving, indistinguishable shadows of features slowly shifting in and out of perspective. The thing did not come closer, but remained in the doorway of the basement. The man tried to step further back, but there was nowhere left to go. He was trapped. The soft light of the fluorescent bulb glowed faintly overhead, washing across his pale skin. His muscles trembled from fear, and he could no longer hold his small letter opener. It slipped soundlessly out of his shaking hands, and clattered harmlessly on the floor. It was then that he noticed a faint buzzing noise, sort of like the sound of an old streetlight. Slowly, he looked up, the fear pulsing in his veins, though he already knew what it was. It was the same sound he had heard in that basement, during every accursed trip. His bedroom light had begun to flicker.
He stood staring at it for a few minutes, unable to look away, even at the steps of the basement. It flickered rapidly, on and off, as if it was fighting to stay alive. He pressed closer into the wall, as if it could conceal him. The light bulb slowly started to dim, the time in between bursts slowly increasing. At the basement door, he saw another flicker of movement. He heard a low shuffling sound as the thing drew nearer. Still, the light continued to flicker. Now he could count seconds in between bursts, as the field of light slowly shrunk. He heard more shuffling, closer this time. He wanted to pick up his letter opener, shield himself from whatever creature could be coming, but his knees refused to bend. He wanted to run, to hide, but he knew there was no way to do either. He counted several seconds in between flashes now. He tried to breathe. He tried to think. He could do neither.
He could no longer hold his shaking leg muscles, and he fell against the wall. He clutched his mouth to stop a scream that would never come. He pulled his legs to his chest, and began slowly rocking back and forth. The shuffling grew nearer, and began to sound less like shuffling, and more like a grotesque mix of beetle-like scurrying and a kind of lifeless dragging. He stopped rocking, and buried his face in his knees. This had to be a dream. Some sick, twisted dream. The light above him continued to flicker, on and off. The shuffling grew louder, as the thing drew closer and closer. He continued to hide his face, the light seeping through his closed eyelids. Then, with a soft pop, the light bulb finally died, and the room went dark. The scurrying continued, closer and closer, until he felt something cold and terrible pressed against his raised knees. And the room fell silent.