Creepy things
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| Pic Courtesy of http://www.wallpapervortex.com/ |
Are everywhere.
They
are invisibly visible in their invincible annoying behaviours. That one, is
careless or cares less of these monsters doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Look at
your back now and or listen attentively you can hear their whispers; or close
your eyes calmly and you can see them scamper and dawdle. At the middle of the
night, when everything else slumbers but them, when one can hear the tic-tac of
wrist watches banging like an old belfry in such solitude of night; then is the
hour of their keeping of the jungle ruthless laws.
I
see them always; they always love the company of humans as shadows derive their
casts from the beings they attend to; as bulus fly and lie around cattle in the
lea. I guess this ethereal companionship gives them a meaning.
I
don’t mean to scare you like to be afraid to go out and pee in the middle of
the night; but they are everywhere. So beware you don’t nudge or trudge on any.
Sometimes, they flap your curtains like winds on the flayed pages of a huge
book abandoned on a pavement. Not just there; not even in my wildest
imagination could I ever say who often flips the pages of books on the desk,
like ghouls scavenging for flesh in fresh graves. What are they searching for
in the texts?
“Who?”
No
one answers, but they are there! And often someone feels someone calls him and
he says, “Yes?” in anticipation for a dialogue or a follow up, without knowing
one is eerily being followed by nothingness. I
had once been haunted by a headless or rather a heedless one. It lived with me
and went about my rooms; a resident spirit. I guess it would hang in awkward
places like on the ceiling fan or on the pane of the windows like someone
catching the early morning sun in the neighbourhood. Occasionally, something is
pushed down at the balcony, and I thought it was the wind again. It wasn’t
always the winds. It was the creepy thing everywhere. No, they can’t just be
one. I think, a band wagon of restless soaring spirits sailing the atmospheric
expanse of someone’s personality.
There
are often clashes or lashes behind this heedless ‘guy’ like water splashing
against an old canoe at the seashore. The wadding water doesn’t know what is in
the canoe nor does the canoe know what the water conceals within. Only mother
earth knows. That’s how elusive these slippery heads are, that I can’t really
place them; say, “this one is Tom or Mot by name.” One is particularly prominent, but flickered
like a mirror-cast of a tall beach palm in the shimmering waters. Often like a
wiggling worm in warm salty water, this looming image will waggle wobblingly!
In all, I was in the midpoint of everything like a fly caught in the middle of
an angry-hungry spider’s web. The fatal fate of this creature is unimaginably
horrific.
However,
In lieu of such casualty, the snare spirals into a concatenation of
imaginations from the epicenter, sending signals like the lighthouse;
attracting cargoes of all sorts like a lone light in the middle of a cave. The
unrestrainable flight of flies around, could explain this mysterious visitation
or ghostly presence of these creepy things. Where there is light, there is
flight of possibilities as where a carcass is laid, there vultures are found.
However,
my worry is that these aliens are never hurtful but are a noisome bunch. It’s
not that they should anyway. It’s only worrisome too, to think of the squabble
among them; some are inclined to either gory or glory. No one notices that that
sometimes people might look at the host as kind of weird or cryptic. Being odd
is really odd especially when it is others that think one isn’t sane any longer.
It is only a bat that knows what it means to be a bat! Yes, no one experiences
them; but it really feels like a whole army of white ants trooping in and out,
over one who was unaware that a drop of honey stuck on his hairs the previous
night. It’s like mind control.
This
is a disturbia!
It
is most disturbing when these have to wake one from a night’s blissful rest;
especially when one is dreaming dreams, ‘In
the scene of a most terrific adventure, the skies were diamond-blue in a
dazzlingly hue; and the champion is ushered in in fiery chariots propelled by flying
lions from the cloud.
THE CORONATION: The crowd was
yelling your name in fine flames of fame. Your head was about to be crowned
with wreath gold…’ and something fell off from the
bookshelf tinkering away on the bare floor, cutting off the dreams at such a
crucial moment. It was a bottle of CalligrafInk.
What
pushed it down?
Silence
stared stilled on the splashes the spilled ink made on the floor. The thick
dwarf bottle is broken into pieces. W-H-O made them?
“Dark blood bonfire of a slain monster
prostrated from the point of crash to its squash.”
The
creepiest piece is that when the lid was removed from where it had fallen apart,
it gave the MONSTER a one-eyed white hollow poise of wonderment.
“It
is looming gloomily!”
I
tried to wave it off over my shoulder. It’s a mere optical illusion.
“You’re
delusional”
I
heard it echo as it distended as if writhing in pains.
I
had forgotten I was sleeping. I was dreaming. It is consciousness of a fleeing
feeling of fright. Through the white-eye, a miasmal beam trouped upward in an
encircling gloom. Like a magical invisible whirlwind in an invisible wheat
field.
*I hope to finish this Creepy Things Stuff; I am only trying to say, "My characters disturb and haunt me until I write them,"
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