Wyatt Elias

No Context 

“Hello,” said a voice from the shadows.

Phoenix, Arizona jumped, looking around. “Who’s there?”

“Oh, just me.” A dark figure moved slightly closer to the light. Not enough to see fully, but

enough for its silhouette to be visible.

“Who are you?” Phoenix asked, their voice quivering slightly.

“I am a place of mystery. A place many people know quite well but the person who is

writing this does not.” The figure took a step closer. “A place the writer only knows from movies

and Google and from his friend telling him about it.”

“No…” Phoenix took a step back. “You’re not…”

“I am,” the voice hissed. “I. Am. New York City!”

“No!” Phoenix howled into the darkness, cowering in fear. And then, out of nowhere,

Phoenix was suddenly calm. “Wait,” they said. “Why is that scary?”

“Um…” New York City scratched their chin, pondering the question. “I actually don’t

know.”

“Oooooohhh,” said Phoenix. “I might know.”

“Tell me.”

“I think it’s because the person writing this doesn’t know you very well, and was trying to

make you very mysterious but accidentally make you scary in the process.”

New York City thought on that for a second. “Y’know what?” they said. “You might be

right. The person does have a tendency to turn a lot of his writing into horror.”

“Or comedy,” Phoenix added. “I think this story might be turning into a comedy.”

“Interesting,” New York City said, still scratching their chin. They hadn’t stopped

scratching their chin since they started a while ago. “Since this is a comedy…”

“An accidental horror turned comedy,” Phoenix corrected.

“Yes, that. Since this is an accidental horror turned comedy, dos that mean I need to tell

a joke?”

“Well…” Phoenix that about that. “Are comedies usually stories about people telling

jokes?”

“Maybe this one is.”

“Or maybe we’re just getting off topic.”

“Interesting,” New York City said (still scratching their chin, by the way.) “So let me get

this straight- this story started off a mystery that was accidentally starting to turn into a horror,

then somehow became a comedy where we may or may not have to tell jokes?”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Okay, I got a good one.” New York City stopped scratching their chin (which was now

kinda bloody) and began rubbing their hands together excitedly. “Okay okay, listen. How do you

make a plumber cry?”

“I don’t know,” said Phoenix.

“You kill their family!”

Phoenix exploded.

Nightmare 

I’m too terrified to sleep. Every time I rest my eyes, I see that thing. It stalks me. Waiting.

Watching. For what, I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.

Every night I try to stay awake, to stay in the realm I know, but always I give in to the

darkness.

And it’s right there.

Expecting me.

I know that I need to do something. I can’t live my life only getting a few scant hours of

sleep each night. So I decide to fully sleep and somehow make the thing go away.

I spend the entire day dreading the night to come. When the sun finally disappears

below the horizon, I climb into bed.

My eyes close almost as soon as my head touches the pillow, and there it is. It knew I

would give in tonight; I don’t know how, but it knew.

I shout at it, tell it to leave, and it does. Slinking away down a corridor of the dream-

place. But I know it’s still there. Watching from the shadows.

I attempt to chase it, but my dream form is clumsy and sluggish. The ground feels as

though it’s made of mud, pulling at my feet, wanting me to stay. I fight it, feeling as though I’m

running in slow motion.

As I reach the corridor thing thing went down, I catch a glimpse of its thorny black tail

moving just out of sight past a bend in the hallway.

I shout at it to come back, but it ignores me. With a yell of effort, I pull away from the

ground, accelerating at a snail’s pace. I come to a doorway with inky blackness beyond its

threshold and don’t hesitate to go through.

My eyes adjust to the darkness of this shadowed realm much faster than they would in

the waking world, and there it is. Standing in the center of the giant circular room. Just sitting

there.

Waiting for me.

“Get out of my head!” I yell at it.

And it does. It grins at me, showing its needle-like teeth, before fading away.

And I wake up.

Sunlight seeps in through the gaps in the blinds, letting me know that the night is over

and my horrors are at an end. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

But then I see movement in the corner of my room. I look to it and recoil. My nightmare

is not at an end. The thing is crouching in the shadows of my room where the sunlight doesn’t

reach, the terrible grin still plastered on its face.

My nightmare is just beginning.

I squeeze my eyes tight, waiting for the thing to tear my throat out.

Nothing happens.

I look over at the corner, and it’s still there. It hasn’t moved, except for it’s tail, which is

twitching back and forth slightly. After watching it for a few seconds, I see the tip of its tail leave

the confines of the shadows, and the thing hisses in pain, drawing its tail close to itself.

The thing can’t leave the shadow.

I cautiously climb out of bed, staying well away from the thing, and make my way to the

door. As I put my hand on the handle, I hear a voice hissing from the shadow.

“Wait.”