There was a chill in the air, a steely eeriness half exposed by the flame on the torch. Each nerve ending in my body standing ready as an ethereal frost escaped my lips. I felt as though a scream would soon erupt from the depths of my being.
The flame flickered wildly as cold gusts of wind licked the back of my neck. I felt a presence.
“Who disturbs my domain?” The screech of the crypt keeper assaulted me unexpectedly. I lost control of my senses, my bladder too.
Thank goodness it was dark and I was wearing black pants.
that spine-tingling you’re feeling that intense fear, shock and/or disgust it feels real, doesn’t it it digs into you deep so you’re breathing heavy and shallower and oh so much quieter straining your ears harder you believe death is imminent
it’s in your head, love there are no bogeymen no one is whispering creeping around in cool mists getting all up in your face hissing in your ears chilling you to the bone it’s your nerves fabricating this and a hell of an imagination i’m laughing at you….
wait. did you see that? what was that? did you hear that?
Cindy whispered to her antique doll, Abigail, in her lap. Careful not to muss her up too much, she delicately arranged her position. While her mother cooked, the child nodded her head as she turned in her direction.
“Mama, when did Grandma Francis give you Abigail?” referring to her favorite doll.
“Let me think. I was probably about four years old just like you. My mom told me that her mother had gotten Abigail when she was four years old as well. Why do you ask?” Cindy’s mother replied.
“Oh, Abigail said Victoria owned her first. Do I know her?”