# Writing > Short Story Sharing >  The Light, The Dark

## savage3e

*The Light, The Dark*

I stepped out of the shadow in order to get a better look. It seemed like I knew him, but I couldn't put a finger on it. He had this walk, you see, that you could hear from a mile off. The sound of one foot, heavier than the other, being dragged across the tarmac of the road. I was sure I knew him, your honour, and I was sure that he didn't know me. I suppose they say that the thrill of the chase is the best part, but it's even better when they don't know they're being watched.

It seems, your honour, that he was inviting me in, and it would have been rude of me to stay. So I crossed the road, squeezed through the letterbox and shrunk into a corner. It stunk of damp, and I suppose it would have been pitch black but for the single candle alight up ahead. I scuttled along, not wanting to be caught idle. The thrill of the chase is the best part, and besides, you were watching me, weren't you?

The light stopped, as did I, slowly pushing myself into the wall. I could feel the lice and termites crawling over me, drilling their way into my body and creeping along my skin. I watched one as it buried itself under my toenail and slowly pushed its way up my leg, past my thigh, past my co*ck, past my belly button, to my chest, where it burst out again, multiplying into millions upon millions of other creatures, all looking for another opening. It tickled a bit.

He turned around, but of course he didn't see me, and then he continued. I followed, discarding my nest, and noticing now that the skirting board had buckled, as if someone had gone behind it with a crowbar. But it was off colour too, a certain beige the stood out against the shades of gray that adorned the ceiling and the cobwebs in the corners. I assumed, your honour, that he would be heading for the bedroom. Last I heard, she's still there, tied to the bedposts. Her wedding dress is the same colour as the walls, and the lice finished with her a long time ago. She's still breathing, but only from the movement of the larvae in her lungs. Pity, she was so pretty before he caught her. I wonder, do you remember when we found her for the first time? There was something special no doubt, but we could never agree on anything. You noticed her jet black hair, her malicious smile, the thin scar on the side of her neck. I saw her eyes. They were gray, but not like the walls. They were gray like a rain-cloud, or like mercury, or like arguments, hunger, hate, love, good, evil. And the smile, I was partial to that crooked smile. Now the bedbugs can keep her warm.

I suppose, your honour, that it's no shock now that he didn't want to go looking for her, but I thought he would, so when the third door on the left slowly creaked open, and the light disappeared behind it, I was intrigued. He click-clacked his way down the stairs, stopping every few to get his breath back and trying desperately to struggle on. I, on the other hand, moved in to the door way and was hit in the face by the full power of the stench. It caught me off guard and I absorbed the most of it, but it definitely drew blood. I understand, your honour, the dignity at stake here, but I was acting in self defence and I needed to find a way in. So I. Well I throttled it. I did, I squeezed the life right out of that stench until it could fight no more. The man certainly looked as if he's noticed something, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

And then we were face to face. The floor was slick with blood and salt, but I was uncertain whose side the walls were on. Perhaps coated in some sort of iron? There was not enough time to be certain before both of his feet became as light as each other and he grabbed my wrist, which, naturally, melted into his hand. His face contorted into a strange smile, the sort I was sure I had seen somewhere before, but I couldn't put my finger on it. And then, your honour, we started falling. Straight through the floor and into a sort of space. Except it wasn't because I could see the dark blue smoke around, and his face in a mixture of horror and delight fading in and out of my vision. This, I was sure, was the race. He grabbed my hair and tried to climb on my back, flipping me over, but I disintegrated in his grasp, slipping through his legs. The problem, your honour, is that you didn't tell me what I was being sent in to, so I had to improvise. I started throwing myself at him, scratching and screaming like a banshee, but he kept moving. I kept shrinking, he kept moving, laughing, mocking me, until...well, it was lucky, I suppose, but he ended up in the wrong place, and we hit the floor as my hands wrapped around his neck, popping his head open like a balloon.

And no, your honour, I'm not sorry, because I did what I was told. So you must understand that if you don't forgive me, someone else will. But I don't need someone else, I need you, because he's gone now, and the girl is still in the bedroom, and you can keep her breathing until I find her again, and take her back to that field where I fell in love for the first time.

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## hillwalker

Ambitious style - not sure I quite understand what the narrator is or what he has stumbled upon since you give us pieces of information that don't combine into a cohesive image.

It could certainly be tightened, and there is the occasional slip. Here for instance,

_The man certainly looked as if he's noticed something, but he could not quite put his finger on it._

Not sure why you changed tense mid-sentence here ^^

And why would you bother with a poll that is going to be of no help in improving your writing?

H

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