Haunting

Jack couldn't speak - he could only scream as he woke up to the sound of his mother's voice whispering to him from the corner of his dark bedroom. Of course, it wasn't actually his mother, he knew that. How could it be, when she had died in a car accident just a little over a week earlier?

 'Jack? Come over here, Jack. You can see me, can't you? Come over here, child... '

 His chest was heavy, his bladder loose with fear. Looking over into the corner as he flailed amidst his perspiration-damp sheets, he realised that he could indeed see something. The same something, in fact, that he had seen on that terrible night of his mum's demise - just minutes after his aunt, who had been babysitting him at the time, had received the phone call that would cause both of their worlds to come crashing down. She had broken the news to him, and he had seen... it. Standing, over by the window of his aunt's tiny living room. It had been at the funeral too. And now -

 Here it was again. Invading the privacy of his bedroom this time. Lurking in the corner, watching him. Taunting him, by speaking with his dead mother's voice.

 'Jack... Come here, Jack... Now!'

 Tears of terror spilled down his cheeks as he scrambled to sit up. His gaze was fixed upon the corner - on the hulking, dark outline of a man who stood there. Wide and tall - so tall that its head almost brushed the ceiling. It had no face, no features -

 It was only visible because, somehow, it was even blacker than than the darkness itself which suffused the room. Blacker than the very night. How could that be?

 His screams tapered off as his throat constricted. From elsewhere in the house, he could hear the sound of frantic movements, his aunt had clearly been roused by his yells. Her footsteps raced across the landing, old floorboards groaning loudly.

 'I'll return, Jack. You can't avoid me forever... ' his mother's voice hissed quietly. The thing then scuttled, spider-like, across to the wall. And then through it - as though no barrier existed at all. As though the laws of physical matter simply did not matter to it one bit. The thing disappeared from his sight just as the bedroom door was flung open and the light snapped on to dazzle him with its bright glare.

 'Jack - Jack, are you alright?' His Aunt Alice stood there, looking pale and startled. Her resemblance to his mum, as always these days, struck him like a dagger through the heart. They had the same raven hair, just as he did himself. The same ice blue eyes, same sharp cheekbones. Same thin lips - his mother's now stilled forever, whilst his aunt's were pinched in a worried frown as she approached the bed where he lay. 'Sweetheart, what is it? Did you have a bad dream?'

 He shook his head. It was bad alright, but it was no dream. He raised a trembling hand to point over at the corner where the thing had been standing, mocking him by its mimicking of his dead mother's voice as it tried to lure him in. Alice turned to look, but quickly brought her attention back to him.

 'There's nothing there, Jack. You just had a nightmare, that's all.' Her gaze shifted, moving down over his sheets - where a damp stain alerted him, also, to the fact that he must have wet himself. He cringed, the tears coursing faster down his cold cheeks. What kind of a twelve-year-old wet the bed?

 'It's alright,' his aunt soothed. 'I'll get those in the wash, and you can come and sleep with me in my bed for the rest of the night. It'll be dawn in a couple of hours, anyway.'

 And so saying, she ushered him out of his bed and took his hand to lead him over to her room. As always, it smelled strongly of lavender. After tucking him in, she retreated back to strip the damp sheets from his bed. Meanwhile, he lay there, alone once more in the darkness. Eyes wide open and frantically scanning the dark shapes all around him lest the shadow should return again that night to torment him. All the while, the sound of his aunt's stifled sobs haunted his ears.

***

'Abi - if you can hear me, please respond. I don't know what to do. He hasn't spoken a word since you died. And he seems so... disturbed. He's been having night terrors, and - '

 Jack crept down the stairs, being careful to avoid the creaking steps. His skin was crawling, body covered in goosebumps - not from the cold but from a renewed sense of fear. Peering over the banister, he saw his aunt in the living room. She was sitting with her back to him, cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table. On the table itself, right in front of her, was a board. A wooden board, with letters and numbers on its surface. The exact same kind of board as he remembered seeing his mother messing around with so many times before, late in the evenings after she'd had a bottle of wine...

 'Abi - are you here with us? Please... '

 He wanted to run down the remainder of the steps, grab that board and smash it to pieces. Or burn it to ashes. For there was something about it that just seemed so very, very wrong...

 He was stopped in his tracks, however, by a sudden, sharp gasp from his aunt. She had her fingers resting on top of a small, circular piece of glass which rested atop the board. And as he watched, the piece of glass slid free of Alice's grip and went spinning away, clearly moving of its own volition. It raced in jagged lines, all across the board. Jack felt dizzy at what he was seeing. His legs gave way beneath him as he sank down onto one of the steps, his buttocks slamming painfully hard against the bare wood. Candlelight leapt in the room before him, the multiple flames flickering wildly. A muffled groan rumbled deep in his chest. Alice did not turn around - she was far too intent upon whatever message was being spelled out to hear him.

 He watched as she snatched up a nearby notebook and pen, scribbling frantically as she noted down what she was seeing reveal itself before her, never taking her eyes off the board. Eventually, the glass fell still. Something stirred in the air, the candles stuttered. His aunt gave a shiver. And Jack watched as the shadow man emerged through the closed door into the kitchen, moving to stand right beside Alice, reaching out with one of its thick arms as though to touch her...

 Another gust of wind blew through the room, carrying on it the stench of something rotting. Unable to take it any more, Jack scrambled to his feet and ran back up the stairs. He cowered in his aunt's bed, covers pulled up over his head - as in the room below, he heard her begin to scream...