This is a really
short story; more of a scene than a full story (and I'm thinking about writing something around it if I can get it focused
well enough.) I figured I'd toss it out to the wolves here and see what kind of opinions there might be... Any comments/criticism/questions/laughter
will be most appreciated.
He knew at once what was standing in the corner, watching him. It was somewhat shorter than he would've expected, but it looked almost exactly like
the images used throughout pop-culture--video games, movies, t-shirts, the icon was far more prolific than the president's face. This was the same
face that brought fear into the hearts of some, that left some incredulous, and that gave still others an overwhelming sense of awe.
And it was watching him.
He didn't know how long it had been there--it wasn't there when he turned out the light and went to sleep, that's for sure. He wanted to look at
the clock to see how long he'd been asleep, but some primal instinct kept him still. This same instinct fought hard with his desire to wake Rachel,
but he stayed motionless, not daring to move. The large, emotionless black eyes in the corner just stared at him.
Unable to do anything else, he stared back. He could make out little in the dim glow of the night coming through the window. It seemed to be
unclothed--at least there were no markings or seams that he could see. It stood straight, with its arms at its sides. He tried to count it's
fingers--it seemed important for some reason, he couldn't tell why--but could only discern that they were longer than normal proportions would allow.
It was thin for its height, which he figured was around four or five feet based on the pictures on the wall behind it. Its head was slightly larger
than its frail frame would warrant. He could see no sign of a nose in the poor lighting, and only a hint of a mouth.
All of this he noticed in little more than a glance, as he could not take his eyes away from those in the corner. There was no hint at any emotion,
noo sense of either benevolence or malignancy in those inhuman eyes. They did not appear to be studying him, as a scientist might, nor did they seem
to be watching him, as if expecting him to attack or run. It was as though someone had painted two golf balls black, and hung them in the corner. He
had the impression, however, that two golf balls wouldn't be as emotionless.
Deep in some dream, Rachel stirred next to him. As she moved, he saw the watcher fade quickly, like a television show fading to black before a
commercial. Within minutes, he had assured himself that it was only a dream, and before long he was again asleep--although not before unwittingly
squeezing close to her and pulling the covers tightly over his head, like a little boy who's seen one too many scary movies for the night.