Nyctophobia

Nyctophobia

 

 

He couldn’t swallow. It felt like his heart was choking him. He wrapped his arms over his head, hands curled into fists, squeezed so tight his fingernails dug into his palms, cutting through the skin. The blood came fast as first, but it slowed to a steady drip.

The rustle of feathers. He screamed. Not the angel. Not the angel. Anything but the evil angel.

It loved the dark. It ruled the dark.

The dark hated him. The dark hurt him.

A single feather brushed across his back.

He screamed.

“AHHHHHHHH!”

 

——

 

The Professor turned away from the conference screen.

“Alright.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “You’ve convinced me. You’re completely demented, Grayle.”

Jackson Grayle grinned. “Thank you, Professor.”

The Professor glanced back at the still frame of Subject 135. The frozen face was not a mask of terror, though some might call it that. But it wasn’t a mask. The Professor could tell that. It was pure terror. A true phobia.

Subject 135 had died after that night. The only cause of death that the medical team could offer was death by fear.

“You’ve also convinced me that Project Evil Angel worked.”

Jackson nodded, a small smile on his lips.

“But I want to ask you one thing.”

“Yes, Professor?”

He leaned back in his chair and looked hard at Grayle. “Why an angel?”

The Professor didn’t like the glint in Jackson Grayle’s eyes as he replied. It was too cheerful. Too innocent.

“Because angels are the guardians. And when the guardians turn on the helpless, well. Terror will ensue. And no better time for terror than the night.”

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