May’s Project of writing a short story over the course of the month reaches its third episode. A few people have asked if I know the ending to the story. Let me just clarify that I’m far from a professional writer and this story evolves as I write it. Feel free to have a look at previous posts to read the whole story so far. Please note the following extract includes a violent scene that may leave some distressed. So without further ado….

Unencountered – Part 3

As the notes got more and more sinister I realised that I should tell someone about what has been going on, in the hope of getting some advice and support. A didn’t know who to turn to. A friend? My brother? A work colleague? A counsellor? In the end I decided to call John, a good friend, who I thought might be able to help. I didn’t tell him too much over the phone, I didn’t want to freak him out before we even met.

Although I wasn’t entirely happy at having to leave the house we decided to meet up later that evening at the local pub. It was over four hours until we had arranged to meet. This would turn out to be a very, very long four hours.

First, the now familiar feeling began to hover over me. As the sun set the darkness rose. I paced around the room afraid to lift my head in case I saw ‘it’. As the hours passed the trepidation of what I was about to do was sinking in. Somehow the darkness was speaking to me. I couldn’t hear what ‘it’ was saying, but i could feel something, something that didn’t feel right. Was ‘it’ warning me? By telling John was I about to put his life in danger? After the relief of finally having decided to talk to someone, I felt like I was back at square one, unsure of whether this was the best thing to do. I twice began to ring John, only to hang up before he answered. The darkness was getting to me…

I finally found the strength to push the doubt from my mind and left to meet John.

I walked into the fresh night air and suddenly felt a freedom I hadn’t felt for months. The ominous feeling was gone, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder as I walked down the street, like I had been doing recently. I was confused, I had been living with this feeling for months, and now it had gone, just like that.

The next thing I know I’m in the pub, sitting at the bar, waiting for John. Although something is wrong, it’s not the pub as I remember it. It is similar to what I remember only different. It’s difficult to describe, it’s like looking at old photos, or through frosted glass.

It was then that I heard the familiar greeting, the greeting I had heard thousands of times, “Hello fella, how you doing?”. I turned to see John standing there. That’s when I picked up the glass and slammed it into his face.

John fell to the floor clutching his face. That didn’t stop me. I kicked him in his ribs, hard. As he clutched his chest, I kicked him in the face, blood splattered across the floor. John was screaming, shouting for help. I wasn’t listening. I leant down, grabbed him by his hair, and smashed his head repeatedly on the floor. John was now silent. I stood up wiped my blood stained hands on my trousers and left the pub.

[To be continued]