S: Imagination... Too Far? By:George K.
FC: Imagination... Too Far?
1: The fog up ahead parted, making way for an enormously tall figure wearing a trench, whose face was obscured by a long black fedora. The man walked at a brisk pace as if hurrying home from a long day at work, but nobody would blame him for rushing at this dreary time of night, in addition to the fact that he was right next to a graveyard too. He walked up to an elderly lady who looked up into his eyes, under his fedora and... A piercing shriek tore the folds of night. Finally, Jim stopped screaming and stared at the twitching horror-struck form of the old lady and the man who stood over her. The man looked up and stared at Jim, who stood ten yards away on the other end of the street. Jim’s gaze was greeted with red eyes that seemed to drip like blood within themselves. Jim might as well have been cemented to the ground because the gaze he received was enough to turn his legs to lead. The man walked towards Jim in no hurry at all, it seemed. Jim’s heart wouldn’t beat and his brain wouldn’t work. He felt his very being, his soul, being sucked into the man’s crimson eyes and every second longer he held the man’s gaze, he felt as though he was dissipating into a thousand tiny parts. With a grunt the tall man turned on his heel, walked away at a quick pace, and disappeared into the graveyard. With no further hesitation, Jim spun one-eighty degrees and shot down the road like the furies themselves were behind him.
2: Jim knew two things for certain. One, he was going to find out what happened on the street. Two, he was going to find out who and what that thing was -- and where it came from. “The best place to look would most likely be the crime scene,” announced Jim to nobody in particular. And with that he left his flat geared with a flashlight and an airsoft gun (not that it would do much; it was more to keep Jim company). The graveyard appeared from the gloom to Jim’s right; its foreboding black gates added to the horror-movie feeling. Within seconds of entering the gates, Jim cracked a parched stick with his foot and almost scared himself out of his underpants. There Jim saw it a dark figure emerge from behind the gravestone. “Who are you what ar-are you?” Jim asked his timid voice cracking and wavering like an old radio. “I have many names, they call me monster, they call me the people who should not be named, they call me imagination,” the man stopped and rubbed his chin. “As for where I come from I come from the other place where everything is a swirling mass of chaos. Lost dreams. And everything that lives under your bed and in your closet. My job is to make your world into a world just like ours. Oh, and you might want to know that while we accomplish this, no mortal can know about it.” “You said “we” as in there are more of you,” Jim said.
3: “Yes of course,” the man’s eyes wavered and he looked above Jim’s head. Jim, noticing this, looked up and followed his gaze. He saw every figure in a horror movie ever made: mangled people covered in gore; old women, their eyes dripping red; vampires; werewolves. And they were all heading towards Jim. Jim felt the first pair of teeth break a layer of his skin and he knew all was lost. He moaned once, and only once, then sank into the embrace of death.
4: Imagination is fun but when it turns real all is lost. Imagination Too Far?