Conspiracy fiction with living darkness
Dark Windows Open One Way — Part 5
Where do you run when the air lets the monsters in?
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Shibboleth has contributors from all over. Some writers, some photographers, a few editors who help out, and all the stories/sightings that pour in. We listen and relay it all.
People tell us truths we don’t believe sometimes, but we don’t have a monopoly on what is true and what isn’t. It ain’t a club. These pages are the only place we’ll meet these people — and you — 99 times out of 100.
UFO illustrations, little sketches of extraterrestrial biological entities (EBE), or red eyes flaring in the darkness are good, but they don’t win you a spot in a Shibboleth safehouse. Nothing does.
The spots can’t be earned because that’s the opposite of safe. We already now everyone we’ll ever let in. It’s something you think about more when the shadows are more than darkness. Escaping something like that seems impossible. So why not go somewhere you’ve got a comfy couch?
We doubled back, got lost on purpose, did everything we could think of to lose a possible tail. A few hours after we watched our source die, we had a pot of coffee on, all the lights off, and notes to go over.
Instead, darkness shifted near the couch. The air separated, slid across itself.
Every entrance in our safehouse was locked, so locked in fact that we would struggle to get out of the place quickly.
Now, we weren’t alone. One of us yelled, gave a kind of cattle rustling call to shoo whatever this thing was. Or that’s what we thought it sounded like. Really, it wasn’t anything other than terror.
But there was an answer.
We thought the room started to grow brighter, but actually we were seeing a deeper darkness drawing itself across out vision. A line of the purest black formed above the couch. A person faded into view, became solid where nothing had been solid at all. This person even had a goddamn coat on around the void of their body. And they spoke.
“You’re being followed by more than me,” they said.
“Meter,” one of us said.
“A…word mark…for this…person not many can say,” they said. The pauses between words had an unsettling, low static to them, almost like it was coming from outside our safehouse.
“The Limits?” We asked. They nodded, then moved toward the back of the safehouse.
“I want to show you something,” they said, and moved their hand through the locks on our back exit. Each chunk of metal fell away, broken, and the door swung open to reveal an entity outside. Standing there. Waiting.
>>>> Read the next part of DARK WINDOWS OPEN ONE WAY soon!
