Buruburu

Sometimes he thought
A small bit of wondering
A blink
A moment
A faltering atonement
For all the hours he spent staring
Mind catching fire
A candle flickering in the deep dark
And a voice whispering

"Go outside.
Find the puddles."

Somewhere beyond
He stared at the ground
Mind blank with the sound
of coal black claws on the chalkboard
Whispering screams
that let him be
A blank stare
A sleeping mind

It isn't that he wasn't afraid because he was brave
He just didn't know
Purple eyes watching above burnt black lips
The curving of which was a wicked wanting

The puddles

Alleyway marked with potholes
Each crater filled with the rain
That always never fell
He found the biggest one
The one that didn’t reflect the sky
And looked in

No voice said it
But somehow he knew
That if he stepped into the puddle
And believed
He would fall through
But to where?

The darkness that crawled
behind the dumpster
watching
Had taken his knowing
And in doing so
Took also his fear

The boy raised his foot over the puddle
Mind searching for a way to describe
The truth that the cobwebs draped so knowingly between his ears had tried to hide
The light on the other side

The puddle began to glow
As his toe touched the water

Garbage tossed all about
The darkness screamed and came rushing out
To reach with dark claws
And grab the boy by the hand

Mrs. Daley stood frowning as the children copied the notes from the board.  Three desks were empty.  Something somewhere within her head said not to worry.  Taking a deep breath that wasn’t quite enough, she sighed, cheeks heavy and eyes ringed with darkness of sleep that would never be quite enough, and glanced out the window.  A boy was in the alley.  Leaning forward and rising up on her toes, she put her gnarled fingers on the sill and watched as the boy stopped next to a large puddle.  Raising his foot, the boy touched the water.

Garbage flew out into the alley, cans clanging against the walls as something screamed.  Slipping like smoke across the ground, dark claws grabbing with hunger accompanied that terrible sound, sending a shiver shrieking up and down her spine.  Grabbing the boy by the hand, the darkness dragged the boy away from the puddle and threw him up against the alley wall, where she could not see.  Mrs. Daley shook her head and pressed at her eyes, fighting the desire to write on the chalkboard that was welling up inside of her head.  A thought she feared was not her own.  Her breath caught at the sound of the shouts, the boy yelling as the darkness gave out a great and terrible moan.  Pushing her face against the window, she looked down to see the boy fall back out into the alley, crawling, white shirt torn and bloody, towards the puddle.  The darkness swept about him, chilling her breath with an eerie laugh.  Concrete stained with a trail of blood, the boy reached out to the puddle and Mrs. Daley gave a cry of fright when an arm reached out of the puddle to grasp the boy’s hand, dragging him down into the watery hole.  Just before the boy was completely gone, the darkness fell on the puddle, broiling furiously for a mere moment before exploding outward, black claws clutching a human hand.

She blinked and the darkness was gone.  Breath grasped in half sobs, she fell away from the window and looked to her students, who paid her no mind.  They didn’t even blink when the door exploded inward, glass skittering across the floor.  The darkness didn’t so much as enter as it simply wasn’t there and then it was.  Matte black lips twisted into an insincere smile.  Purple eyes stared into hers as blood dripped down a gaunt, pale cheek.  She tried to scream when it wrapped shadowy arms around her, embracing her and pressing lips against her ear.  But she was tired, and her students needed more notes on the chalkboard.  She shook her head and tried to breathe as black claws traced wrinkled skin above the blue veins on the back of her hands and up her arms.  Yes.  The lips found her ear again and whispered.  Yes.  Yes she should write on the chalkboard.  For the students.  That was what they were, students.  And she, she was the teacher.  She was the teacher.  She nodded, looking away from the purple eyes.  As she touched the chalk to the chalkboard, she glanced at the trail of blood that led from door to the hallway into the room.  A severed hand lay on her desk.  She looked form the hand to the door, which was closed, and frowned.  Something was wrong.  Turning her head back to the chalkboard she tried to write, but didn’t know what.  Thinking for a moment, she glanced over her shoulder at the students and noticed one of them was staring out the window.  Faint whispers crept out of the darkness heaped beneath the spidersilk spun between her ears.  She nodded, agreeing.  It was true.  Students who daydreamed were wasting their time.  Yes, yes.  No sense of reality.  The tapping of her chalk against the chalk board made the darkness smile.