Kat Goss is a mystery and paranormal writer from Cape Town, South Africa. Before her career as an author, Kat had an extensive career as a ghostwriter, using her skills to bring the stories of others to life. Her obsession with the dark and obscure started at a young age. It is the hidden, unsavory parts of what it means to be human that fascinates her most.
NIGHTCRAWLED
by
Kat Goss
White and faceless creatures with no shoulder or arms, and two long legs that helped them saunter through the streets. Nothing but a pair of pants with a head. The video had gone viral and I’d watched it about a hundred times.
I used to get a kick out of that sort of thing. Debunking it, more specifically. I had never been much of a believer, but I’d always had a lot of time on my hands. Insomnia allowed it. The other side effect of insomnia was that it often made me feel as if I was losing my mind. As if I was being punished simply for having the audacity to stay alive.
When the video of what would eventually be coined the “Fresno Nightcrawlers” did the rounds, the street I lived in became a hub for paranormal investigators and the likes. It provided me with entertainment while I struggled to sleep and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t occasionally mess with them.
It was one activity that really was enjoyable. It relied on a perfectly timed stone being thrown, or a well-placed scraping sound. That was all it took and then I would sit back and watch them chase after nothing.
In truth, though, I was desperate to catch a glimpse of the nightcrawlers myself. If they were real, then it meant that there was more to the mundane world that we’d been given. That would have made existence worthwhile.
I spent countless sleepless nights waiting for them, staring out of my window, wishing they’d appear. What I would do if they did, I had not thought about. All I knew was that it would provide me with a new avenue of thought to explore.
Yet, they never came.
Until one night when I’d long forgotten.
It was different that night. It felt as if the entire world had been plunged into silence. As if the very air had been stuffed with cotton wool, making it feel dampened and stuffy. Most of the lights in the neighboring houses had been switched off.
In an unusual turn of events, sleep was threatening me too. I knew better than to keep myself awake, so I turned in.
That night there were no dreams to keep me entertained as I slumbered. There was only a silent blackness that greeted me in my sleep.
Until a slight breeze brushed over my eyelashes. At first, I thought of my cat. He had joined me on the bed, and was breathing directly onto my face. However, when I remembered that Toulouse had been dead for almost a decade, I somewhat startled awake.
There was no jolting of my body or jerking of my head as my eyes fluttered open. No, I was stiff. It was only my mind that suddenly buzzed with adrenaline. The room was bright and everything was white.
Slowly, the whiteness seemed to dissipate though. Was I waking up?
No, the bright white I saw seemed to hold it’s shape as the room around it came more into focus. It was moving away from me, like a cloud that hovered just above my warm bed, cooling the air around me.
As the mass moved away from me, two empty eyes stared back. It couldn’t be real, but the sharp and cold air that pumped through my lungs reminded me that it was.
There was nothing to look at, except the cloud-like matter, and the lack of it where the eyes were meant to be. It held so much expression that seemed to change moods quicker than the ticking of a clock.
It was not fear that gripped me, or curiosity, or even confusion. Rather, a trance that allowed me to look at it with no feeling at all.
Finally, there it was. The nightcrawler.
It was too tall and too short at the same time. Warm and cold, kind and harsh. But mostly, it seemed like nothingness. Like if I reached out, my hand would go right through it. And yet there was no dispute that it was there.
As it moved away, something else came into view. The backdrop that had previously been the image of my room fell away and in it’s place were the whisping figures of people who had come and gone in the world.
Their mouths were open in screams that echoed so loudly my bed frame rattled. I watched as their spirits were torn apart, only to be pieced back together so that they could be ripped up again.
My heart seized for them as they reached out to me for help. Meanwhile, the nightcrawler just watched, as if to see how I might react, or what I might do.
My home and my vision was filled with beings, and yet there was no flesh and no skin amongst them all. They were nothing, but a collection of my deepest, most secret fears.
Suddenly, the creature I had so desperately wanted to come close to, was far too close for comfort. I wanted nothing more than to put some distance between us, to look away, to forget it all.
The instant that thought crossed my mind, it leaned in closer until I could see nothing but white again.
I felt a tearing sensation through my own skin and flesh. My mouth opened and my screams echoed all around me. I was stiff and in motion all the same. All I knew was pain and suffering, of which both feelings were encapsulated into one sensation of fear.
Fear that ran so deep it thickened my blood and burned my tongue. The entire weight of the world pressed on my chest then as my screams turned to gasps for air. And yet, the nightcrawler did not look away.
It’s been a month since I’ve been in hospital for the largest heart attack any man in my family has ever survived.
Despite the doctor’s orders, I do not sleep.