Reflect

I've been in this room for what seemed like days sitting in an uncomfortable chair, leaning over my desk. I was trying not to think about it; trying not to look in the corner of the hallway. Why had I not closed the door? I was too frightened now to even get out of my chair, much less face the thing that was out there. I sat in my study reading yesterdays' paper for the fifteenth time that night, my eyes growing tired of reading the same thing over and over. The fire crackled behind me in the small fireplace and I peered outside as the snow floated down outside my window. It has been snowing for days and it didn't look like it was about to stop any time soon. I looked up briefly and saw my tall, hunched over figure cast a long, dark shadow on the wall in front of me. I focused on the paper in front of me and I started with the date on the first page again. 'January 22nd, 1817,' it read. I ran my hand through my dark brown hair and tried not to look at anything but what I saw on the newspaper. The next line was, 'Corante: London, England'. No matter how hard I concentrated on the text, the thing lying in the hallway tore through my thoughts like a knife. It must just be night terrors, daydreams, anything but reality. How was it even conceivable? I know all my life I had been a fairly reasonable man; I've never believed things to be true unless they could be proven. To believe in such things as I saw would be nonsensical, yet, I cannot think of any other explanation. Focus, John. You know better! Hell, you're not a child! How can you be so foolish? But still, I dared not look behind me. I turned my attention again to the paper. 'English Freighter Diana Sinks off Malaysia'. This article troubled me every time I read it. Whoever wrote it gave no specific details about the story, almost as if they had only heard it had happened and did not bother to investigate further. As a writer, I like to think that I always keep a story stimulating by providing a background to it. Not even names of members on the ship were mentioned. I imagine the families of those men are vexed, maybe even upset at the man who wrote this article as I am now for not mentioning who has survived and who has not. In the back of my mind, I felt something staring at me. No, it couldn't be, it is impossible to even think it, but why do I keep coming back to this wretched thought? I was about to return my attention back to the news when my oil lamp abruptly went out. The darkness was absolute. The only sound came from the splashing rain and crashing thunder outside. How predictable for the oil to run out at this moment. My palms began to sweat as I sat unable to move in the darkness, my biggest fear. It had always been an irrational fear. The darkness is nothing compared to the real dangers of the world. I could be afraid of spiders or heights or maybe drowning. The poor men on that ship that sank the day before, to be put in such a circumstance would be far more frightening than what I was experiencing now because when put in a situation like theirs, they have a logical reason to be scared. I did not simply because I do not know what it is that had scared me so or even if it was real. But it has to be. Reason, John; you have to think in terms of reason. You are not afraid of the dark, you are afraid of what is in it. No, you are not afraid of what is in the dark because there cannot possibly be anything there. But then what did I see? My mind drifted back to earlier this evening. I returned from my trip to the bakery down the street with a new loaf of bread to my small home here in London. It is a small brick house fit for one person, which is really all I need. I don't have a family to share anything with. Shaking off the snow; I stepped into my door. I looked over to my coat rack and sighed for I should have worn my winter coat that lay there now. My trousers and tailcoat were drenched. I laid my coat on the table in the kitchen and went to change in my bedroom when I noticed an object in the hallway. It was long and thin and wrapped in a dark cloth. There w