It’s In Here With Me

I sometimes just start writing to see what will happen, with varying success. This one worked for me…

It’s In Here with Me


Gary Dorking




These patterns and shapes I see, I know are not there; it’s just my mind trying to see something, grasping something, in this pitch-blackness.

All else I know, is that there is a floor, and my knees and one hand are upon it, as the other reaches for some, identifiable thing to gain some perception of this …dungeon?

From what I have heard, I have reason to be afraid…that as my hand reaches into the black nothing, to sense something, that my hand, may be bitten, it could even now be in a mouth. Perhaps, if I move just a finger I will feel a tongue and from there, jaws, clamping around my wrist.

The voices outside are silent now, they were behind the door, my captors…but some hours back, I heard their footsteps echo and fade to nothing.

I have slept off the effects of the wine…that is no doubt what got me thrown in here. It would now be the first time…. but this time, what sick joke is this? Thrown into the dark and forced to listen to the whispering of my captors through a locked door. Whispered tales of a beast, in here with me… within this room. They discussed the beast the aberration, as they tested the handle of the door as they shook it to confirm its security…then the light through the keyhole…it was no more…it was all I had

So, is it here? Is it in here with me? Dare I move even an inch and risk making the slightest sound? To breathe and maybe give away my whereabouts? Whereupon it may certainly be upon me? Will it kill me?

I heard them: “its teeth are sharp.” and, they said, “Its eyes yellow, its expression soul less,” and “thirsty for blood”.

Will I feel it in the next second? There may be nothing here, yet I sense something. With such notions of my possible companion lurking perhaps inches from me I may soon become insane.

My hand has found the wall, I shall walk my fingers softly along it…maybe there is, yes! a wooden shutter. If I can prise it open, just a little. There are bars…of course…but at least now, a small beam of light is making a line across the floor. There is nothing strange in this light…and if the beast is in here with me, it is still, for I hear nothing of it. It either watches me, or it sleeps…or it waits, focused on my throat.

There is something, this dark is thick, yet something is there within it, and I move, slowly toward it…just to see…to know it. first my hand, then my knee, the other knee, towards it. BE STILL! It has been moving towards me. What is that? What are you? I move a fraction more towards it, I don’t know what drives such a dangerous act in me…

Yes, I it moves towards me, it’s catching the light is now, I must stop, I can’t slow my racing heart, my breathing, if I am heard it could provoke so much. Is there is any chance it has not seen me? Will see me as a threat? Perhaps I should look to the floor, meekly, or should I look into its eyes? Should I stand my ground in the hope that it might be unlikely to strike a less submissive prey?

I can see its eyes, and It has such teeth! The light makes but thin highlights upon them. But it gives away their length and illustrates their threat, and the same minimal light is catching its unnatural covering of hair; this is not a man; it is some kind of creature. I know that you see me; your eyes are looking into mine.

Something makes me move closer, by about six inches but it’s difficult to judge distance in this pool of black … we both glow so dimly. Again, it has come towards me and it has stopped. It is four legged, I am sure. Its eyes are dreadful; They are aggressive and dreadful. Yet I find myself having sympathy with something within those wretched sockets. It is haunted…fearful yet determined.

Why am I raising my hand to touch it? Have my senses left me? My fingers move toward it and stop against something. My hand is against it; it has lifted some kind of paw to me.

I can just make out an arched back, matted hair, angular joints in its legs, they have a tortured stress, like broken sticks. it has a hungry, sick and shrunken stomach, it’s ribs are clearly visible.

That light that illuminates us both…that is no lamp…no flame…it is the light of the full moon.

I know what it is, I know what you are…what I have been locked in here with, it is the human wolf that has struck such fear into the waking and dreaming hours of so many hereabouts.

I am strangely overcome by an urge to attack first. I bare teeth to it…and its lips pull back further

I will show no fear…no mercy…I will have your blood…

I am ready to leap, it is ready to leap, our muscles tense…nothing can stop me…nothing…I am forced by something within…I will not desist, even as I catch sight of a frame…even as I become aware, that the beast that I am about to kill, stares at me, from a mirror.





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