Dark Flutters: Stories for a Moonless Night

The Ones Who Can't Be Seen

The Ones Who Can't Be Seen

I saw them for the first time last week, or rather didn’t see them. Two of them stood in my driveway, their eyes boring into me.

It was all I could do not to lock myself in my house and hide, praying as I did, that they would vanish from existence.

I don’t know why they exist or how long they’ve been here. All I know is I can sense them now. What changed in me, I cannot tell you. One minute I was just your regular everyday waitress and now I’m a receptor of the Ones Who Can’t Be Seen.

That’s what I call them because no one knows they’re there. I mean how could we? We’ve been programmed not to see this kind of stuff since we were children. And let me tell you: our parents were right to keep us oblivious to these things.

I can barely live now. The feeling that they’re there, watching and waiting for God knows what. My skin burns when they’re around. It’s like their aura leaks onto mine. It’s the worst feeling I’ve ever had.

And they are everywhere. I never would have guessed there was so many of them. They sit in the empty booths at the restaurant where I work. They don’t even move when a customer sits down by them. They just stare while the people dine shoulder to shoulder with them and don’t even know it.

They’re in the aisles of the supermarkets we shop and they are in the empty seats at the theaters. They even stand and wait in the restrooms we use. I feel their eyes follow me as I drive home at night, their presence watching from the sidewalks.

I made a terrible mistake yesterday. I let them know I could sense them. I screamed at them to leave me alone. I told them that I didn’t care what they were as long as they stayed away from me.

I don’t think anyone has ever known about them before. I could feel their shock as they began to watch me closer.

That was where I went wrong. Now they gather on my yard. Droves of them have come. Their auras pulse loudly, trying to drown me in them.

They have surrounded my house, as more still come. They squeeze their bodies against the walls of my home and pound their fists into the wood, turning my house into a death drum.

I know they will come for me. It’s only a matter of time. One will find a crack somewhere and they’ll slip in, making their way to my room, where I huddle now in my bed.

I think I am alone in my room now, but their aura has covered everything and I can’t be sure. I’ll try to ignore that faint breeze as I lay here and pray that they forget about me.