Before It's Voiced

Horror

Unbeta'd <3

~

horror

noun

a genre of speculative fiction of which is intended to, or has the capacity to frighten, scare, disgust, or startle its readers or viewers by inducing feelings of terror. Often the central menace of a work of horror fiction can be interpreted as a metaphor for the larger fears

The world and voices and forgotten things in my head told me to go. They told me to leave, to run, to find something or someone I'd lost.

They told me to come here.

So here I am...

Pete closes the notebook as the cab pulls to a stop, jerking on the uneven road. The driver, a quiet man with a taste for classical music, mentions that they've arrived but Pete takes his time in allowing himself to realize this. In his mind's eye, he can already see the house: dim, dark, empty yet so full of the things that color his dreams and nightmares. Past that, he can see the beach but these details, unlike the house, are obscured.

"Thanks," he says, voice hoarse from the silence he's treated himself to since leaving the book release. The driver murmurs his own gratitude as Pete pays him but the exchange is short-lived, the car speeding off as Pete carries his bags to a driveway he thought he'd left behind.

An inexplicable feeling of fear overtakes him, washing through his bones and rinsing out the courage he'd known was there before. He's left as tired as the house before him, merely awaiting an experience rather than chasing after it. Two sentences play through his mind as he waits for any sense of bravery to take root.

He needs you

Go to him

He needs you

Go to him

They should be more than enough to convince him and, yet, they're not. These are the words that keep him still, his mouth dry and eyes wide as the sun sets in explosive shades behind this house. An extravagant scene better painted for someone more deserving than him. Someone who will save whomever it is that needs saving. Someone who will go without looking back.

Someone who won't shut their eyes and think of a picture they no longer have.

Pete had realized his mistake minutes after boarding the plane, reaching into his pockets to find nothing but the memory of the photo he'd shoved away. By then, it had been too late to go back for it; by then, though, he'd already had the image memorized.

Or, he thinks as he pictures red-gold hair and smiling eyes, it's not the photograph his mind has etched into his skull. Perhaps it's merely the memory of someone he's to find behind these doors.

Patrick. He knows he's here for Patrick. Someone who's haunted his dreams and fantasies with sad smiles and longing gazes, every piece of him matching the descriptions Pete had written for a siren in his book. Patrick— someone Pete thought only existed in his mind.

He takes a step forward at the same time he opens his eyes, hands shaking but mind certain that he's doing the right thing. The driveway and porch welcome him with the secure sensation of cement beneath his feet, none of that sand and dust he'd been so certain he would feel. He shakes his head and frees it of any remaining hesitations— or, at least, he throws them to the side long enough to continue.