Short Story: Tower by Austin Reale and Kaitlyn Caffrey

I woke up, sitting in a chair. Looking around me, I saw more chairs, filled with people. There were thousands of chairs and thousands of people. They all had this politely curious air about them; looking around, wondering why they were there. Just like me. I looked ahead of me and saw a massive Building, so tall that I couldn't see the top. I flexed my muscled to stand, to get to the building, but quickly realized I was unable to.

  Looking to my right, I saw an old man kneeling. He looked a bit like a priest, wearing long black robes and holding a leather-bound book. Taking one look at it, however, I somehow knew immediately that it wasn’t a Bible.

  The man slowly got to his feet. The thousands of gathered people drew their attention to him, all waiting. Waiting for what, I did not know.

  The priest-like man opened his book. From it, he began to read. He spoke with power and conviction, though it was in a language that I didn’t recognize. Looking around me, however, I saw that no one else seemed confused; to the contrary many seemed very interested in what he had to say, nodding their heads and looking on him with approving eyes. What is going on? I wondered.

  As the man spoke, his words seemed to grow in volume and power, and there was one thought that raced through my mind: I have to get out of here.

  After a very long and drawn-out word from the speaker, everyone’s attention suddenly turned to an item in front of me that I had somehow not noticed before. I looked at it as well; it was a long box, probably about ten feet in length. Painted a shining black, as I gazed at it, I felt a deep sense of foreboding settle into my gut. A coffin. At that moment, I wanted to be far, far away.

  The venerable man spoke on, reading from that disturbing book of his. Even though I couldn’t understand his odd language, I sensed he was making several important points. He gestured with his hands and sometimes even stomped his feet. After what seemed like several more minutes of the man’s powerful tirade, I felt a tremor in the ground; my chair quavered and shook. The horrible feeling in my stomach worsened. Before me, the coffin lid cracked and my breath caught in my throat. I looked at the man in horror, then his voice sped up and became excited. More of the coffin splintered. Sounds of scratching and banging soon followed. Whatever was trapped inside wanted badly to get out.

  The assembled crowd murmured. Everyone waited, anxiously anticipating what was to come. The coffin cracked loudly a final time, and then there was silence. Even the frightening man had stopped his reading. A shiver of excitement ran through the crowd as a shiver of terror ran up my spine.

  The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. And then, just as I had begun to wonder if whatever was inside had fallen asleep or maybe died, I saw a hand come out and grasp the side of the coffin.

  The leathery skin was black, black as three in the morning. The palm was the size of a normal human’s, but the fingers were each about a foot long, very thin, and ended in needle-like points. The hand tightened on the edge of the coffin and It slowly pulled itself out. My first assessment was that It was tall— at least nine feet, even though It’s back was extremely hunched over. It was emaciated, but Its head looked three times too big for Its body. Its large, bulbous eyes were an inky black and, as It turned to gaze at me, I shuddered. I felt as if It were peering into my soul. In that instant, I wanted to scream, but no sound came from my throat.

  With a cry of triumph, the priest-like man started to babble in his odd language and continued to read from the book, faster and excitedly. The people around me started to applaud and cheer. I looked on in horror as It slowly stepped out of the coffin and started to walk towards us in a slow, shuffling gait. The speaker’s voice had grown to a shout and I could tell before looking at him by the quaver in his voice that he was crying. Turning to him, I saw to my horror that his tears were the same inky black as Its eyes. And when It was only ten feet away, the priest-like man stopped speaking. I saw that his eyes had grown to be entirely black. And as if in slow-motion, the man fell; dead before he even hit the ground. It was at this moment that I realized that I was now able to move. I broke into a full-out sprint, rushing past It. I somehow knew that if I were to get to the Tower, I would be safe. Looking back, I saw that the thousands of assembled people were one-by-one, all falling to the ground; dead, with entirely black eyes. I ran faster.

  When I finally reached the Tower, I looked back only to see that It was following me at It’s slow pace. I didn’t doubt that I could outrun It, but I definitely wasn’t about to take the chance.

  I ran to the stairs. Some instinct told me to get to the roof. However tall this tower was, I knew that this was the only way to get away from It. So I climbed. One hundred stairs… Two hundred stairs… I soon lost count. I went up for what seemed like forever, but the adrenaline inside me didn’t allow me to tire. I always seemed to have the energy for the next flight.

  As I rushed up the many stairs, I heard faint voices coming from the walls. It sounded to me like a slow-motion prayer. Hearing the voices calmed me for some reason. It was me a sense of peace and safety, unlike anything I had previously felt amidst all of this confusion.

  When I finally reached the last set of stairs, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I knew this ordeal would all be over soon; I just had to reach the roof.

  Reaching a doorway, I burst through to find myself on the roof. I got a sudden feeling nausea as I looked over the edge; I was far higher than I had ever been before.

  To my shock and surprise, I saw that I wasn’t alone on the roof; on the far end stood a little girl, maybe six or seven years old. I saw that she was crying. I had a sudden urge to go over and comfort her, to help her. However, I once again found myself unable to move from where I was standing.

  A sudden burst of wind on the roof caused my eyes to sting and water; I shut them and wiped them with my eyes. Just before I opened them, my previous feeling of sickness and foreboding returned. I knew in an instant that the little girl and I weren’t the only ones on the roof. I opened my eyes to see It standing a few feet away from me. I felt bile rise in my throat as It slowly raised one of Its long fingers to point at me. I felt a crash under my feet; the Tower began to shake. The wind picked up again and I felt the entire Tower rock back and forth. I realized in grower terror that the Tower was falling. I shut my eyes tight and… I woke up, sitting in a chair.

  Looking around me, I saw more chairs. There were hundreds of people all rising to their feet. It took a few seconds before I realized that I was in church; I must have fallen asleep. The band is what woke me up, the loud noises of the drums bringing me back to conciseness. Wiping the sleep and tears from my face, I quickly stood, hoping nobody had noticed.

  As I was leaving church that day, I noticed a little girl, maybe six or seven years old, walking out. Her pale face looked to have just woken up. She was holding her mom’s hand and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. For some reason, she looked extremely familiar to me, though for the life of me, I couldn’t think of where I might’ve seen her before.

  I moved towards the girl in order to get a better look at her face. As I drew near, however, it was as if she knew I was coming. She turned her head to face me, and that’s when I saw her eyes. Her horrible, inky black eyes.

  Then I woke up.