SHORT STORY: SCREAM FOR THE WHISPERER

It was almost eleven thirty at night when Melissa finished cleaning up at the diner and was able to start heading home; everyone else had already left. She grabbed her purse, put on her overcoat, and checked herself over one last time in the mirror. Her brown hair was disheveled and hung dead at her shoulders. Her tired, brown eyes reflected how she felt and her usually pleasant complexion was worn and bedraggled. This was the last time that she would ever agree to both opening and closing the diner on the same day.

She did what she could with her hair before saying, “Lights, off!” in a commanding voice.

The air around her shuddered and the lights shut off. Melissa left the building and turned facing toward the front doors.

“Admit no one except for the opener!” Again she used her commanding voice and again there was the shuddering in the surrounding air.

Though she was still very commanding, the waver in her voice betrayed the fatigue she felt. Melissa checked the doors briefly and then set off at a quick pace.

A block down from the diner the hairs on the back of her head stood on end and an odd pressure weighed itself against her back. She was being watched. All she needed to do was to call out and she could make the person show him or her self to her, but it was probably nothing to worry about. It wasn't such an unusual thing, even at this time of night and she continued walking. The watcher, though, did not lose sight of her and half way down the second block she couldn't ignore it any longer.

“Show your self!” Melissa commanded.

“no” a man whispered back.

Melissa stopped dead in her tracks, turning on the spot and seeing nothing but a dark street. If the man had used magic to keep himself hidden, he should have at least raised his voice. No one was powerful enough to simply whisper a command.

“What do you want?” Melissa asked, now filling with fear.

“a scream” the voice whispered back, his hot breath tickled her cheek.

Melissa gave a short cry, not intentionally, but because something had forced her to, as if the man did indeed have the power to create magic with his whispered answers.

“Who are you?” she asked, turning around to face her assailant, though again all she saw was empty darkness.

Melissa steadied her breathing, waiting for a response. None came.

“Show yourself!” She ordered the faceless voice.

Laughter.

Then, from a darkened alleyway before her, the shadows pulled away from the wall. Just as smoothly as they had blended into the wall, they blended back into the form of a tall man shrouded in a long cloak. His head was bowed and long, scraggly hair hid his face from Melissa's view. He drew closer. As he stepped, the black material of his cloak flowed back as though it wanted to melt back into the shadows and only the mans will kept them in place. With every step of his heavy boots on the pavement, Melissa's fear rose higher and higher.

He spread his arms out from his sides in a mock greeting; only now raising his head and revealing his face emaciated. He smiled and uneven, jagged teeth shone in the night. That was not, however, the worst; where his eyes should have been, there were two black orbs, distinct, yet matter-less, like a starless night sky.

Melissa turned to run, but the man whispered for her to stay and she was rooted to the ground. He walked right up to her face until there was barely half an inch between them. His demoniacal smile widened and he circled around behind her. His hand grasped the back of her neck and pulled her in closer.

“scream for the whisperer,” was his only response to her struggling, his hot breath playing on her ears, his face almost touching her cheek.

There was a shuddering in the air surrounding them and Melissa lost all control as she let out a blood curdling scream.

He sighed after a moment and said, “thank you my dear,” in a contented manner as he let go of her neck and pushed her forward and away from him. “now die”