Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
Phobophobia By holly glanfield
What fresh hell have I got myself into? I have no bloody clue what possessed me. I
realised nature were only beautiful by day as soon mist gathered on that irksome hill and the forest went from charming to terrifying before my eyes. Fantasising about peace and calm in this godforsaken desolation. I call Barnaby straight away but he doesn’t answer, the idiot! There’s no screens whatsoever, my phone signal’s treacherous… Dammit! Why does the mind conjure delusions that are never the reality? Fear took hold hours ago and is yet to subside. I go for my Bordeaux and pour a generous glass, keeping the room candlelit so no foreboding shadows can tantalise my curtainless windows without me knowing although, I feel there’s something more suspicious inside this creepy abode... Curse you Barnaby suggesting my nerves needed rejuvenating away from the chaotic city! Makes no sense. I chug my glass and pour another, scrolling through my phone once more. One of the candles flickers and goes out as if a breeze blows through yet the air is cold, stale and stagnant. Still Barnaby answers not.
“Barnaby! You bloody imbecile why did you convince me to come here? I’m terrified! There’s something in the house and possibly on the hill, oh gosh what have I done? Call me straight back!” I almost thrash it to the floor with fury before remembering it’s my only escape. Another sound, the floorboards upstairs, please be a dreaded ‘house noise,’ yes, yes it’s just a house noise. Ah, another candle gone out! Maybe turn the lights on? But, then whoever’s out there will see me all the clearer and I’ll see them the lesser! I pour and drink another glass. I call Barnaby thrice in a row to no avail. I drink and drink some more, the house makes noises, more candles cease to glow, then darkness. I must have fallen asleep for I awake to the sound of my phone.
“Barnaby!” I shout.
“Are you okay? I just got your message.”
“About time! Help! I’m being haunted I haven’t the faintest clue what’s going on.”
“Neither do I, I’m so confused, what’s happening? Are you drunk?”
“That’s besides the point! Get me out of here!”
“Out of where? I just put you in a cab home, what’s happened?” Terror seizes me by the chest, I gasp.
“W-what?” I stammer.
“At the pub you seemed completely calm, what is it?”
“I…” I hang up, I can’t bare these wild tales. The darkness grows darker. What am I? Am I the ghost that haunts this house? The spectre banished to this lonesome country? It might be possible, of course, that far from being one, we may possess two selves in this world but if that be the case how do I become the other self of I? Ow, this is too much. I call Barnaby once more, panic alights the largest flame inside me, to my absolute disgrace and horror, yet again, he answers not!
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