Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction

Do not fear the eyes of the Watching By Amelia Bowe

In the eyes of the Watching: there is nothing but a cascade of shadows only to cause mania, which I have found, only shows itself to one when most undreamable dreams are dreamt.

As when of the raging silence of storm, a prominent tremolo of dimming sun, a slamming branch at the window occurs. And then an untouchable scrutiny almost like a shining shaft will pierce the sultry air, no matter the desire to simply look away, no matter the luminescence embedding the room already, the eyes have now pervaded my soul.

Though those endless chasms for pupils, surrounded by caked acrylics and broken buttons; alongside its timber frame and precise paintwork, perhaps it sees everything with nothing but distaste. This doll has watched my entire childhood, it’s always been watching in its far corner- and I have let it. Since its packaging had lain undisturbed to the other corner, the puppet once within was beguiled with such abundance of uninvited yet still living creatures: I have never slept soundly since.

In this pitiful tranquillity, I became appalled with myself staring at something that looked like an inbred of sorts, that scuttered in the dents in the floorboards and then trailed along whatever inanimate objects existed. Quick too. ‘The Watching’s porcelain head pivoting to its position in the room. Whatever it was, there was a peculiar wisp of sequined cotton that stuck into edges and crooks and caught it of guard and a whimsical dance macabre ensued as the thimble legs twisted into themselves, and an eventual sickening of death became and then it was just dead. Another dead one.

“Add it to the collection my friend” ‘The Watching’ beamed.

Sure there was: Invasive grinning, distinct slyness, craving all and somehow omnipresent: all held in that one sustained expression of sadistic delight. ‘The Watching’ deems this specious indiscretions not only death worthy. But… so false in being they are utterly trivial to my very existence.

‘I guess I shall have to add it to the collection’

I wonder if ‘The Watching’ sees living things as parasites- as I have grown to, because its own inanimacy bleeds covetous to them all having a pulse. Once could see that as a convenient curse of nature, just to tempt out undeclared remorse, of the doll’s detrimental outstare.

Therefore, whenever there is a lonesome aphid. Uninvited yet living. My heart turns pitch to the night time’s devious mode of pursuit. ‘The Watching’ is woken again, eyes sharp and attentive. So I say without pause of breath: “Never look too long my friend, but remember. Do not fear the eyes of the watching”.

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