Night Drawings

Night Drawings 

 
The rain hammered against the window. An army of raindrops marched on through the days, flooding the gutters, turning gardens into marshes and the streets into rivers. A blanket of clouds coated the city leaving it in the dark, even through the day, at best, the streets would glow slightly grey from the light of the sun lost in the sky.  
Simon sat by his laptop, drawing. The walls of his room were filled with charcoal pictures of the creatures he imagined would stalk the rain. Spindly creatures that could slip out of sight. Sometimes larger, thicker beasts with scales or slime, with pointed fangs in elongated muzzles or long dangling tentacles and in other pictures, long empty faces with wide grins. Simon rubbed his red eyes, rested his head in his hands and sighed.  
A faint hum disturbed the rain’s drumming. Simon squinted to see what was going on and made out the red post-van and the bright jacket of the driver. The postman slid something through his letterbox which thudded as it hit the floor. Simon stood in silence for a moment deciding if he could be bothered to go and get the parcel. He’d grab it later, when he could summon the motivation.   
The hours ticked by, and Simon kept drawing and rubbing the charcoal into the paper.  
“And how much do you think you are going to get?” He addressed the deeply disturbing drawing in front of him, a picture of a creature that resembled a camel with bamboo growing out of its humps and matted, rotting fur falling from its body to reveal blistered muscle. The picture responded with silence.  
Normally he would be fully booked with commissions. But when the commissions were quiet, he gave his art to charity, as gifts or even kept some for himself. As long as Simon could do his art, he was happy.  
Somewhere in the dense clouds, the sun began to drop. The rain turned orange, bathing the buildings with colour. It came down harder, attempting to block out the gold hue that began to seep through the grey. Simon hardly registered the change until he heard a crash from outside. Standing up with a jolt, he pressed his face against the window and his breath left a smudge of condensation. The neighbour’s bins had been tipped over, rubbish split across the road and was already getting washed down. Something scurried out but it seemed too lanky to be a cat and Simon’s eyes widened as it looked like it was running backwards. The animal’s joints bent unnaturally and caused Simon’s heart to beat faster as his breathing became shallow. Simon exhaled as nothing else moved and the muted gold gave way to darkness.  
Simon needed to distract himself, suddenly he remembered the parcel.  
“I will be right back. But hey, listen,” Simon squared up to the drawing of the camel. 
“Keep an eye out and let me know if you see anything strange.” He stroked the picture and almost felt the bristly fur under his hand.  
He made his way shakily downstairs. The parcel sat at the front door and Simon scooped it up, turning it over a few times. He tore it open and a book slid out. He couldn’t see it in the dark, but the binding felt like soft worn leather and when he opened it, the smell of musty old pages filled his nostrils making him think of great libraries with little reading corners and old delicate books. The thought replaced the unsettled feelings that he had battled with since seeing the cat…thing.  
Simon went into his kitchen, flicked a dim light on and grabbed something to eat from the fridge. Simon's attention was drawn back to the book and in the light he could see the dark, distressed leather that bound it. There was padding under the leather and the edge of the pages shone gold in the light. Simon turned the book over to look at the spine, it was so worn that the gold lettering of the title was unable to reveal anything about what was inside.  
Simon turned the first page, it was empty. He turned the next page and the next. All empty. He tucked the book under his arm and headed upstairs. But something caught his eye, pausing as he looked out his living room window. He was sure someone was looking in through the window but the rain continued to tumble and crash into it making it hard to see. Simon stood there for a few more seconds, wrestling between cherishing some company and his fear of strangers. The lock on the door was double checked and Simon looked out the window once more. He couldn’t see anything through the curtain of water running down the window so headed back up the stairs, empty book still in hand.  
He dropped the book on the table and started working again. The charcoal scratched as he dragged it over the paper and his fingers became darker as he worked on the paper. The clock ticked by as Simon’s newest monster started to take life on the paper. There was a crash from downstairs. Simon's heart leapt into his mouth. It sounded like glass had been smashed. He was not sure what he really saw in the window earlier, but this sounded like someone breaking in. He grabbed his mobile from his pocket and walked slowly down the hall. He tried to be silent, however the stairs creaked, someone was climbing up and they were almost at the top. Ten steps to go and the stairs kept creaking at regular intervals.  
Four.  
Three.
Two.  
Simon's heart pounded, his muscles became tight and knotted as his stomach turned over itself. His breathing became shallow and for a second time Simon felt panic begin to suffocate him. But nothing climbed the final step, nothing appeared at the top of the stairs.  
Simon slowly worked up the courage to look down the stairs. Nothing there. He moved down into the darkness of his living room. The sound of the rain echoed through the house, filling his head with white noise. Simon made his way room to room but nothing was broken. Maybe the sound had come from next door, maybe the cat had knocked something else over.  
The rain poured from its infinite source and had trapped him inside for the last four days. Simon was always close to his work and wasn’t so bothered that he had not heard from anyone. But today, as his stomach fought to hold on to its contents and his legs struggled to get him back to his study, a little company would have helped him. The study door swung open and there waiting, were his charcoal drawings.  
“I am not feeling myself today at all.” Simon rested his sweaty forehead against the camel. The smell of rot filled his nostrils.   
"Watch out behind you," Simon pushed away from the wall. The camel’s teeth seemed to clatter together as they spoke.  
"Simon, they want you," 
The colour had drained from Simon's face. His jaw was slack, and he could not believe the words floating in his head. Was he going insane? Had he lost his mind being stuck inside for four days, listening to the rain crash into the windows? He looked back at the camel. Sweat had smudged the camel’s mouth so it was indistinct but it definitely was not moving. Something grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall and he fell to the floor, his vision swam as he struggled to stay conscious. A struggle that he lost. 
Simon's eyes fluttered open. The book was open on the floor next to him. He picked it up. His eyes widened and his breath was caught in his throat as he noticed some of the pages were filled with recognisable pictures. They mirrored his drawings, each with his signature. Standing up he rubbed his eyes and looked out the window. Stretched out on the sill, ignoring the rain’s pounding, was the cat Simon saw earlier. Upon closer inspection the cat was not really a cat, and he could not bring it into focus. It was smudged and blurred as if drawn with charcoal. He placed the book back down and walked over to the creature. Simon was sluggish, his body exhausted from the ebb and flow of panic. His muscles ached and his clothes were stuck to his body with sweat. He pressed his face against the window every fibre in his body drawn to the strange creature.  
A chorus of voices whispered in Simon's ear. "We will take you and your sanity. We will take your flesh and your soul," The voices clambered over each other until they were no longer distinct voices but a cascade of threats.  
Simon wanted to turn around but was frozen. The creature on the other side of the glass turned its head towards the terrified artist. It had a human face with an unnatural grin. It opened its mouth wide until all Simon could see was a ring of teeth and a black hole descending into deeper darkness. It screamed and the sound built till Simon's head rang. He pushed his hands to his ears but the sound rang from inside. It began as a deep bass and grew in pitch till it was a barely audible screech. His brain throbbed at the cacophony of sound and his skin began to writhe on his body, as it bubbled it felt like it was separating from his muscle. He yelled, his vision became blurred and he slapped his hands on the window. The creature snapped its mouth shut and slipped from the sill melting into the dark rain. Simon vomited and collapsed to the floor. The book snapped open and howled. The drawings were torn from the walls and whipped around the room in a violent tornado. The wind ceased and the drawings hovered for a second. Simon's wide eyes saw the faces of the creatures above him. The book snapped shut and the drawings rained down onto him.   
Simon had to steady himself. His body was struggling to function, his head still hurt but it had begun to subside. He gathered up all the drawings and tucked them into the book. Had these creatures been stalking him for the last four days while the rain poured? Had it been even longer? Where had the book come from? Had it given life to his drawings or was he just drawing things that already existed? He ran his hand through his hair. When had he seen these creatures to draw them? Did he make them up or had they always been about?  
Simon needed to be away from his drawings, and that book. He opened the door to his studio and the darkness of the landing stretched out in front of him. He reached for the light switch and as his hand moved across the wall he felt something slithering beneath the paint. He pulled his hand back, took the phone from his pocket, and turned on the torch. The writhing paint seemed to flee from the light. Simon looked for the light switch and flicked it on, a fraction of a second later the hall lit up. Simon felt better in the light. 
A door further down the hall creaked open. Any comfort the light had given Simon was now gone. Round the door frame crept five long black fingers. They dug in the wall leaving deep scratches, then the forearm came out up to the elbow then another section of arm and another elbow, four sections of arm came from the door, arching into the hallway. A second and a third arm came out and planted themselves onto the floor. The arm that had gripped the door let go and reached up to the light, its fingers curled around the bulb and its flesh hissed on the hot bulb. Shadows were thrown down the hallway and from each shadow long arms sprouted out. The fingers round the bulb tensed, and the glass cracked and shattered. Simon stood on the threshold of his studio but he was pushed into the hallway. The door slammed shut behind him. The only light that remained came from the torch on his phone. He felt strong, cold fingers wrap themselves around his ankles and wrists. They tightened and Simon dropped his phone.  
The phone landed faced down and the corridor was cloaked in darkness. Simon began writhe as he fought to free himself from the icy grip. As Simon struggled, he kicked the phone down the stairs and it landed at the bottom. The phone lay still and above it stood a tall figure. Its arms fell past its knees and its head almost touched the ceiling. The skinny body faded in and out of focus as if rubbed out and drawn back in. The face was covered by a white mask that was featureless except for two eye holes which bled grey ink. In the torchlight, Simon saw the shadowy arms in the hallway pull themselves back into the darkness and he was released from their grip and only then did he notice the figure at the bottom of the stairs. 
The artist scrabbled to get away as the creature climbed the stairs. It put a foot on the bottom step and slowly drew up to the second. It moved and left black marks, smudges on the stairs and handprints on the bannister. As it climbed it whispered, its voice rasped like charcoal being scraped on paper and each step creaked a desperate warning. Simon scrambled further back, he tried to stand but his legs could not support him, they had lost all their strength. He dragged himself towards the studio and got closer but the creature reached the top of the stairs. It rounded on the artist and made its way towards him. It unclasped its hands and its fingers fell, boneless and rubbery like tentacles, it shook its head and more tentacles fell like thick hair around its shoulders down to its chest. Its legs split and each one also became a dexterous, suckered limb. They then reached forward, writhing and wriggling as the creature neared its prey. Simon grasped for the door but his hands were slippery with sweat. Tears rolled down his face as panic took hold of him completely and the blood ran from his face. He managed to grab the handle and throw open the door to the room. As light splashed across the creature it vanished as if it had been rubbed out.  
He managed to pull himself up and almost tripped over himself to get to the book. Sure enough, the long arms and the creature from the landing were all in there. He continued to look at the creatures that inhabited each page. He tried to comprehend how these creatures could exist but it was beyond his mind that was rapidly beginning to shut down and lose grip on what was real.  
The door of the studio creaked open and the light went out. 
Simon could hear rustling around him. He backed up to the window and when he looked up from the book he could see them all standing in his room. The creatures he had drawn. The cat, the man, the arms and many others. They flickered out of focus and then seemed to get drawn back. They appeared and disappeared as if someone was redrawing them. Their heads snapped towards Simon and the sound of scratching charcoal filled the room. All the creatures’ mouths opened and they took a step forward. He felt the cold glass on his back as he pressed up against it. They took another step forward. Simon opened the window behind him and the rain immediately invaded the room. It poured with renewed vigour as it was finally allowed into where it had been denied for so long. The rain soaked Simon's hair and clothes and he began to shiver. 
The creatures took another step forward. Questing fingers, writhing tentacles, feeling antenna all stretched outwards as if to snare him. The scratching filled his head and his brain throbbed. He wrapped the book in his arms, sat on the window sill and tipped backwards. He fell for a moment, like the raindrops around him, and, like the raindrops, he smashed into the pavement below. His head cracked. The rain washed away the blood that seeped from his shattered skull, leaving a red streak in the rivers running in the street. The book fell to one side and the rain began to wash away the graphite. As each creature was washed away so too were the creatures in the studio.  
The book soon lay empty and soaked. The rain began to lessen and the clouds blanketing the city started to break up. Soon the stars could be seen above and the book was no longer there.