Post by prophet on Aug 24, 2016 1:05:49 GMT -5
The Tall Man is an old legend, born over 100 years ago. It is said that the Tall Man will follow his victims like a shadow, unseen and unheard. No one knows what he looks like; anyone who sees him is taken into his realm.
Yet, still, there is a prevailing belief about this man. He takes the young under the cover of night. He's taller than any human. And he has no face.
The dark shadows hold many secrets. Once you wander in, they may swallow you whole.
You might be walking alone on the street at night. What's that sound? A cat? A homeless person? You've walked home a million times before; tonight is no different. Those long, claw-like shadows? Lack of lamps. The unnatural eeriness of the buildings? A figment of your imagination.
Silence is your enemy, though, and it lies thick over you. It's suffocating, almost enough to drown in. Returning, the fear courses through your veins. You wish a car would pass--better yet, a cop. Anything to ease the growing feeling of being watched--of being followed.
You dare not to turn around.
But you cannot ignore the echo of footsteps behind you. You cannot ignore the feeling of nails pricking your back. There is someone behind you.
There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Would anyone even here your screams? Would they call the police if they did?
You breathe a sigh of relief when you finally get to your house. You walk to the door, fumbling with the keys; your hand is shaking so bad you almost drop them. Your heart pounds in your head, and you can't relax the unease, the fear coursing through your veins.
Once you're inside, you feel better. The tension leaves you, your adrenaline dying; you feel safe with the lock on the door.
The heat kicks on, the click making you jump, and you laugh nervously. You quickly start some tea on the stove; chamomile would do some good.
You start the water for your bath, hoping it will help calm you down. You observe your tired face in the small mirror on the counter. You turn around. Your blood runs cold. Did you see something in the mirror? You slowly look back, but there is nothing there. You snort. You're being ridiculous! you think. You shut off the bath water and head back to the kitchen.
The teapot isn't whistling. You check the stove; it's turned off. Didn't you turn it on? You're uncertain, so you just turn it on again. That's when you grow cold. You feel something behind you. You freeze, heart racing. You look down into the reflection on your teapot, and something moves out of sight. You shakily turn, but whatever it was is gone.
You stumble into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you. You shut the water off, sitting on the toilet. Waiting. You can't hear anything, though. Your heart aches; fear clutches you. You watch the door.
But you don't see the unnaturally white hand reaching for you. If only you had looked in the mirror, if only you had turned your head. The hand covers your mouth, smothering your scream. You're dragged backwards into bony arms, and a white skull stands above you.
There is no face.
Yet, still, there is a prevailing belief about this man. He takes the young under the cover of night. He's taller than any human. And he has no face.
The dark shadows hold many secrets. Once you wander in, they may swallow you whole.
You might be walking alone on the street at night. What's that sound? A cat? A homeless person? You've walked home a million times before; tonight is no different. Those long, claw-like shadows? Lack of lamps. The unnatural eeriness of the buildings? A figment of your imagination.
Silence is your enemy, though, and it lies thick over you. It's suffocating, almost enough to drown in. Returning, the fear courses through your veins. You wish a car would pass--better yet, a cop. Anything to ease the growing feeling of being watched--of being followed.
You dare not to turn around.
But you cannot ignore the echo of footsteps behind you. You cannot ignore the feeling of nails pricking your back. There is someone behind you.
There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Would anyone even here your screams? Would they call the police if they did?
You breathe a sigh of relief when you finally get to your house. You walk to the door, fumbling with the keys; your hand is shaking so bad you almost drop them. Your heart pounds in your head, and you can't relax the unease, the fear coursing through your veins.
Once you're inside, you feel better. The tension leaves you, your adrenaline dying; you feel safe with the lock on the door.
The heat kicks on, the click making you jump, and you laugh nervously. You quickly start some tea on the stove; chamomile would do some good.
You start the water for your bath, hoping it will help calm you down. You observe your tired face in the small mirror on the counter. You turn around. Your blood runs cold. Did you see something in the mirror? You slowly look back, but there is nothing there. You snort. You're being ridiculous! you think. You shut off the bath water and head back to the kitchen.
The teapot isn't whistling. You check the stove; it's turned off. Didn't you turn it on? You're uncertain, so you just turn it on again. That's when you grow cold. You feel something behind you. You freeze, heart racing. You look down into the reflection on your teapot, and something moves out of sight. You shakily turn, but whatever it was is gone.
You stumble into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you. You shut the water off, sitting on the toilet. Waiting. You can't hear anything, though. Your heart aches; fear clutches you. You watch the door.
But you don't see the unnaturally white hand reaching for you. If only you had looked in the mirror, if only you had turned your head. The hand covers your mouth, smothering your scream. You're dragged backwards into bony arms, and a white skull stands above you.
There is no face.
