Dark Mind Tea
There is something waiting, in the dark. It waits in shadows and keyholes and cracks in the pavement; under winding staircases and down drain holes, behind every corner and in the eyes of everyone that glances your way.
Stay. Do not look for something not lost. Never hold someone's gaze for too long, because you might not be able to find yourself again. Never stray too far. Never hide away from the light, lest you find yourself lost and hidden away forever. Never shut your eyes, because one day, you will not open them again. --- The human mind is something to be feared. Look around you. How many, how many, are gripped by dread and despair and those things-of-which-we-do-not-speak? How many cry a million and one tears in a day? How many pass by a mirror and see not themselves but the nightmare that lurks in the darkest recesses of their mind? How many wish to stay there? Because in the darkness, there are secrets and madness and decay. Why would you not stay, and keep the demons company? Invite the ghosts and revenants over for tea, for lost souls and broken minds have the fortune to conjure up Death for mere refreshment. --- Tuesday, they come over. Camomile tea. Chocolate-backed scotch fingers. Daisies and lavender on the tabletop. Tea for ten-and-three. A girl, with a ginger cat, eyes running and nose dripping into a River Styx on the doorstep of this decrepit house, with its cobweb-coated cupboards and creaking parquetry. “Hello.” “Death. Pleased to meet you, sir.” She smiles, leaves the cat outside and sits down opposite the grinning clown, in between the vegan vampire and the headless ghost. There are five sugars in her tea. When you finish serving her, she looks up from her arsenic and old lace. “I'm afraid I have some very bad news for you, sir.” --- She finishes her tea and sweeps the ginger cat up into her arms with an accompaniment of sneezes. (“Allergies; I do apologise. The Ancient Egyptians were a trying few thousand years,” she laughs, and you wonder how Death got to become so cheerful.) You're sorry to see her leave, because she took the rest of the ten-and-three who came for tea along with her and left the arsenic on the kitchen bench for you to contemplate all on your own. You'd had a mind to ask why she would keep a cat if she had such an intolerance to their fur, but a cloud had been cast over the mood when she turned at the door to bid you goodbye. “Stay out of the shadows, sir.” she'd said. “The shadows?” “Count them. Count them, if you want to live.” So you count, and do not dare to stop.--- One, two; thirty-six. The shadows grow, slowly at first, creeping up behind your heels when you turn and pretending to shrink away when you remember to count out loud. Ninety-seven; twelve hundred and forty; eleven thousand. Then they grow and grow and grow and maybe it would be best just to let them do so because it is easier than trying to escape and then it's everywhere and nowhere all at once and you are certain of only one thing: there is no chance to flee now. Too late for anything; the darkness rushes forward and hurls itself down your throat. You choke, clawing at your throat, tearing at some monster, some demon, unable to swallow your own fears and illusions; unable (unwilling?) to hold onto yourself. So, this is madness. --- “It's dark.” “Of course it's dark. This is the end.” The voice is light, patient; familiar like your grandmother's marzipan at Christmas. The hand holding yours is warm and for the first time, you realise you do not want to let go. “Do I know you?” “Maybe. I came to tea, once. ” The girl with the ginger cat and five-sugars-in-her-tea. She lets go of your hand and you think she might be crying. “I'm sorry, sir.” Perhaps there was once a way out. --- There are no whispering silhouettes here, no one, no thing here to haunt you, to hunt you. But there is always, always, something else. This is your warning: one day, you will look up and find you've fallen too far to ever hope you'll escape this nightmare, because beyond the darkness lies something far worse - you. The dark will drain your soul, wrap its devilish fingers about your dark-damned throat in an unrelenting grip and bleed you dry, dry, dry, but then it will leave you, alone and bereft of tears and your hands will shake and your mind will be too loud for you to stand and run, run as far as you can but there will be nothing. So escape, if you can. Get out of the ruins of your crumbling castle and because there is nothing here. Nothing. Was there ever anything to begin with?
We provide a professional essay writing service that thousands of our customers use as an effective way of improving their grades, improving their research and saving them lots of time.
