It was 10:00pm when Bill walked into the house to get the gloves as his friends waited for him outside. Their house, a simple bungalow located along the old garden near the church graveyard was dark and silent. The door of the basement squeaked loudly as he pull it out, he walked in though his brain didn’t register the fact that the door didn’t close as loudly as it opened.
The basement was pitch black as he touched the switch and walked on, knowing the place like the back of his hands. The far corner near the old washing machine was where the gloves were kept, but he couldn’t find them when his hands felt around.
Perplexed, he tried to look around the corner, but he couldn’t see anything, Bill walked back to the door to switch on the flood bulb, but he couldn’t find the switch anymore. That was when he saw the swirling figure at the end of the basement that had glowing red holes where its eyes was supposed to be. He blinked severally and tried to wish it away but the hooded figure seemed to glide toward him. Bill tried to run back to the door; his heart thumped louder than the church bell on a winter morning.
The door mercifully was open only that it floated away from his reach.
The darkness tried to suck him in, he thought he was going to die when his thoughts roamed through his entire life: when he went to the park alone at 9; when he stole a kiss from Anita at 14; when he broke up with Cindy two years ago; even the evening before when his dad told him not to leave the house with his friends when it was a full moon.
The figure walked up to him—he could only feel the air chill around him though it was summer—and looked into his eyes, and raised his scaled hand with seven fingers to his neck, his legs left the floor and the black man (or maybe not) with the smokey face and red holey eyes opened his mouth filled with white spikes which seemed to get larger, large enough to swallow a standard size football. He prayed or rather screamed his last.
“Bill! Bill! What is wrong with you man?”
“He’s going crazy on us.”
“Come on bill, we will be late. It’s 10:30 already.”
“Bill, wake up.” His friend Sam with the tattooed neck and limping legs hovered over him as he lay on the ground a few feet from the basement’s door.
“What happened, Sam?” Bill asked when he woke up, everything was still hazy but he couldn’t remember anything that happened. He got up, dusted off his shirt and entered the small car his friends brought though he was still confused.
As Sam began to steer the car out, he looked back and saw the hooded black smokey head with red holes for eyes grinning at him, or maybe his eyes were playing with him. He turned around around to see that the gloves were in the car too, beside him.