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Deepest Fear, part II
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… and then the great Cthulhu rose out of the water and all went to Hell…” said Tina. “I’ve heard it a thousand times, dude. I know how you’re afraid of the ocean.”
Peter's gaze narrowed, irritation flickering in the depths of his eyes like a storm brewing on a distant shore. Sharp and relentless, Tina's words felt like waves crashing against a jagged coastline. She prodded and teased, each remark a pebble skipping across the surface of his resolve.
“I was rescued,” Peter corrected. “…And no, Cthulhu wasn’t there.” He shifted his gaze down to his feet, countered . “And it’s not fear,” Peter countered, his voice steadfast against the swirling doubt. “I just don’t trust it.”
Tina’s response was swift and cutting, her words honed like a harpoon aimed at the heart of his apprehension. “Fear masquerading as distrust,” she declared, her insight a beacon cutting through the fog of Peter's defenses.
“You can't hide from it, Peter. It's as clear as day.”
A wry smile danced upon Peter's lips, a fleeting flicker of amusement amidst the tumult of their exchange. “Perhaps psychology isn't my forte,” his tone laced with irony. “But facing our fears? That's where true bravery lies.”
Tina’s sideways glance held a silent inquiry into the depths of Peter's psyche. Did he truly fear the ocean, or was it merely a facade? The answer eluded her as Peter let go of her hand, his gaze drawn to the ancient carriage house standing beside them.
And there, amidst the mundane backdrop of the sidewalk, Peter stood transfixed, a solitary figure caught in the ebb and flow of his inner turmoil. As Tina observed Peter, she noticed the color draining from his face, leaving it as pale as a ghost, sending shivers down her spine.
Puzzled by his intense gaze, she leaned in closer, trying to decipher what had captured his attention, only to be met with a chilling void that made her skin crawl.
"Babe, wha… what are you looking at?" she asked but received no response.
Closing the distance between them, Tina aligned her vision with his, tracing the path of his stare until a wave of dread washed over her, paralyzing her in place.
The world around them seemed to hold its breath, devoid of any signs of life. No passing cars, no distant hum of traffic, not even the cheerful chirp of a bird dared to disturb the eerie silence. The carriage house loomed ominously before them, its windows like dark portals into the unknown. And within one of those windows lurked a figure, shrouded in darkness, its presence casting a sinister shadow over their reality.
In the grip of fear, Tina gathered her courage, wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered on her brow, and reached out to Peter, her voice trembling with urgency. "Peter! We should g—"
But before she could finish, Peter's voice sliced through the stillness, his words sending a chill down her spine. "Shadows play during the day," he murmured, his gaze still fixed on the window.
Caught off guard by his cryptic utterance, Tina recoiled, realizing that she wanted no part in whatever ominous game was unfolding before them. "Yeah, uh uh. I’m not dealing with your crazy ass today. No, sir," she declared, releasing his arm.
"What do you mean?" Peter snapped out of his trance, turning to face Tina with concern etched into his features.
Tina's swift movement pivoted her gaze toward the house, only to be greeted by an intensified version of her previous sight. There, in the absence of any human presence, rested an orange flower pot on the windowsill, adorned with delicate snapdragons, as if nature itself had embraced the dwelling.
Her heart raced, entwined with the tendrils of confusion tightening around her. "What in the world is happening, Peter?" she uttered, her voice laden with disbelief.
Peter's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes mirroring her bewilderment. "Do you remember who used to inhabit this house?" he questioned, his tone heavy with implication.
With a shake of her head, Tina hoped against hope that this was all some elaborate jest. "No...I don't," she replied, the words escaping her lips like a fragile plea.
But then, a voice, unfamiliar and unsettling, pierced the air. Both Peter and Tina recoiled in unison, their attention drawn to the source. Emerging from the shadows, a figure, seemingly of their own age, strode toward them, illuminated by the gentle caress of sunlight. His blonde curls danced atop wire-framed glasses, lending an air of enigma to his presence.
Tina, poised to react if the stranger drew nearer, found herself immobilized by Peter's serene demeanor. "It can't be..." he murmured, a glimmer of recognition dawning in his eyes.
Confusion tangled with anticipation as Tina volleyed her gaze between the two men. "What's going on? Who is he?" she demanded, her voice tinged with urgency.
Yet Peter, as if deaf to her inquiries, advanced toward the familiar stranger, a tentative smile unfurling on his lips. "Nathan...?" he ventured, his voice laced with incredulity.
And with those two words, Tina's world seemed to shift on its axis. Heavy from the weight of revelation, she whispered, “Oh, shit.”
(to be continued…)
© WaKeUpWoRLD
Peter's gaze narrowed, irritation flickering in the depths of his eyes like a storm brewing on a distant shore. Sharp and relentless, Tina's words felt like waves crashing against a jagged coastline. She prodded and teased, each remark a pebble skipping across the surface of his resolve.
“I was rescued,” Peter corrected. “…And no, Cthulhu wasn’t there.” He shifted his gaze down to his feet, countered . “And it’s not fear,” Peter countered, his voice steadfast against the swirling doubt. “I just don’t trust it.”
Tina’s response was swift and cutting, her words honed like a harpoon aimed at the heart of his apprehension. “Fear masquerading as distrust,” she declared, her insight a beacon cutting through the fog of Peter's defenses.
“You can't hide from it, Peter. It's as clear as day.”
A wry smile danced upon Peter's lips, a fleeting flicker of amusement amidst the tumult of their exchange. “Perhaps psychology isn't my forte,” his tone laced with irony. “But facing our fears? That's where true bravery lies.”
Tina’s sideways glance held a silent inquiry into the depths of Peter's psyche. Did he truly fear the ocean, or was it merely a facade? The answer eluded her as Peter let go of her hand, his gaze drawn to the ancient carriage house standing beside them.
And there, amidst the mundane backdrop of the sidewalk, Peter stood transfixed, a solitary figure caught in the ebb and flow of his inner turmoil. As Tina observed Peter, she noticed the color draining from his face, leaving it as pale as a ghost, sending shivers down her spine.
Puzzled by his intense gaze, she leaned in closer, trying to decipher what had captured his attention, only to be met with a chilling void that made her skin crawl.
"Babe, wha… what are you looking at?" she asked but received no response.
Closing the distance between them, Tina aligned her vision with his, tracing the path of his stare until a wave of dread washed over her, paralyzing her in place.
The world around them seemed to hold its breath, devoid of any signs of life. No passing cars, no distant hum of traffic, not even the cheerful chirp of a bird dared to disturb the eerie silence. The carriage house loomed ominously before them, its windows like dark portals into the unknown. And within one of those windows lurked a figure, shrouded in darkness, its presence casting a sinister shadow over their reality.
In the grip of fear, Tina gathered her courage, wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered on her brow, and reached out to Peter, her voice trembling with urgency. "Peter! We should g—"
But before she could finish, Peter's voice sliced through the stillness, his words sending a chill down her spine. "Shadows play during the day," he murmured, his gaze still fixed on the window.
Caught off guard by his cryptic utterance, Tina recoiled, realizing that she wanted no part in whatever ominous game was unfolding before them. "Yeah, uh uh. I’m not dealing with your crazy ass today. No, sir," she declared, releasing his arm.
"What do you mean?" Peter snapped out of his trance, turning to face Tina with concern etched into his features.
Tina's swift movement pivoted her gaze toward the house, only to be greeted by an intensified version of her previous sight. There, in the absence of any human presence, rested an orange flower pot on the windowsill, adorned with delicate snapdragons, as if nature itself had embraced the dwelling.
Her heart raced, entwined with the tendrils of confusion tightening around her. "What in the world is happening, Peter?" she uttered, her voice laden with disbelief.
Peter's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes mirroring her bewilderment. "Do you remember who used to inhabit this house?" he questioned, his tone heavy with implication.
With a shake of her head, Tina hoped against hope that this was all some elaborate jest. "No...I don't," she replied, the words escaping her lips like a fragile plea.
But then, a voice, unfamiliar and unsettling, pierced the air. Both Peter and Tina recoiled in unison, their attention drawn to the source. Emerging from the shadows, a figure, seemingly of their own age, strode toward them, illuminated by the gentle caress of sunlight. His blonde curls danced atop wire-framed glasses, lending an air of enigma to his presence.
Tina, poised to react if the stranger drew nearer, found herself immobilized by Peter's serene demeanor. "It can't be..." he murmured, a glimmer of recognition dawning in his eyes.
Confusion tangled with anticipation as Tina volleyed her gaze between the two men. "What's going on? Who is he?" she demanded, her voice tinged with urgency.
Yet Peter, as if deaf to her inquiries, advanced toward the familiar stranger, a tentative smile unfurling on his lips. "Nathan...?" he ventured, his voice laced with incredulity.
And with those two words, Tina's world seemed to shift on its axis. Heavy from the weight of revelation, she whispered, “Oh, shit.”
(to be continued…)
© WaKeUpWoRLD
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