A place for horror or darker stories, mostly written for 'Screams!!!'
For as long as I can remember they have been standing there. If I’m honest I rarely even register the pylons any more. They are just part of the background, just like the trees that have been growing in their position for the entirety of my life.
The tall poles tend to list to one side, perhaps because of the rocks in the ground beneath them. The wires run from one to another in a droopy sort of way. The only time I ever really pay them much attention is during a storm when the wind sends them lashing from side to side. I used to have a fear that one of them would break loose and send an electrical current surging through the puddles, but over the years when it has never happened, I don’t even think about that any more.
In fact, during the last storm we had I went out and stood beneath them. Was I daring them or conquering my fears? I’ve never actually been able to come to a conclusion on that.
Today there’s something different about them. The pylons look as though they are standing taller, more upright. They make me think of soldiers standing to attention; like they are on guard duty, or perhaps waiting to be ordered into making some sort of attack. Fanciful thinking on my part, I guess, and I shake my head, push the thought from the front of my mind.
And yet I cannot ignore them as they seem to loom over me, casting deep shadows that speak of some form of threat.
The air is still. The cables that run from pylon to pylon are barely moving. Birds usually perch on the wires but today they are entirely absent. I cannot see any sign of the smaller species in the branches of the trees and there is not the hint of birdsong. Perhaps this is the calm before the storm, for they say that wildlife can sense these things far better than we can, even with all of technological advancement.
My eyes are drawn to the pylon that stands at the top of my yard. There’s no getting away from the feeling of menace. I retreat, walking backwards; it’s like I must not look away from that tall post or something bad will happen.
Just two more paces would get me to the door. I know that if I can just get inside, I’ll be able to look away from the pylon and pull myself back to my senses. Two more paces that I’m not going to take for suddenly the air around me starts to thrum and the noise just keeps getting louder.
Clasping my hands over my ears in an effort to block it, I feel the blood seeping between my fingers. The thrum becomes a squeal that drops me to my knees, and my scream of agony joins in with the cacophony in what becomes a vibrating disharmony of death.