Pitch Black Outside Novels & Stories

When previously there was cold and darkness, darkness which had a possibility of light of finding something unknown now Blackness enveloped me. Pitch black. Cold, shuddering, chilling Black. It promised to swallow me. It did because I gave myself in. Nothing that I could do. Still, my thought rounded around the fact that; She didn’t come back.

Why is it so pitch black? We step inside as our eyes take time to adjust to the surroundings. Eventually, I can slightly shadows and forms. Oh, the monster hasn’t been here. I notice that the floor here is soft. Definitely not concrete. I sit down to touch the ground, pick some of it and rub them against my fingers. It feels like soil. Is this the playground? “Hello! Is there anybody here?” Harris tries to call out for other survivors. But no one responds. Why did the ghosts tell us to come here?

She desperately wanted to know more. A sudden, muffled sound like a twig snapping outside made Lyda's head jerk up toward the window next to the back door. It took her eyes a short second to adjust from the candlelight. Her breath came to stop when she thought she could see a pitch black figure standing there, just outside the open window. No facial features, just a dark shadow staring right at her. Lyda's heart raced as she quickly rubbed at her eyes to make sure they were seeing clearly, but when she looked back up, there was nothing there.

The urge to see Alex overpowers any hesitation, and I push the door open further, stepping in. The room is shrouded in darkness, the blinds drawn tightly shut, creating an illusion of nighttime despite the daylight outside. The silence hangs heavily, and I make an effort not to linger on the thought that I could be the last person he wants to see at this moment. Ignoring those thoughts, I cautiously enter the pitch-black room, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

You don’t get used to it, but you get good at pretending. That’s my trick. Another close shifts over. Another two a.m. where the world peels down to the sound of my boots and the scrape of my own voice inside my head. I slam the bar’s side door behind me and stand for a second under the eaves, watching snow drop from the roof in clumps big as raccoon skulls. Pinecrest looks like it always does at this hour: a row of dead eyes, every window blacked out, the only signs of life a cluster of brown-bag empties in the gutter and the sick glow of the ancient streetlamps.

A second later, it gave out its black smoke. Ibekwe dropped the pot on the ground and rubbed his eyes. Everywhere was quiet now. The children had stopped singing and dancing and the birds seemed to have gotten what they desired from their ruthless efforts on top of the tree. The light of the moon was still bright and Ibekwe knew he shouldn't be alone.

My heart did a flip. "Hey, Toby," he said, straightening up. "Perfect timing. Are you done?" I nodded. "Yeah. What are you doing here?" He patted the back seat of his bike. "I want to show you something." I frowned. "What?" "It’s Friday. There’s a motorcycle race just outside the city." I stared at him. "A race?" "Yeah." "I have books to read," I said. "And chores." "You work every day." "I don't mind."

It is that one bad habit my mom hates and never fails to correct me with a good yell whenever I go into it . Good thing I moved out of her house, she yells about a lot of things. Impatient, I decide to open the back door to have a better peep at my 'high end friend'. But the sudden loud thud stops my hand from going any further. What the hell was that thud? My eyes dart to the right and I gasp as I realize that the tiny light above the club's entrance is the only source of illumination outside the building, and that stepping away from it will plunge you into complete darkness.

The man sighed weakly and muttered to himself, "How could I possibly be your enemy?" He turned the wheelchair and chased after him. Thea arrived at the entrance of the clubhouse, only to see a pitch-black outside. The streetlights were broken, and the entire city was plunged into a massive darkness. Moreover, a demonic wind was blowing, and the violent raindrops were pounding on the ground, making a noisy sound, disrupting all normal sounds. With such weather, Thea could hardly move a step. But she was too proud to turn back and look for the man. She curled up at the doorway, quietly waiting for the rain to stop.

Which was only broken by the sound of torrential rain falling outside and the wind, as if playing a melody in the form of a whistle, using the windows as if they were their own lips. Outside the property there were a handful of men in black. Smelly, reeking of mold. Some with cups in their hands and others trying to light their homemade cigarettes, which, at that point, were too damp to catch fire. “The winters have been very harsh for a few years now...” comments one of the property's six watchmen. He tries to dress warmly to control his tremors, considering he was wet after the round, even though he was wearing a coat and long boots.