Fear of night. Fear of not night.
A sense of wrongness, of fraught unease, as if long nails scraped the surface of the moon, raising the hackles of the soul.
Perdido Street Station
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A sense of wrongness, of fraught unease, as if long nails scraped the surface of the moon, raising the hackles of the soul.
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Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.
I second that. This is all so creepy. I feel like we are in some sort of strange movie, forget an episode of Buffy. We have passed into official horror movie territory._-Nessa and Cora
Daylight does not lend itself to terror: objects and people are plain to see; and we encounter there only those things which dare to show themselves in the glare of day. But night, opaque night denser than walls, night, empty and infinite and so black and fathomless that terrifying things reach out and touch us, night when we feel horror stirring, mysteriously prowling__ight seemed to him to hide some unknown, imminent, threatening danger. What could it be?
What your mind sees when you close your eyes marks the entrance to an endless universe: your imagination.
We have our own personal demons to deal with.