Logan Fourie

The April Featured Writer is Logan Fourie

Please feel free to email Logan at: loganfourie1@gmail.com


by Logan Fourie

Jessi sat on her bed and stared out the window. The rain pelted down and the rumbling of thunder interrupted the silence. Thin blades of lightning sliced through the inky blackness, bathing the darkness in flashes of sterile white light only to fade away, leaving the world drowned in blackness once more.

As the glow of the lightning slunk away, the dark flowed back in to fill the spaces in her room with shadows. The movements of the shadows made them seem almost alive as they stalked and slithered in the corners of her bedroom.

The electricity had gone out an hour earlier. She sat in the dark, jumping every time the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed. She cringed every time the dark oozed back after the light receded.

Jessi hated nights like this. It reminded her of all those fears and anxieties she had buried deep inside. It made her feel as though the darkness was a living, breathing thing that was always waiting to swallow her whole.

She chastised herself at her thoughts. She knew the darkness wasn’t really alive. It couldn’t be. It was just a state of being where light had vacated leaving only darkness behind. It wasn’t like it was a sentient beast hunting her and stalking her every move, waiting for the right time to pounce and devour her.

She yelped at the latest crack of thunder, as if the storm was replying to the absurdity of her thoughts and fears. She hugged her knees and wished the darkness would leave her alone.

She decided to get something to drink, at least to warm her up a little, if nothing else. She got up and headed towards the bedroom door, being careful to avoid the dreaded shadows that reached out for her. She twisted the handle slowly. The door groaned as it slowly swung open. Why is it that the dark always makes everything sound so much louder? she wondered as she stepped into the dark corridor.

All the lights were out, and the house was silent. She softly padded on the pale, gray carpet, the soft thickness muffling her steps. Irrationally, she wanted to be as quiet as possible so nothing would know she was there. She logically knew nothing was there; monsters didn’t exist. But she felt that maybe…maybe, something was lurking somewhere in the house.

She gingerly took each step as to avoid the creaking groan of the steps as she made her way toward the cupboard downstairs. She reached the foot of the stairs without incidence and avoided being caught by the shadows. She crept silently to the cupboard door and slowly opened it. She reached in and took out a flashlight…and a bottle of vodka.

She needed juice. She turned on the flashlight, which made the shadows run to the room corners and that almost made them worse. She moved towards the refrigerator and took out a carton and poured herself a glass of orange juice and carefully added the vodka. She was slowly sipping when something caught her eye.

She heard the sound of the kitchen door opening. She slowly set her glass down on the smooth, quartz countertop, leaving a wet ring on its flawless surface. She sat on a barstool, willing herself to turn around to look at the door, but finding herself frozen instead.

She shivered as the temperature dropped suddenly. She realized that somehow, the window in front of her, over the sink, was open. The breeze coming from the window must have blown the kitchen door open.

Jessi felt dismay as the rain poured in from the open window, unimpeded, and the cold wind tugged and pulled at the curtain. She knew she needed to close it immediately, but still remained frozen in irrational fear

She sat on the counter barstool and watched as the rain began to form a dark puddle between the sink and the kitchen counter where the knives stood.

Her gaze fixed on the wooden block that held the knives and she pointed the flashlight beam I that direction. One of them was missing. The Butcher Knife—the one with the large heavy blade.

Finally she got up from her stool. Her eyes followed the trail the dark rain-puddle left behind, all the way to the corner. There she saw a shadow that was thicker than the darkness that enveloped it. The shadow ‘looked’ at her menacingly. She yelped and spun around away from it and began to run up the stairs.

The Dark. It had finally come for her. It had finally come to claim her.

She ran back down the corridor towards her bedroom but stopped suddenly as she reached the door. The door was open. I know I did not leave the door open. Why was the door open?

She backed away from the door slightly, pressing her back against the wall behind her. She noticed wet footprints on the carpet.

She looked back down the corridor towards the staircase. There, at the landing, the shadow was thicker than everywhere else. Somebody(thing) was waiting. The Dark was waiting for her.

She bit her bottom lip as she weighed up her options. The shadow at the end of the hall was not moving, yet, but she needed to make a plan. She needed to figure out what she was going to do. She couldn’t go into her room because there may be somebody(thing) waiting for her just beyond her door. She couldn’t run towards the stairs because the shadow was waiting for her there. The only other option was going into the second bedroom. But why was she so scared to go in? She glanced back toward the end of the hall. The Dark was still looming there, waiting for her to decide.

She edged back toward the door to the second room, always keeping her eyes glued on the shadow, making sure it was not crawling closer. It wasn’t. It stood dead still, and seemed to watch her.

She stepped inside and shut the door quickly behind her, locking it, and let out a sigh of relief. Was she safe now? she wondered. She felt safe, even if it was just for a little while.
She looked towards the bed. She could crawl in and huddle under the blanket until the storm ended. Surely there had been no shadow watching her. She figured her previous nervous breakdown could explain everything. All of this was in her mind and not reality.

The lightning crashed again, shedding slated light into the room. She sobbed quietly, trying hard not to make a noise, hoping that The Dark wouldn’t find her and claim her as it claimed the only family she ever knew. Images of her past flashed in her mind.


Games played in the sun, dinners eaten in the family dining room, being tucked into bed at night, the bedroom door closed…and locked from the outside. Half smiles and nervous glances. Timid and fearful hugs. Explicit warnings and instructions from a child therapist. Cautionary words as the doctor glared at 6 year-old Jessi. Reassurance from Jessi’s Daddy that everything would be fine.

Visions of dark halls in a storm-filled night; flashes of lightning dancing over the silvered-steel of the large knife in a small pale hand. Memories of slender feet padding over pale-grey carpet to a door. The door slowly creaking open and the stalking to the edge of the bed.

Images of a small 6-year old girl standing over the figures in the bed (a looming shadow behind her), knife-wielding hand reaching out and drawing a thin line of red over the exposed throat and the strained gurgle of pain and surprise.

The knowing look from a father killed by a stranger he thought he knew. The terror of a loving mother who felt nothing but love…and fear…for her own progeny. The sadistic glee of the child reflected in the crimson blade.

But they had treated her and released her. She was better now, right? There were no shadows, and The Dark was simply the night.

With these thoughts comforting her, she finally fell asleep in the second bedroom, the one that had once belonged to her parents.


She gasped as a flash of bright white light split the darkness and woke her. She felt wet and sticky. She grabbed the flashlight from the nightstand and lifted the covers. She saw that her soft blue nightie was soaked red, her hands too. And her feet.

She started. Her feet! The dark footprints of bloody red, leading from the pools of blood puddling on the floor at the bed to the bedroom door and out into the hall. She let out a long animalistic scream, like a wounded beast howling in the dead night. She curled up into the fetal position and softly sobbed into her knees.

The door of the wardrobe swung open. She looked from her huddled position to see a shadow crawling out. It pulled itself up, tall and lithe, with locks of fiery red danced in an ethereal wind. Its face was clothed in darkness but (and it might have just been her imagination) it looked beautiful as it smiled down at her in knowing sadness. It leaned down and kissed her softly on the forehead. Jessi felt a sharp jab in her ribs and warmth seeping out her chest and down her waist and hips and pooling beneath her.

Jessi’s last moments were spent finally being able to see The Dark’s face. She saw herself. She saw the knife protruding from her own chest and knew her madness had returned.

The Dark had finally claimed her. She was The Dark.

Logan Fourie is a 40-year old English teacher from Pretoria, South Africa. He has great passion for reading and loves novels with dark and gothic themes. A lot of his inspiration comes from the works of HP Lovecraft and Edgar Alan Poe. Logan enjoys writing as a form of release and expression. He dreads the day the written word is no more.