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20 June 2016 - In The Still Of The Night - (1543)


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...they steal into the little boy's room from the unfinished closet.

...they stand around his small bed and exhale a chilling frost of stinking decay upon his face and bedclothes.

...the little boy cries out, and eventually comes unbelieving parent to order silence and sleep from the trembling little boy.

...from the sisters bedroom comes muffled snickering and giggles which batter little boy with callous and haughty foulness and slithering spiteful sneakiness. They are nothing more than players in a different field, without entry into this boy's nightly nightmares and pleasures.

...the little boy is given respite and peace by grace divine which teaches somnolent paths into oblivion and unknowing and unfeeling.

...the years pass quickly in a stream of blurred insignificance and unimportance, with a minimum of interaction between little boy and family, friends, strangers. It is the first of many such blocked-out episodes of blinding, numbing escapes into not caring, not living.

...little boy matures into puberty and waking dreams of pleasure and pain as unseen forces, entities, fondle and administer extreme arousal and satisfactions upon newly awakened genitalia.

...little boy has no one to talk to about what is happening at night in his bed all alone but not all alone, but visited by things that go bump in the night, visited by things that have weight and form upon mattress and sheets and excited body parts. Such is the nature of free pleasure and welcomed sexual release that little boy, young man, soon accepts such nocturnal bliss, even while sound asleep and dreaming of this and other things.

...and so many nights and years and decades pass, so quickly flow and accelerate into this current state of sixty and eight oldness, and still the little boy grown old is visited by things unseen, soundless things, which patiently wait for all resistance, for strong desire and arousal to signal welcome and invitation.

...and so it is that this old man continues to live with things that go bump in the night, things which rarely forget to silence their tongues and lips in languages foreign and unknown, yet carelessly exhale warm moist breaths upon old man's skin.

...this aging man is nothing more than a play toy for things unseen, for things scoffed at by others told of such things, but time and sex prove soothing companions, balms, and salves for hurtful disbelief and ridicule, and long past caring and concern for what others might think or say about such things.

...After all is said and done, there are only simple pleasures while we live, and death is nothing more than a door into eternity that awaits this little boy, this aging man, this lusty beast which lurks within.










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"A man has cause for regret only when he sows and no one reaps."
- Charles Goodyear

Copyright 2017 by James W. Stanfield, Jr.
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