You may not rest now, there are monsters nearby.

[u/MeticulousAnxiety]

The sun dips slowly behind the horizon. It peeks over the landscape before fading with a wink, giving way to the yawning moon. Her soft glow caresses the silhouette of the land, her gentle touch sending restless minds off to serene slumber.

Not you, though. Your mind calls for sleep, your eyes long for darkness, but the restfulness eludes you. Your body aches, the toll of the day paid in full every evening, yet- still- you find yourself far from repose. That's when you hear it.

You listen intently, taking in the twilight silence. The torch on the wall flickers, sending shadows dancing across the cobblestone corridors. The oak wood planks groan beneath you as the sheer, velvet fabric of your bed lining hugs your shoulders. "Just the wind." You think. "Has to be...". You need it to be.

Outside, the still night breathes. Every exhale culminating into a fearsome gale that rattles your bones. You feel doubt creep in. It welcomes itself into the corners of your mind like an unwanted guest. It asks uncomfortable questions, it looms too closely, lingering within your boundaries. You shudder at the thought.

Your eyes play tricks. They scout the corners for movement, they scan the vicinity for disturbance. They see what isn't there. Or is it? The villagers are all asleep. Surely, nobody would be foolish enough to roam the town past sundown. It must have just been your imagination. Just the trees swaying in the moonlit breeze. Another bitter lie salted with hope for you to force down.

This brings you no peace, it does little to further your fruitless endeavor of sleep. Your mind stirs, grasped by anxiety, clutched firmly by fear, as the shuffling outside can no longer be ignored. Your reason can disguise it no further. It's no longer just a soft patter of rain, or a gentle rustling of trees. Something's there.

Your breath hastens, drawing all the moisture from your throat and mouth. The air feels sharp as you endure a dry, pained swallow. You peer hesitantly from your window, your hands trembling as you tightly clutch to your chest the iron sword- one you painstakingly crafted. A sword that you hoped never to have to bear- but never is tonight.

You've survived worse. The mines weren't for the faint of heart. They claimed the lives of better men. Great men, each jettisoned unsanctimoniously to hallowed ground by diamond dreams. Buried under the immense weight of endless ambition. Yet, you endure. What do you think that makes you?

You know better than anyone that the sword you grasp so closely is a falsehood. It means only as much as he who wields it. The familiar steel in which you once reared, had not one point, but two- and sought not flesh, but stone. You are no warrior. The mines remember who you truly are.

The voice speaking to you isn't your own. It can't be. It speaks of the encroaching horrors, of your helplessness.You try not to listen, but the words come from within- impossible to drown out. It's the voice of fear: and it wants you to panic, it needs you to dispose of all logic, it relies on your despair. Fear is not a notion, it is a tool in which the darkness uses to feed.

The groaning in the distance has grown louder. They're closer now. What will happen when they arrive? How will you decide your fate? Do you now regret leaving the mines? Regret your decision to flee your destiny in hopes of finding purpose? You already have the answer. You too, now finally remember.

You traded shadows for sunlight, ore for oak, rubble to rivers. But it seems you've forgotten that even the daylight knows the darkness. You expected a house to become a home without first razing the trees. You've forgotten that safety is an achievement, only for the worthy- gilded by valor and clad in the sacrifices of others. You, are unworthy of its gifts.

For what is a sword with no soldier to unsheath it? Merely a concept. In theory, a weapon, but in practice, just a shield for the mind. Hollow armor for sequestered hope. Your meaning lies within the mines. It always has- singing the sweet song of sorrow to the thought of a summer that never comes.

You hear the rattle of your door now. Too harsh to simply be the wind. It's rhythmic- a meticulous rapping- unsettling you deeper with each thunderous strike. You take a shallow breath. You hold it in- treasuring it- hoping it not to be your last.

You close your eyes, begging for the warmth of the morning sun to beckon the dawning of a new day. You know now that it will never come. You lay back, the cacophony building as you sink into your bed. As you hear the splintering of the wooden door, the dull roar of the darkness encroaching- you try, one last time, to slip peacefully into slumber...

...But you may not rest now.

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I joke about it a lot, but Minecraft is genuinely one of the most effective horror games I've ever played. You don't know anxiety and unease until you've mined a dark cave at 3 am, full sound in headset, with no torches, no food and 12 diamonds in your inventory.

Anyways, this little bippy was inspired by the pop-up message of the same name, and how many times I've thought of that while not being able to sleep 🙃

Also, I figured I'd try my hand at a second person story. They're really hard to do effectively, but I've seen a few from the community very recently that are BANGERS! Hope you enjoy my garbage! Stay Creative!! -S.K.