It's been a few years since that night - over a decade already. It was winter. Not even that cold but you could watch people wearing jackets that were a bit puffier and when one entered a heated room it was bliss, rather than the exhausting heat you couldn't escape in the summer. 

 

At that time, two young children played together in a small room. Well, it had enough space for a single bed and a compact table with two chairs - still definitely enough for two kids so that they didn't consider it to be a hindrance. So, my friend and I had a blast together. No adults in sight to stop us from our childlike adventure and wonder. 

 

"What about horror stories? Do you know any?", my friend - let's call her Mar - asked and looked at me with an interested sparkle in her eyes. 

 

I had to shake my head. Because, well, for one, I really didn't know any and couldn't just invent a story from nothing. And also, I had a bit too many bigger scares because of people's horror stories and could really live without ever listening to one again. 

 

Before I could express my concerns though, Mar already jumped at the opportunity of delivering a tale on her own. And who am I to deny her the joy of creativity even if that meant widening my horror story collection a tad bit unwillingly? 

 

"Once upon a time...", she started off like all the grand stories we knew. Tales and adventures, not only written down in countless books - but also filmed and played in theatres for the world to see. 

 

The story Mar told, took place at simpler times, when less humans wandered the earth and wildlife wasn't as contained as now. Simpler times, when you needed to bake your own bread because you couldn't just go to the next shop and buy one. Times, when a lot more of humankind still believed in superstition and science couldn't explain the simplest of concepts.

 

At this point, I already craved security in form of the embrace of a soft blanket on the bed. Mar was opposite to me on a chair. 

 

Superstitions are quite interesting. Or can be, when they aren't overshadowed by the anxiety and illogical behaviour they can cause. Mar's story focused on this facet and the generations of families it influenced. 

 

Mar took a deep breath and outlined the main point of the story: "They are called The Ones from Outside", she stopped for a moment, "and weren't only the scariest thing for little kids, but also their parents, who played a bit too much into their beliefs."

 

"The Ones from Outside? What a silly name", I thought. 

 

Those creatures - for the lack of a better descriptor - were known for their indistinct features. Scraps of colourless fabric woven together with smokey mist and voids where faces should be. They dragged behind a bone chilling cold you couldn't escape by any means but the worst characteristic they had was their screeching - which could hurt ears to the point of bleeding in a few seconds. 

 

The Ones from Outside were silent. Usually. Unless you let them know you saw them. They slid through the air like silk and insects instinctively stayed clear of them. 

 

At the edge of my field of vision I eyed the suddenly suspicious looking curtain, which was draped on the floor below. Too long to not to and too big to give a good and clear view of what was behind. What was outside. 

 

"Especially children like us saw them a lot", Mar continued and pointed at the both of us. "At the corner of their eyes when they were alone or felt guilty about little mischievous tricks they played." 

 

I had another thought. Or two. Did I fool anybody recently? Do I have to feel guilty? I gulped, crawled deeper into the blanket and held onto it tightly. 

 

My friend looked straight into my eyes. I tried to dodge but only found the curtain and the dark starless night outside. Was it this foggy before? 

 

"When one child saw Those from Outside - acknowledged them even a little bit - the monsters would start screaming. Screaming and crying and screeching. 

 

They came near you and if you were frozen in fear, you couldn't do anything other than wait until they were right in front of you. 

 

You staring at their faceless void coming nearer and nearer until - 

 

- until your face wasn't yours anymore and The Ones from Outside suddenly weren't outside anymore."

 

Then - from the other side of the room:

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 

Someone. No. Something found us. 

 

--------------------------

 

The door opened and the happy face of a women in her mid thirties greeted us warmly. 

Well. Mar's mother chose the perfect moment to come back and gave us the present of a major scare. I'm sure I couldn't sleep as well as usually that night.