This chapter is dedicated to KlaraSofe (AKA: Miss Ringleader)

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Teraphobia ~ Fear of monsters

Miss Ringleader|

The cursor flashes before her eyes intermittently, the dull glow but a shadow in the illuminated room. She goes by the name 'Miss Ringleader' but only a few know her true alias - Misty James - the sole benefactor of the renowned Lennon James. Her name like rumours in the wind carry many stories; a dark chocolate lover, a book dragon, a non-runner walking the edge between extroverted and introverted but most importantly, a teraphobiac.

Miss Ringleader lived for the light for it was the only thing casting the darkness out. Advertisement boards. Glow-sticks. Fireflies. Flashlights. Computer screens. You name it. As long as it casts a light, Miss Ringleader won't be far away lest the lurkers get her. What are they, you ask? Well... they are the shadow-scythe, the fingers of Hell, the things that go bump in the night. They are the stuff of nightmares, the ones who hibernate under the beds. They are the monsters in the dark.

Tapping away at a retro keyboard, Miss Ringleader takes a sip of her coffee, the bitterness washing the troubles away. Having just arrived back from C.A.M.P. - Central Agency of Monster Politics - Miss Ringleader's inbox had more than overflowed and the paperwork was already stockpiling on her desk. Scratching her head infuriated, she took another sip of her coffee, draining it completely before swatting away the now empty cup in place of a new one. It was the fifth one that night but she didn't care. She had to finish the first draft of her secret plan on Wattpad before the witching hour struck. She always had to be in bed before the witching hour... or else.

Miss Ringleader shuddered at the thought and quickly downed another cup of coffee albeit adding to the nervous jitters. She needed to focus. SHE NEEDED TO FOCUS! Drat. Typing in capitals wasn't going to solve anything but nothing ever did. It helped, but it wasn't a solution just in the same way as living in a solar cell wasn't a safe way to ward off the lurkers. Sure. Bathing yourself in floodlights was a deterrent but you can't have light without shadows. You can't have faith without fear.

A notification suddenly flew onto Miss Ringleader's screen, stopping her mid-sentence. She growled at the annoyance and sighed as she rubbed her stiff neck. She had been at it nonstop since forever but the draft still didn't make sense. Her publishers were going to be more than miffed in the transcript wasn't ready in a few hours but the warning of thirty minutes to the witching hour left a vile taste in her mouth and it wasn't due to forgetting to add the sugar to the coffee.

Letting her head fall to the keyboard in frustration, Miss Ringleader slowly lifted it back up with a tired groan. In exchange for deterrence, the blazing lights always left her with bloodshot eyes and whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she swore she was starting to look like the monsters she was trying to get rid of. She was the 'Ringleader' of C.A.M.P. after all, if she succumbed to looking like a monster then what would everybody else do?

Focusing her scarlet eyes back on to the screen before her, a tug started to pull at the corners of her lips. Autocorrect and predictive text was always a bane in her life but this time it typed out the hook she was desperately trying to think of. Not wanting to pass up this opportunity, Miss Ringleader let her head fall to the keyboard once more and again another killer sentence popped up. It wasn't the best way to write a story but it would have to do, especially when there were only 20 minutes left until the witching hour. She still had to take a shower, change into her onesie and then snuggle up with her crystal emboldened monster hunting whip.

Allowing the ideas to directly fall out of her head, Miss Ringleader proceeded to forehead type the rest of her transcript, each line better than the last. Each time the sentences got longer and more vivid but as forehead typing went on, Miss Ringleader soon lost track of the time and before she knew it her alarm went off signalling a minute to midnight. She gulped as she shook her head, regretting as she did so. She was too engrossed in her work that she forgot the most important rule.

Never be awake for the Witching Hour.

The lights would go out any second now and the Lurkers would start their nightly prowl. Only horror stories came back from those who stayed up past the witching hour and most of them incoherently rambled from the loss of sanity itself.

Miss Ringleader bit her bottom lip as she counted down the seconds she had left. Moving her hand over her mouse at lightning speed, she clicked on the save icon on her word document but before shutting it down her eyes darted to the final sentence. A sentence she didn't type. A sentence currently being typed as the light in the background started to fade into the growing pool of darkness.

With her heart in her throat, Miss Ringleader froze, her eyes affixed to the screen before her. Although she was technically the 'Ringleader' of a worldwide prestigious institution and political party, she had no real way to defeat a swarm of lurkers. One or two were fine but as she caught sight of eyes upon eyes in her peripheral vision she knew her time was up.

Bye Bye.

The screen went black and an ear-piercing scream echoed in the darkness. Miss Ringleader lunged for her whip determined not to die without killing at least one of the lurkers but before her hand could grasp onto the gem-encrusted hilt she felt something slithery tie itself around her torso. She kicked in pain and she could feel herself gravitating towards evil itself. She squirmed as much as she could, fighting for her lasts breaths. She could feel the acidic saliva starting to trickle down her skin, melting flesh from bone but her ribs were too crushed to cry out.

Watching the life fade before her eyes, Miss Ringleader cursed her stupidity. Why did she have to forehead type? In hindsight, it wasn't even relatively a good idea and now look where it led her too. She could only hope her whip would be able to survive the ordeal for it was one of the few weapons that could damage a Lurker. If only it could survive, perhaps Miss Ringleader's life wouldn't have been sacrificed in vain. Perhaps. Perhaps.

Suddenly a ball of light crashes through a nearby window causing the Lurker to withdraw its grip. Temporarily free, Miss Ringleader darts for her whip once again, ignoring the sudden outburst of light. She leaps for the handle with both hands but just as she touches the smooth ridges she feels her body being engulfed in the darkness and that's when her conscious lights too went out.