eerie - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
It was as if God had adjusted the colours of the world in the night, like it was as easy as twisting one of those old plastic dials on a TV set. Everything was brighter than it should be; the trees were not just green but radiant virescent hues that burned themselves in Jenna's sleepy retinas. The houses were as gay as if they'd been repainted by moonlight and now stood vibrant in the golden rays that fell unfettered though the clear sky. The road that should be grey was a sleek river of black with perfect paint lines and the street-lamps were blue. But they had never been blue, not ever. Everything was so right it was wrong - really wrong. The front yards that had been dishevelled with the decrepitude of late winter just yesterday were a riot of colourful blooms. Jenna turned back to look at her house, the curtain twitched! Someone was in there! She hurried to the front door only to find it was locked. She slapped the wood. A face appeared at the window...her face...but brighter...
The stillness of the air seemed to suck even the sound of my footfalls into the nothingness of the graveyard. Even the trees seemed not to rustle as if they were tense with nerves for what was to come. I could describe it as creepy, but eerie was closer to it.
In the half-light of morning the street was eerie. It wasn't just that it was a still day; the air simply didn't move. The leafy avenue was bereft of noise, as if every murmur and rustle was stolen away in the night. The sky was empty, not just of birds, but of clouds also. There was no weather at all; even the sunlight felt cold. Jian was about to retreat inside when from the distance came a series of tinny clangs. It was like the sound of an old can bouncing down the road after a wedding car, but without the engine rumbling or the hiss of tires on wet asphalt. It grew louder, then softer, then louder again. At first it appeared to come from in front, then from behind. In only moments the noise was coming from every direction, getting closer, louder, more frantic...
I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. Everything was perfect today, and I mean too perfect. It was like awakening in some 1950's TV show where everyone is super nice. But it wasn't just that, the weather was perfect, the bus was immaculate and on time, everyone I met had a smile and a 'good-day' for me. It was eerie. Spooky really.
It was eerie. The street should have thronged with commuters by this time of day. but it stood as empty as any desert. The litter blew like tumbleweed in the sharp November wind. The silence pressed in on me and all I could hear was the beating of my own heart and scuffing noise my own feet made as I stumbled down the sidewalk.
It was the kind of silence that falls right before you get knifed in the back. It sent a shiver down my spine and I felt my blood chill in my veins.
The colours of the next town reminded me of children's toys. Every red was the exact same one, a brilliant cherry scarlet. Every blue was a bright royal hue, neither dark or light. There were no trees, perhaps the foliage would not cooperate to be the same shade on every leaf. The street-lamps were the same canary yellow as the rain-slickers and the taxis. There was no pink, no grey, no orange or violet; but it was more than that. Nothing was sun-bleached, nothing scratched or chipped. The street was free of litter, the walls were unvandalized perfection...
Spooky doesn't quite cover it and eerie is an understatement. In the shadow, cast by castle walls thicker than my arm is long, a chill creeps over the uncut grass. The scent of late fall is laden into those gusts that push impetuously against the sentinel stone. Every flutter of a leave catches our attention, sparks our minds to turn faster, loosening their tenuous grip to the agreed upon version of “reality.” Before we leave for the cover of the forest tree-line, walking with purpose through the dwindling light that remains, we bury a GPS chip. The radius is pitiful, but if we lay them like electronic breadcrumbs the other runaways will come, follow us to whatever is at the end of this journey.
Everything was the same and different. The winter trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain. The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for November, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow. The wind was just as bitter as the day before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.