This story is a recurring nightmare I've had thrice in the last two months. Thought it'd be best if I penned it down.
He felt someone tapping him on the shoulder. His eyes fly open, he turns to his side, and receives a sickening jolt in his stomach. Fear.
A girl in a filthy pinafore, bedraggled and matted hair, stands near the door. Her body has the look of a corpse left to rot in a swamp. The skin seems diseased, translucent, torn, rotten. The hair covers her face entirely. He blinks, and dares to look up again. But the girl is gone. He calls for his mother in the most even voice possible. She replies that she is in the kitchen. The boy tries to yank his covers up to his head. They aren't there. Strange. His mother never takes the covers off. A childish unease grips him. To him, the safety of the covers is gone. The teenager replaces the child, and the fear turns into an annoyed scowl. He turns around, and look outside the window. Strangely, and for the first time in his life, he finds it difficult to place the time. The light seems diluted, no, polluted. Corrupted. Like something is prevented it from releasing any warmth into the air. The air feels muggy and humid. The room is partially dark, thanks to that weird sunlight.
He tries to look for his slippers, but they too, aren't there. The girl seems to have taken away anything that gave him comfort or a feeling of safety as a child. She is playing on his childhood fears. Fears which even his mother does not completely know about. He steels himself, and walks through the door of his room. Everything seems unnatural. His home is bigger in size. He feels small, and unprotected.
His thirst is great. He walks to the water bottle usually near his room. He takes a sip. The water tastes normal, yet somehow dry. He glances in the mirror in front of him, and sees the reflection of the girl in it. He spins around in alarm, but she's gone. It dawns on him that she is playing with him, getting her own sadistic joy out of it. His mother shouts from the kitchen, telling him his breakfast is getting cold. At any other time, he would assess the situation, and think that this would be a bait, so he could come nearer to some other unknown horror.
But the warmth of his mother's voice, the thought that she was waiting for him, that she could protect him, is too great. His mother is the one thing familiar, and the one thing that isn't altered in this crazed world. He holds onto the thread of her protection, and needs to go on. He walks on, and the girl makes no appearance. When he is at the kitchen door, he sees his mother cooking, and relief floods his body. Before he can shout for joy, an arm fastens around his neck, dragging him back. A slimy, wet, stinking and wizened arm, with pale blue, translucent skin. He panics. But he uses the last vestiges of sense to propel his back into the wall, and hears a sickening crunch. He opens his eyes, turns around, and sees that the girl has vanished yet again. What's worse, he realizes that he is somehow in his living room. Heads hang from the ceiling instead of the masks his father fastened to the walls. They are still dripping blood. Bits of flesh fall, and veins and arteries hang from their lower end. Some bear an expression of fear, others leer at him with evil grins. Are the walls now portals? No, that cannot be. He felt the girl's skull shatter under the force of his tackle. She seems to be evil, sadistic, and enjoys his fear and confusion. The air is difficult to breathe. The light filtering through the windows doesn't seem to be any kind of light he has ever felt. It's cold, indifferent. He begins his journey again, and looks over his shoulder.
There she is! Almost laughing at his fear. He is paralyzed, he cannot move, and she runs at him, making guttural growls and shrieks. He covers his head in his hands, wondering what fresh horrors she wills subject him to, and he is in front of the kitchen again. Relief fills him, and he walks through the kitchen door. As he chats with his mother, he is relieved. He feels weakened, physically. His mother knows nothing of what has transpired. She comments about the weird light, and continues to cook. He turns around, and there is no one.
He walks the threshold of the kitchen, and feels that evil breath on his neck. He is yanked back, and thrown on the floor. His fists curl up, and he gives as powerful a punch as he can muster. The girl's jaw has been broken, and it hangs grotesquely from her scarred and rotted face. She grins at him, and fixes it back. Pinning his arms to the floor, she gives another inhuman shriek of joy, and begins to rip his flesh off with her teeth, as the sickening sound of flesh being torn fills the muggy air, and the smell of blood fills all corners of this strange, dark world.
He felt someone tapping him on the shoulder. His eyes fly open, he turns to his side, and receives a sickening jolt in his stomach. Fear.
A girl in a filthy pinafore, bedraggled and matted hair, stands near the door. Her body has the look of a corpse left to rot in a swamp. The skin seems diseased, translucent, torn, rotten. The hair covers her face entirely. He blinks, and dares to look up again. But the girl is gone. He calls for his mother in the most even voice possible. She replies that she is in the kitchen. The boy tries to yank his covers up to his head. They aren't there. Strange. His mother never takes the covers off. A childish unease grips him. To him, the safety of the covers is gone. The teenager replaces the child, and the fear turns into an annoyed scowl. He turns around, and look outside the window. Strangely, and for the first time in his life, he finds it difficult to place the time. The light seems diluted, no, polluted. Corrupted. Like something is prevented it from releasing any warmth into the air. The air feels muggy and humid. The room is partially dark, thanks to that weird sunlight.
He tries to look for his slippers, but they too, aren't there. The girl seems to have taken away anything that gave him comfort or a feeling of safety as a child. She is playing on his childhood fears. Fears which even his mother does not completely know about. He steels himself, and walks through the door of his room. Everything seems unnatural. His home is bigger in size. He feels small, and unprotected.
His thirst is great. He walks to the water bottle usually near his room. He takes a sip. The water tastes normal, yet somehow dry. He glances in the mirror in front of him, and sees the reflection of the girl in it. He spins around in alarm, but she's gone. It dawns on him that she is playing with him, getting her own sadistic joy out of it. His mother shouts from the kitchen, telling him his breakfast is getting cold. At any other time, he would assess the situation, and think that this would be a bait, so he could come nearer to some other unknown horror.
But the warmth of his mother's voice, the thought that she was waiting for him, that she could protect him, is too great. His mother is the one thing familiar, and the one thing that isn't altered in this crazed world. He holds onto the thread of her protection, and needs to go on. He walks on, and the girl makes no appearance. When he is at the kitchen door, he sees his mother cooking, and relief floods his body. Before he can shout for joy, an arm fastens around his neck, dragging him back. A slimy, wet, stinking and wizened arm, with pale blue, translucent skin. He panics. But he uses the last vestiges of sense to propel his back into the wall, and hears a sickening crunch. He opens his eyes, turns around, and sees that the girl has vanished yet again. What's worse, he realizes that he is somehow in his living room. Heads hang from the ceiling instead of the masks his father fastened to the walls. They are still dripping blood. Bits of flesh fall, and veins and arteries hang from their lower end. Some bear an expression of fear, others leer at him with evil grins. Are the walls now portals? No, that cannot be. He felt the girl's skull shatter under the force of his tackle. She seems to be evil, sadistic, and enjoys his fear and confusion. The air is difficult to breathe. The light filtering through the windows doesn't seem to be any kind of light he has ever felt. It's cold, indifferent. He begins his journey again, and looks over his shoulder.
There she is! Almost laughing at his fear. He is paralyzed, he cannot move, and she runs at him, making guttural growls and shrieks. He covers his head in his hands, wondering what fresh horrors she wills subject him to, and he is in front of the kitchen again. Relief fills him, and he walks through the kitchen door. As he chats with his mother, he is relieved. He feels weakened, physically. His mother knows nothing of what has transpired. She comments about the weird light, and continues to cook. He turns around, and there is no one.
He walks the threshold of the kitchen, and feels that evil breath on his neck. He is yanked back, and thrown on the floor. His fists curl up, and he gives as powerful a punch as he can muster. The girl's jaw has been broken, and it hangs grotesquely from her scarred and rotted face. She grins at him, and fixes it back. Pinning his arms to the floor, she gives another inhuman shriek of joy, and begins to rip his flesh off with her teeth, as the sickening sound of flesh being torn fills the muggy air, and the smell of blood fills all corners of this strange, dark world.
No comments:
Post a Comment