Half a Warning

Just a random story I did years ago for English homework...

The pouring rain pounded my poor window, the wind scrapers desperately fighting a hopeless battle against the waterfall that was its opponent. The inky shadows crept into darkness and the wind howled as I zoomed down the road, eager to get home. I have no idea how I managed to not see it. A high, sharp diversion sign blocked my route, a bold arrow pointing down a deserted farm road. On the wet road, my car basically skidded the sharp turn. The track was needle like - grey and sharp, surrounding it was lush green countryside, on the other side was a mammoth ditch in the ground where there should have been water, but it remained bone dry. I was so busy gazing around that I didn’t see it until it was too late. It stood straight in my path.

The horrified deer’s piercing scream drummed into my ear as I slammed my shaking foot onto the stiff brake. Sparks sailed from my screeching wheel and I was overcome by the unmistakable stench of burning rubber. My head thrashed onto the steering wheel as my car jolted from side to side, out of control on the wet road. There’s only one thing I remember after that. Blackness…

I blinked groggily several times before I was fully accustomed to my new position. Scarlet red blood trickled slowly from my nose and my head was throbbing in pure agony. I startled as I realized that I was upside down, my car was upside down. Through the thick blanket of darkness I gazed at blades of grass pressed cruelly against the remains of my shattered front passenger seat window, and beneath my rooftop window was dry, cracked earth. My mobile phone glistened in the luminous, eerie moonlight. I struggled to reach it.

As soon as it was in my sweaty grasp I punched in the number. The phone rang once, then twice … and stopped. My hand shook as I attempted to ring again, but I was prepared to be disappointed. The agonising wait was endless; I was relieved to hear a comforting, gentle voice of a woman at the end of the line.

“Good evening, what service do you require, police, fire brigade or an ambulance?” I gasped with absolute horror when there were a series of weak beeps and a bright red battery symbol flashing steadily in the corner.

“Look I don’t have much time, my phone’s about to die. I’ve had an accident, my name’s…” frustrated tears glistened in my eyes as a dull buzz symbolised the end of the phone call. Even the battery had stopped flashing now; the phone was well and truly dead. Had they got my message?

An hour’s hard, gruelling efforts were almost in vein. A ferocious gust of wind whipped past me, attempting to sweep me off my achy feet, back into my ruined car and the deep ditch. I gazed up, expecting the dismal grey clouds to be soaking me with their rain, but they had deserted me. It seemed that everything had, the night was as quiet as the grave and I felt a pang of loneliness, which I never got at all often at my city home. A thought struck me. I had to find some shelter for the night, I span round and trudged forward.

That exhausting trek was almost my last. I wish I never found the dilapidated cottage. You’ll soon find out why.

Despite having been woken by my desperate bangs on the door, the elderly man was surprisingly cheerful and welcoming. Dexter, I think his name was, this all happened such a long time ago I can barely remember. He was odd. Very odd. I’m not the type to judge a book by its cover, but there was something not quite right about him. His dull green eyes looked like they popping out of their sockets, his grey, curly hair sprung up, reminding me of a crazy scientist, rather then having simple wrinkles his skin folded over itself and white flakes occasionally drifted out from underneath. Whatever teeth he had left were sharp and were stained a repulsive yellow colour, and he spat on every word he spoke. The cottage was shabby and most things were in desperate need of repair, so that didn’t look too good either. It was going to be a long night.

My body was exhausted and desperate to sleep but my mind was wide awake and on red alert. Despite having a bed to sleep in I just couldn’t settle down. As I lay on the dusty, uncomfortable mattress I couldn’t help but feel that I wasn’t alone. No, I was being dumb; it was probably just Dexter snoring downstairs. I shuddered as air passed my bumpy bed as though somebody had just walked by, but other then a rickety draw and a small wardrobe the room was empty. I was surrounded by inky darkness as the melting candle flickered and eventually burned out. The drum in my chest was pounding as I waited for more evidence of another presence. I held my breath. Why did I still hear breathing? My wide eyes darted around the shadows and where drawn to a particular corner. That’s when I saw it.

At first glimpse I could have sworn it had dissolved into the darkness. I shook my head and blinked several times, convinced that my eyes were playing tricks on me. It was a white figure; it remained rooted to that very spot, gazing back at me. I was horrified to see nothing whatsoever on one half of its face. An eye, half a nose, half a mouth and half a chin on one side, on the other, just pale skin.

“Get out, get out! But the door! Do not open the door!” the voice was weak and raspy, but definitely had a trace of masculine.

“But …” I then realized I was wasting my breath; I was speaking to thin air. He was gone.

But what was he going on about? Why get out, and why not open the door? Unanswered questions lingered in my mind and I suddenly realized exactly what he had meant. Danger. I had to exit the house: and fast. As I dragged myself out of bed a foul smell blocked my nose and had me gasping for breath. I reached for the door handle but I jerked away at first; it was boiling hot, I have no idea how I managed to grip long enough to turn it. The second the door flew open I knew I had made a terrible mistake.

Sparks soared into the room and I was overcome by a surge of heat. Light flooded straight at me as the fire crept in at great speed and efficiently cremated the cheap wooden furniture. The thickening black smoke surrounded me, it was near impossible to see anything. I yelled out desperately but my words were shoved straight back down my throat and I coughed heavily in a painful attempt at breathing. Eerie moonlight shone through the tiny bedroom window, giving me a glimmer of hope, the only thing possible to see. Crawling painfully on my stinging legs, I headed towards it, my ash-covered face set in a determined frown. Weakly, I battled my pain and willpower to heaved myself to my feet and conquer all my strength to smash the window. Success! Sharp glass prodding me as I climbed out, a surge of relief overcame me as my flame-covered body dropped to the ground.

The impact wasn’t nearly as bad as the throbbing my burns were causing me; it was agonising. Through floods of ash and tears in my eyes I glimpsed Dexter towering over me. His expression was the most disturbing, it’s always here to haunt me, I remember it all too well. His eyes were gleaming with pure rage and his chewed up face was frowning intently, he was breathing heavily in an attempt to stay calm and his cracked lip was quivering and had something dripping down from it. Blood.

“What the hell have you done!” he roared, his voice high-pitched and clearly damaged. Buckets of spit sailed in all directions.

“Me?” I squeaked, my throat stinging as I got into yet another coughing fit.

“The police are coming with the fire brigade! I’m gonna get you into a lot of trouble young lass, there’s nothing I hate more then arsonists!” he ignored my cries of protest and smirked as the distant ring of sirens got louder, and louder and louder.

I don’t remember much after that.

Apart from my hair not growing much past shoulder length I was as good as new. I remember everyone in the burn unit, my hospital ward I was recovering in. The child that had dropped a sparkler on her foot, the man who’s microwave blew up on him, I carry pictures of them all in my head. But one case stood out like a sore thumb. The man next to me had a fire in his house, caused by him leaving the oven on. So much of his face was damaged that half of it had to be removed. It was so ruined, that plastic surgery had to re-shape his face. Not that he looked grateful for their efforts at all. After the operation he lay there staring at me with an intent frown on his face and rage was gleaming in his eyes. He never was able to pin charges on me for arson.

© 2012 paige twentySEVEN!

Author's Note

Please note that I was only thirteen when I wrote this & I haven't changed it whatsoever in like four years so might be a bit pooey, I have improved my writing a lot since then!