Scary Short Story

I wrote this starting out as something else but it was Halloween so I twisted it a bit :)

It is late, outside it is impossibly still and quiet, the wind refuses to blow and the milky clouds are glued to their places in the never-ending night sky. My laptop warms my thighs through the blankets, I check the clock, 2:14 am. Suddenly, the warmth radiating from the bottom of my laptop turns to an icy chill, a few moments the light in my room cuts out, though I can still see the lights in the hallway glowing. Using the light from my computer, I make my way over to where I know there is a lightswitch. As I reach out for the switch, I can feel the presence of another person very close to me. I try to flip the switch, but there is already a hand on it. I jump back and scream dropping the laptop. The screen shatters and I am engulfed in a thick darkness. I can feel my heart beating and my skin growing moist and cold from a nervous sweat. The hand was not even remotely human, but smooth and doll-like. The tips of my fingers, where they made contact with the hand feel like they are on fire. I grab for my phone to turn on the flashlight, but it’s hand is already there, and when I touch it, I hear a giggle. The taunting sound reverberates around the room, from every corner and crevice. It invades my every pore. It feels like it turns me inside out, that’s how painful it is to hear.

I run from place to place, looking for something to light up the room, or at least to defend myself with, but every time I touch an object, the hand is there before me, and each time, the laughter follows. I scream out of pure fear and frustration, hoping my parents will hear me and come to my aid. When it is clear that nobody will come, I try to force the door open, tugging as hard as I can over the hand covering the doorknob, suffering through the searing pain and smell of burning flesh, but to no avail. In my efforts, I brush up against a body that seems to be connected to the doll-like hands. My eyes have adjusted to the light and I can make out it’s figure. She is much shorter than me, with blinding blonde hair that glows through the darkness, and rolled into perfect curls. Atop her head is a big, comical bow. She wears a red, plaid dress and mary-jane shoes. She stands in front of me and smiles, in her painted mouth are not teeth, but rows upon rows of rusted and bloodied razor blades. He mouth stretches wider and wider, until it has cracked her porcelain face from ear to ear. I yell, but no noise comes out. She reaches out for me, and as she does, her short, red painted nails transform, becoming yellowed and sharp. I back up, trying to feel my way along the wall for the window. Outside my room, in the hall, the orange artificial light is growing darker and darker, redder and redder. She reaches out farther with her inhuman hands and strokes the side of my face. I freeze; for a moment, there is no pain, no feeling, but after a few seconds, the places where her hand made contact with my skin burn red hot. I scream. She laughs. I grab at my face, trying to dampen the pain, forgetting that she mimics my every move. She claws at my face, I push her away and she giggles and pushes me back with surprising force that knocks the wind from my chest. We push and shove, clawing, screaming, and laughing all the while. She thinks this is a game, I know this is a potentially deadly struggle. My voice grows shrill from the screaming, so I stop. After what feels like hours, I figure out to stop touching anything and everything, especially myself, that way she will as well. In exhaustion, I fall to the ground, and she does the same. I stare into her black, soulless eyes, realizing with a sinking heart that I cannot get away from this monster. I remain motionless, and watch as her flawless face heals itself, reforming the perfect red lips. I didn’t want to see what they hid ever again. She lifts her hand, I expect the nails to retract as well, but the opposite happens. They grow longer and more unforgiving. In the heavy, blood red light, I see her wiggle her skinny fingers, and I feel my skin splitting under my shirt. I stare at her with an open mouth and moan from the searing pain, trying not to touch my own skin, knowing that she would do the same. I feel more cuts appearing under my clothes and on my face, making my clothes grow a warm wet with my own blood. I scream from the fiery pain, feeling my sanity explode from inside me from this not only physical, but mental torture. I squeeze my eyes shut and...

I jolt awake, thanking any and every God that it was just a dream. Sweating an impossibly cold sweat, I check the clock on my nightstand. 10:12pm, it reads, and then the numbers speed up, faster and faster. I watch as the digital numbers pass minutes, then hours, in the space of just a few seconds, until it stops abruptly at 2:14am, and I hear a little girl’s giggle.

Author's Note

Please be as critical as you like

Reviews

[Rachel]

Very good story! If you have a chance, could you review my new horror story "The Sitter" and any others you feel like reviewing? Thanks.