Young Writers Society

don’t go don’t go don’t go there don’t please Mama please don’t go please

Trembling hands covered squeezed shut eyes; thin strands of hair stuck to his face, glued with hot tears. Clammy hands, clammy face, even without those tears. Droplets of wet fell to his head from the sky.

He peeped through his fingers, spreading them wide. Their feet made squelching sounds on the moss - they were coming. And he saw their shadows.

don’t go come back don’t go please please Mama come back don’t go there

***

Mrs. Next Door had her upturned nose squashed against the window’s glass, hawkish eyes peering down into the neighbors’ garden. Her husband snored in the bedroom, but she was up an about already, cleaning the sills.

What was that woman doing, letting her child out in such weather? What was she-

***

Leaves in his eyes. Not green, but decaying brown, and he could see nothing but that brown. But he could hear, even in those brown bushes, and he heard a howl. Then silence. Then a howl, again. And then silence, and nothing after that.

Was the rain red? Why was the rain red?

Mama left him. Mama went there, to them, and now Mama hurt.

Mama said they were bad. Mama said they would do bad things to them. Mama said, before she went there, “Run - run, go!”

Mama said she would try to stop them. But she didn’t. Did she lie?

Why was the rain red?

Why didn’t she stop them? Why were they still coming?

She always stopped them.

The rain was red.

***

The child’s name was Riley, and his mother was Alice.

Mrs. Next Door furrowed her brows, eyes bulging to see what was happening. She didn’t quite dare to actually open the window, but she craned her neck, pressing her face to the glass. She saw four silhouettes in that garden - one of the boy, one of the mother, and two others.

A hand covered her parted lips, the dirty cloth sticking out of her clenched fist.

The woman was standing a step away from her son. One of the - one of the others held her by her neck and wrists, showing her head back, over the boy. Something was in her stomach, glinting in the moonlight when pulled out and then thrust in again.

Down, down, she toppled down.

Riley, the child’s name was. The mother was called Alice.

***

DON’T GO DON’T GO DON’T GO PLEASE DON’T GO PLEASE

She left, she wasn’t there anymore. Mama didn’t howl anymore, and he didn’t hear her, and he didn’t see anything, because of the brown leaves in his eyes. He opened them, and then couldn’t close them, because of those leaves.

The rain was red. The leaves were everywhere. The leaves were cutting his eyes, and the rain was red. The red came from above.

They were coming closer. And their shadows were bigger and bigger.

Something fell on top of him.

Get up get up get up Mama get up get up Mamaaaa

***

Mrs. Next Door’s eyes widened, and she screamed into her cloth. Screamed until she had no breath, staggering away from the window - she stumbled to the floor, taking the tablecloth down with her. Teacups and plates smashed to the tiles.

The cloth fell out of her mouth. She screamed louder.

***

His were dying out.

The squelching wasn’t squelching anymore. It stopped. It was too close to come any nearer, and it wrapped itself around his throat, and tightened.

And tightened and tightened and tightened. And broke something.

Mamaaaaaaaa.

***

The rain stopped. Dawn came, birds began to sing.

Mr. Next Door still snored - his wife rubbed at the sills with trembling hands.

Mamaaa wait for me, wait. I’m coming to you!

I’m coming, Mama.

The curtains of the window were drawn.

____

No, no, nooooo. Italics aren't working... Imagine that they're there?