Young Writers Society

Spoiler! :

Trying my best to make a creepy little story, I wrote this in the spirit of Halloween. Sorry if it's not very good. I'm not the best at these types of stories. Anyway, enjoy

That horrible death, which was so pleasurable to my ears at the time of hearing the news, has crawled up my skin with wrenching hands without me ever noticing until days before now. After that last trembling breath had been taken and only a cadaver lolled in that unearthly bed, it had been such a joyful time for me. Of course, I had to shed heavy tears which others believed to be full of despair and sorrow, but in that reality, they had rolled down my cheeks, which seemed so bleak at the time, with a new found laughter. I had stood there as the coffin was depressed into the ground with my core scratching itself a new manic smirk that prepared my victory for display.

How foolish I was to be so satisfied. I had not look into all of the consequences of it. Only did I think of being caught by the living, but the dead who knew the burden of punishment had not come across my mind. If anything, it’d be best to leave her alive and let her love the other man, for living is the worst of it all. Why hadn’t I thought of that when I had turned the gas on? Why hadn’t I thought of that when I worked in the garden with such an innocent face? Why hadn’t I?

Now I know of my idiocy as I smell that rosy perfume of hers wherever I go. Out of the corner of my eyes I think I see the flash of her red hair. That hair had once given me so much contempt to marvel at, but at present it is the flaming color of bloody wine which flows smoothly yet poisons the victim who dares drink it in. There! Her figure has just slung itself against that doorframe as if she is drunk with wisdom and power, and yet when my eyes blink for the second time, that silhouette disappears around the wall. When I dare gain the courage to search it out, the shadow has all together vanished from the hallway.

Here I sit at my desk with pen in hand as I let my curiosity cause my eyes to glance around with the fear of seeing her feet step closer and closer to me while her outstretched hands of ash and charcoal reach towards my heart. Yet there is so much horror to my vision meeting the sight of nothing but a few sitting chairs and a rug. The most haunting of these concrete items is that window. It leads out into the blindness of night. Anything could hide in its shelter. What if she’s there with that successful grin I once wore?

I hear the creak of a floorboard and jump from my seat. This time I do not have the bravery to peer around that corner in fright that her ghost may be numbly walking to my door. Because of this quality cowards hold dear, I turn back to my paper, but when I attempt to write my thoughts and pleads, my hand cannot move. It must have turned to stone with despair at one point in time through these minutes. Even if I were to write this letter in the hopes of someone knowing my terrible fate, she would tear it into mangles once my body had cooled. I stare at the lamp, which is the only main source of light in the room. I want to hold it against me as if it would be strong enough to protect me, but I become disgusted of it when I see her peachy lips grin in the bright shining of it.

Sitting back with the stress, I rub my temples with a shaking hand. Perhaps she doesn’t follow me. Maybe this is all an illusion my head has weighed onto me. Have I truly gone mad?

Through the darkness of my eyelids, I see nothing and this alone brings comfort to my thoughts, but what’s this? It feels as if a delicate hand runs itself over my right shoulder, as if to contribute to my need of ease. Instantly, I snap my eyes open as it all registers into my brain. My push my chair away as I come to my stance. My throat rips as I yell and scream for her persistence to stop. Her laugh trickles into my ears that must be stiff with clammy dread. I strain my head to watch the room at all four corners. The door! I’ve caught her once again there!

Her features gleam from the lamps in the hallway. That red hair of her runs long to her shoulders. The night gown draping across her curving body is as real now as it was when she wore it on that revolting bed. One dreadful hand, the fingernails rolling across the splinters, of hers skims along the wooden frame of the door as the other lays straight down her side. Her nose quirks up to her eyes that are as darts are when aimed at a board. They’re dense with anger, and yet is that a chilling sorrow I see being washed through them? It’s as if a melancholy is being mopped across the dirt of it all, and yet they still seem so empty. My heart strikes with a sort of new regret, one of sorrow. It quickly dissolves when I see that mouth of hers. It’s cracked open like a window, letting the cold air brush across my skin. Her lips are as peachy as ever and run their course up along the alignment of her elegant jaw.

My hands grab hold of the windowsill somehow now beside me, yet my eyes, which bulge from their sockets, can’t leave the sight of the door and so stare over my shoulder. The beating heart in my chest runs faster and faster until I feel as if it’s ready to burst from exhaustion. My stomach sickens as the deadly but lovely figure comes closer and closer. As I have imagined, her sweaty hands reach out to me, but they tremble as if under some type of weight. Thoughts of those same hands holding onto mine enter through this panic in my mind. How true it had been- us sitting out in the garden as the birds chirped above us.

All of the words have been stolen from my mouth and so I can no longer scream. Will I die in this corner, seeing my doom stumble nearer and nearer? Will I ever see the daylight again? Will the birds no longer chirp in my ears?

However, those questions no longer matter. I’ve become dizzy, and now the light mixes in with the shadows. My body becomes numb. I’m sure by now it has met the floor for some sort of sanctuary. Harder and harder has it become to breath. Is this how my dear had felt in her last moments- the oxygen being lifted from her lungs? Then all is gone with my sight lowering itself to blindness. Those sorrow stricken eyes no longer look into mine. The only thing to meet me is the laughing smile of victory.