*Hector Robinson is the husband of Myra Robinson and father of Samara Robinson. He is from my story “Ghost house:part two”. Gacha Club character designs are on my wall. Enjoy!*
In the 1960s, there was a young man named Hector Robinson. Hector had a wife named Myra Robinson and a little girl, his daughter, Samara Robinson.
Hector loved his family and had a content life.
But one night, when he was driving back home on a bridge from work at the supermarket, he saw two people standing in the middle of it. Two children, in fact.
Why were children on the bridge? What were they doing out there?
No time to think. He just couldn’t hit them.
He swerved right.
He got close enough to the children to see that their eyes were pale white. Filled with nothing.
Hector screamed as his car plunged into the murky waters below. Those children, at the bridge, they were just staring at him. There was water pooling from their eyes, just like the water that was constricting his lungs, muffling his screams, clouding his vision.
Something was squeezing his lungs out. No, that was just lack of air. That was all. Just like in the movies. He had to just unbuckle his seatbelt and get back to shore.
If there even was a shore. Was there a shore? He wasn’t at a beach, that was for sure.
His family was waiting for him at home. He had to get out. Where did his tears begin and the ocean end? Everything was going so dark…those children, they looked so miserable, like how Samara would be if he didn’t get out…get out…get out…
Hector Robinson was dead.
He was no more.
Hey there vampricone! Just thought I'd drop by to leave a comment! I like the turn in the story -- Hector's sense of morality/ care ends up with him dying. It's unexpected and suitable for the horror genre. I'm kind of left wishing we knew more about those children - I suppose it's something covered in one of your other shorts?
Hello! Happy Review Day, I hope you're doing well!
Straight away, this piece had excellent pacing. I loved how quickly this escalated, and the man's final moments were particularly effective. Really, you nailed the descriptions, here!
While this short story did have your signature horror via the blank eyed children, it was the tragedy of the whole situation that really got me. Your final lines in particular really sent chills down my spine-
Hector Robinson was dead.
He was no more.
Those children were just staring at him.
Where did his tears begin and the ocean end?
Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),
Hi! I'm here to leave a quick review!! Well here I am for yet another series of these things, I have no doubt this will be just as interesting!
Anyway let's get right to it,
In the 1960s, there was a young man named Hector Robinson. Hector had a wife named Myra Robinson and a little girl, his daughter, Samara Robinson.
Hector loved his family and had a content life.
But one night, when he was driving back home on a bridge from work at the supermarket, he saw two people standing in the middle of it. Two children, in fact.
Why were children on the bridge? What were they doing out there?
No time to think. He just couldn’t hit them.
He swerved right.
He got close enough to the children to see that their eyes were pale white. Filled with nothing.
Hector screamed as his car plunged into the murky waters below. Those children were just staring at him. There was water pooling from their eyes, just like the water that was constricting his lungs, muffling his screams, clouding his vision.
Something was squeezing his lungs out. No, that was just lack of air. That was all. Just like in the movies. He had to just unbuckle his seatbelt and get back to shore.
If there even was a shore. Was there a shore? He wasn’t at a beach, that was for sure.
His family was waiting for him at home. He had to get out. Where did his tears begin and the ocean end? Everything was going so dark…those children, they looked so miserable, like how Samara would be if he didn’t get out…get out…get out…
Hector Robinson was dead.
He was no more.
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