A Short Story : A Story?

I quickly turned the corner into a dark alleyway in an effort to lose whatever was chasing me. Almost immediately, I watched as a dark shadow crept into the alleyway in my direction. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The figure came closer and closer until I could smell the familiar, musky scent

It was a cold and foggy wednesday morning on june 10th. Hunter was sleeping on his bed when he heard his mom call him.

“AHHH!” I screeched. My voice echoed and I crumpled to the floor. As I lay on the ground, a smell seemed to enter and toxicate the air. I didn’t run, I didn’t fight the urge to fall asleep, I didn’t care if I died right there and then. In my mind I had already died, and my spirit was still back in bed dreaming of nothing important. I was just a body, a body waiting to meet the horror of this white prison. As I lay crying and beginning to holsinate another wave of white washed over me.

“Mama, cover doors and windows. Everyone go to the bedroom, and put your masks on,” I directed, calmly. When I got to the bedroom, everyone was huddled around each other, with a white cloth on their face. Suddenly, the room became dark. You could hear the heavy breathing of everyone in the room, yet you couldn’t see anyone. The storm felt like it lasted for days, but only really lasted a few minutes. When I got back to the dining room table, I saw a letter on the table from the bank.

“Uh, yeah! Sure!” When I knew I was l alone I ran all over town looking for the source of the snow. I finally found it at an abandoned warehouse just outside of town. I waited a couple of seconds before saying something but before I could, someone spoke.

Eyes struggled to open, the world around me blurry, dark, spinning. “Danny, Danny, are you alright?” I heard my mother ask frantically. Confused, startled, feeling like someone was trying to hammer a nail through my head, a warm and sticky fluid running down the side of my face, my eyes gradually converging on my surroundings.

As he stomped down the hall dressed in all black, I timidly stepped to the other side of the hallway with my head down avoiding any type of interaction. When the sounds of boots and chains faded away, I was overwhelmed with relief. Nothing had calmed me more than this instant; nothing had been more soothing than the sound of pure nothingness. The fear that came over me was like being trapped in a small room with no way out. I felt helpless, defenseless, like something was going to happen to me in that hallway with the boy dressed in black.

I began to panic, as more and more of the black dots climbed into me, wriggling up my arms like worms in the rain, hurting me more and more. I dug my nails into my body, trying to stratch them out, to no avail. I couldn’t take the pain, the persistent feeling of being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, pricking harder and harder each time, the uttermost betrayal from my only friends, the only ones who ever knew me. The fishbowl began to crack, like icy roads in the Monday morning rush. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and began to scoop out the bugs, slowly at first, but then as more began to form, I picked up the pace. Every time I managed to flick one body to the tiled floor, another would begin to crawl up from my toes, coating me in a layer of darkness. My body was numb as lines of ruby appeared on my arms, but my heart raced uncontrollably. Trickles of water slithered down the glass. Slowly, the dots began to fade, almost reducing into mist and floating away, how the trees return to stillness after a storm, as a sea of garnet rushed over me. But this state of relief did not last long- a dark shadow formed in the doorway, blocking all light entering the room. It looked like a shadow; as dark as hell, it spoke words of sin and hate, with a voice low enough to shatter glass. I staggered backwards, and held myself up using the counter behind me. It launched forward, grabbing towards my arms, wrapping around me, choking me in smoke. A waterfall gushed over my face, drowning me. I couldn’t

All Frederick could hear was the quiet, whispering of the wind. His footsteps made an echo so loud it made him cringe. Frederick looked up and moved his long black hair out of his sight to see a large formed mysterious blob of darkness in front of him. He kept walking along the footpath, feet stomping on the concrete as he went, cringing after every step. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Her eyes struggled to stay open, slowly blinking but never closing. Droplets from the clouds rolled down the windowpane, like copycats of those running down her face. The night was dark with shadows. The only sounds in the house were the plump raindrops falling on the windowsill, the clinking of beer bottles and the sound of her nervous breath. She had to stay awake for she had left the moment he had passed out on the dusty couch in the living room. Her sweaty palms clutched the leather straps of her bag. Her body shook like a small dog’s and the wind made the trees sway like the ghosts of everything she’d ever known. The sound finally came and so did the closing of her bedroom door.

Footsteps echo around the corner and down the passage. They’re coming. I distinctly feel every throbbing pulse as my heart beats feverishly, utter dread beginning to settle in my bones. My bare skin meets coolly with the white wall behind me as I press my back hard into it, wishing I could melt and disappear, evaporate from this endangered existence. The echoing steps grow louder with each passing second; I’m running out of time, out of options. I grip tightly around the syringe in my hand.

into this hallway of white that looked like it never ended. I was trapped in this tube that looked like the ones in the movies.

“Stand up right now and put on your coat. We’ll be waiting for you in the car.” Having no idea what was going on, I swiftly dressed up, and in a minute was downstairs. Carefully driving, daddy occasionally looked at my mom. He said, “Everything will be okay, believe me.” In the wing mirror of the car, I recognized a woman, who had never shown her weakness before. Tears were slowly running down her face. Passing by glass buildings, we moved towards another part of the city. Floors of every building decreased. Streets narrowed. Every street was a reminder of my childhood. Trying to get rid of an idea floating in my head, I closed my eyes tight. In a few minutes, the sound of an ambulance broke a silence. I opened my eyes and recognized a familiar

It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son Sam was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. Sam has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Dakota, when I heard what sounded like Sam talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him. When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because Sam was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “Sam! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a sandwich. “Sam. Who were you talking to out there?” I asked. Sam looked up for a moment, “I was playing with my new friend,” he said smiling. I poured him some milk and continued to pry, as any good mother would. “Does your friend have a name? Why didn’t you ask him to have lunch with us?” I asked. Sam stared at me for a moment before replying, “His name is Funny Man.” I was a bit taken back by what he had said. “Oh? That’s a strange name. What does your friend look like?” I asked a bit confused. “He’s a clown. He has long hair and a big swirly cone nose. He’s got long arms, with stripy socks, and he always smiles.” I

The morning sun shined brightly, making its way through Isaac’s blinds. The sun’s rays got into Isaac’s face, causing him to turn his head. He tried to sleep for a bit longer, but knew it wouldn’t be possible. Lying in bed, Isaac turned his head to the ceiling. It had been three weeks since the defeat of the Sangrine Syndicate, though it felt like yesterday. Isaac sat up, starting to think about Gerard’s funeral, which greatly saddened him. Remembering Malessica crying made him feel worse, since he wasn’t able to do anything to make her feel better. At the Funeral, he barely said a word to her. It made him feel like a terrible friend, but he didn’t want to think too much about it.