A Story Of Annie : A Short Story

Charlie closes the door and flops on his bed.”God I hate this place.” He thinks. “The sink is leaky, the walls are too thin, and the heater is always being “fixed”. I get home from work late at night and the neighbor above me is always blaring music. I’ve only lived here a few weeks and im already at my wits end. I haven’t bothered to meet any of my neighbors save the one that i am constantly asking to turn down their music.” He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. Thats when he hears a strange noise at first he thinks it must be one of his neighbors televisions but then it gets louder and he recognizes it as the sound of someone crying. He leans his ear against the wall he thinks it coming from. The sounds he hears when he presses his ear to the wall nearly break his heart and he immediately feels the need to comfort, to say something.

Trista had always been a normal kid except for her stories. It wasn't that they were disturbing or horrific, they were just unusual. Sometimes they seemed exactly like the kind of thing you'd expect from a kid, but other times, I'd have to look at her and wonder how she came up with such things. It started when she was four, shortly after our dad split, leaving the two of us on our own.

Dorothy Allison's voice is one of authenticity, experience, and wisdom. This is apparent in her recounts of her mother's death and rape by her abusive stepfather as a child. She uses her storytelling as a way of sorting out her inner demons and memories of her broken life, “the [story] I wish I could make you hear,” as she says, because “the need to tell [her] story was terrible and persistent, and [she] needed to say it bluntly and cruelly, to use all those words, those old awful tearing words” (39, 42). She strives to get to the root of her own unresolved issues and, by her own admission, “[works] to make you believe [her]”:

I walked upstairs face red, hands trembling, and body aching. I didn’t even think I could make it up the first couple steps before collapsing into a heap.Before I reached the last glossy maple wood step I heard the sound of little paws and nails scraping, slowly, softly, and sadly through the house. This sound made my heart ache.

Annie Dillard arose from her tent that rested in the Ecuadorian jungle. She was outnumbered by six men to one female on her morning journey, as she and her six male escorts reached Providence Village. The first view of excitement to capture her attention was a dwarf size, frail frame fawn roped to a tree near a thatched roof hut. This was symbolic of the stability of a vicious pit bulldog that would be chained to a six-foot chain length fence, back home in my neighborhood. One could only imagine the gruesome details of the helpless fawn that Dillard was describing. This fawn had been captured and roped to a tree. If this was not humiliating enough, the agony continued, the fawn twisted his limp bloody frail body as if he was interacting

Inside the small house it was pitch black and completely silent. So dark, in fact, that one could not see their own hand in front of their face. The deeper into the house, the darker it became. Now into the family room and up the stairs.A distinct sound of scratching emanated from the door at the end of the hall. Inside, the room seemed to belong to a young girl, but only because the little girl nestled in bed deemed it so.

After a few more minutes of waiting Anna decided to get out of bed and walk down to the food court to see if her father was there. After getting out of bed, Anna found a note taped to her father’s chair that she hadn’t seen before scripted in scribbly letters saying Based on your actions he might come back don’t tell anyone about this and he will come back unharmed. Anna hurriedly found the bag of her clothes that her mother had delivered overnight and pulled on a hot pink mini skirt and a white long sleeve crop top. After getting dressed Anna opened her door and stepped outside, there was no one anywhere to be seen. She continued to walk down the hall and there was still no noise and no one in sight. She walked straight to the elevator and went down to the first floor where the food court should be, but there was no one there either, the hospital had been abandoned and she was sure that the songbook and the object that played her melody the night before were somehow behind it all. She ran back up to her room as carefully as she could trying not to hurt her arm, and once she arrived at the door she grabbed the music book off the desk beside of her bed, tried to flush it down the toilet, and stuffed her cell phone in her bag of clothes that her mom had bought. She was about to pick up her bag when she heard a new melody right outside of her door. La, La, La, La, La, La. La, La, La, La, La. La, La, La, La, La. La, La, La, La, La, La, La. She wanted to see what was making the noise so she carefully opened her door and peeked through the opened crack. There nothing was there! She grabbed her bag of clothes and ran down the steps as quickly as she could but then she heard a voice behind her, “Aaaaannnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaa!!!!” the voice moaned “Aaaaannnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaa it isn’t safe at your house!!!!” said the voice. She spun around and saw a scrawny old man

The next morning, the alarm buzzed noisily, the sound polluting the silence. Confused for a moment, he looked around blankly. It used to be home, but now it felt unfamiliar. There was a room at the end of the corridor, the door slightly ajar. He waited, expecting the door to open, but it never did. The area was the same as the night before, empty.

At first this sounds was a minor sound that could be been anything and could’ve come from anywhere in the house. The first noise they heard that night raised suspicion but neither the husband nor wife were truly concerned until they hear the second noise which was way more distinct and a polar opposite of the first noise. It was much louder, and sounded like a cough coming from someone else, someone who wasn’t them and wasn’t supposed to be there. The man is almost positive that it is coming from inside their house. He intends to investigate, but is seized by a momentary paralysis, leaving his wife to attend to the noise.

Suena was walking home and she felt like she was being followed, but she thought it was because of the horror movie she watched the night before. It was about a twenty minute walk for Surena to get home and she often enjoyed but that day she didn’t enjoy it. When she got home there was a note on her fridge from her mother saying she’ll be back in a couple of hours and that there was leftovers in the fridge. She still had that icky feeling that someone was watching her, she kept saying in her head that it was just the horror movie scaring her. Her dog Belle was eating the couch again, when her mom got home she’d be mad. Surena went up stairs to her bedroom and forgot to lock the door that day, when her mother warned her many times before to

The escalation of the unknown sounds grew to be too distressing for John and Margaret when one night they were jarred awake by an unseen force. They felt the floorboards moving beneath their feet, along with unknown knocking sounds. The noises persisted until they finally fell asleep from exhaustion. Fatigued from these disturbances, they woke the next morning wanting answers.

Jolie tried her hardest to remain quiet as she entered the dark, musty basement that smelt like dead animals. The music played loudly, which masked the creaks of the stairs she stepped on. She gripped the broom tightly in her hand. Jolie squinted her eyes around to make out anything that made the music turn on or the loud crashes. Her eyes rested on a man and she tried her hardest not to panic. She quickly, but quietly turned around and walked up the stairs trying to remain calm all the while. When the man started humming along with the violin music she began to cry; she didn’t want to cry. Jolie gripped the railing and the broom slipped from her hand and fell down the stairs. The man jerked around made eye contact with her. He was frowning and then a devilish smirk appeared. She let out the scream she had been holding in for what seemed like forever. Jolie

Once there was a little girl named Marie. She was running from the man when she spotted the old building they called Lidtke Mill. She ran into the building to get away from the man that was chasing her. When she ran inside, it was pitch black. She tried to find her way through the building, tripping over the rubble caused by people and storms over the years. While Marie was tripping over the rubble, she heard a horrible screeching noise. She was already scared enough before that noise came. Marie covered her ears while that noise went on and on. She decided to go towards the noise. She found what caused it. There was very little light to look at things. What light she had, let her see that the noise was the

A particular sound rung at my doorbell, the sound heard like the broken string of a violin. The taste that the sound was acquired with was of a distant, melancholy and hollow noise. I had no visitors to host or guest to be entertained upon for I was of the desolate creature. My neighbors though kind to the people they liked were so corpulently judgeful towards me because of my background and character that I was only naturally drawn like a snail in its impertinent shell back into my life, so lonely. Here, of course [on this subject] I wondered what on earth could possess a person to entreat at my doorstep and ring the broken noise. I removed my grey apron and amplified my cheek color by pinching them with my fingers. I opened the door half

It was early one summer afternoon, shortly after lunchtime, when I heard my mom scramble towards the door. There was little noise, besides her loud stomps and faint cries through the drywall. The wind whistled faintly through my slightly open windows. Suddenly, the air conditioning kicked in startling me. It sounded as if it was a faint boat in the distance. I could make out the sound of the air conditioning through my vents. My brother’s television powered on, as well as my dad’s. They whispered silently through the insulation. Eventually, it all turned off and once again there was my mom’s loud stomps and faint cries.