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The Girl

You knew you shouldn't have gone in.

By Kasey ReneePublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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You wake up in a room in a panic. It’s not your bed, nor your room, but it seems to have claimed you. You have no idea how you got here. But here you are. Almost like you were born here and that you belong here. That you are never meant to leave this room, or something will happen; something that you don’t want to happen. The thread bare mattress releases you without a fight, but you feel it watching you, wanting to hold you. Almost there are fingers reaching out from the mattress to pull you back to it. It seems to know what is coming, and it wants to protect you; to keep you safe from whatever is on the outside.

It’s a dark room, with gritty, blood red walls. The room smells like lilacs on a spring day. You hunt around for the out of place smell in the room, but you find that it seems to stay just out of reach. Odd, noteworthy, but nothing to worry; it’s time to go forward, you decide. To face the house you are lost in; to find a way out of this place. You know you need to get away, from what you aren't sure, but the need itself is pressing. It’s too pressing to ignore. This room isn't safe, the smell has gone away. You feel attached to that smell; it’s like your grandmother’s old perfume. Like it will keep you safe from the world itself. You hear something moving in the wall, but you can’t pin point where in it is. You aren’t safe. You need to run, to escape. The sound of your heartbeat seems to pound in your ears; a loud deafening sound. All from the sounds from rats living in the wall to make you so uneasy. It is stupid rat you tell yourself, you don’t want to think about else it could be. After all, it is an old house, so there isn’t anything else it could be.

The Hall seems so long, and stretching with every step that you take. You wonder if it will began to twist, then shake the thought off as mad. You can take it. You can control it. At least that is what you tell yourself. You are the one with power here, not the Hall. Not the smell. Not the sound. You want to be able to take it. To be able to control it but you can’t. You want to stop, and hold your head in your hands. Then you smell it the lilacs again. Like you are in a field, and you need to follow it. It is safe and unnerving at the same time, and you’re unsure what to think. Do you follow it? Is it really safe, or do you just want it to be?

Doors seem to tap in time with each other, a loud tap from behind the door itself. There is no reason for it. When you think you have it pinned down the tap moves again. Like it is messing with you. It doesn’t make any sense at all. Nothing behind them but rooms with broken chairs and no lights; almost as if they have no souls. You know, because you have check. They are just shells of what could have been. Potential rooms, but nothing. Nothing behind them that makes them important. Nothing that really makes them rooms. But there are a lot of them. Almost like cells. You wonder what it could mean.

You feel yourself walking quickly, unable to run, toward the heart of the house; the room with the big fireplace. There are no windows to the outside, but you know it is dark out there. You can feel the darkness coming in, trying to wrap you up in a big coat to keep you cold. Not safe. You can hear the blaze over your heart—a raging inferno—and you feel a bit of hope. Fire means there are people at least that are what you hope. A mindless, powerful blaze calling you; calling all that it can to it, drawing you in. The walls seem to be getting grittier and redder. You come into the room with the fireplace, but find that the fire has long since burned out and cooled. No people. Was it all in your mind? The raging, raw power?

There is something in the fireplace; you feel the need to find out what. It over takes the fear, taking over control. Taking the poker from the side of the fireplace, you poke through it. Your heart is still going, pumping the blood through your veins at an alarming rate you that you can’t seem to calm. The smell returns—the familiar lilac and the rats. The damn rats that seemed to have been following you in the walls this whole time; they are mocking you. Something different from a log seems to be inside the ashes. It is long and white. Louder your heart gets. You feel eyes on you. The smell is stronger now. You can almost taste it. Lilacs. Turning around, you see that the walls are much more red, almost pulsing, and there is a painting on the wall, with a young girl standing in it, holding a teddy bear. She is pale and you feel uneasy. Her eyes are the worst. Eyes that almost peer through you, reading your thoughts, and they appear almost alive. More lilacs. The smell is so strong now you can’t tell if it is coming from your own skin or not. It is in everything in the room, the air, you, the fireplace; it is all around you, choking you.

Then there is the noise. It’s worse than the smell. It’s loud and deafening, a crunching of teeth on bone. There is the girl, in the middle of the room, chewing on something. She is pale and dressed in red, munching away. Lilac, you smell lilacs so strong. A voice whispers to you, “She is still hungry...” You know you need to run.

You don’t know where the voice is even coming from, but you know that it can be trusted. “Can you get safe?” No, the answer is no. Your legs feel glued to the spot. You want to unstick them, get away, but the noise. Oh god, the smell. Lilacs are too thick now; so much so one could cut it with a knife. It’s suffocating. You are suffocating on the spot.

She is coming...and she is hungry.

monster
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About the Creator

Kasey Renee

Kasey spends most of her free time writing and crafting. She is not an alien.

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