Sleep Tight

Tic… Tock.

          Tic… Tock.

                  Tic… Tock.

This is what I heard coming from the overly agitating clock that hung on my wall—a gift from Grandma—and it had been driving me nuts for the past few days.

On top of the ticking, the clock was unusually loud. It was as if someone was tapping a wooden stick on the wall. This was a problem. Being a light sleeper, the clocked tended to keep me awake a lot of the time.

I rolled over, attempting to drown out the noise with closed eyes.

Drowning, drowning, drowning.

My eyes shot open. My ears focused hard, listening for noises in the hallway. There it was again! The tiniest creak. It sounded like someone coming up the stairs, oddly unlatching the heavy ticking.

I slowly sat up in bed, trying to be as silent as a ghost. My heart started to race, but I didn’t dare make a sound.

I carefully widened the door, making an opening that was big enough for me to fit through. I tiptoed to my mother’s room, which was located across the hall, slightly to the left of my door. Her door was wide open.

I entered, stopping dead in my tracks the second I laid my eyes on here. One hole—deeply burrowed, dead on in the centre of her forehead. Sticky blood streaming down her nose and cheeks, splitting in rivers of still moving blood.

My body felt numb. My vision blurred. My mind clouded. Still, silence.

A short, yet loud gasp interrupted the silence as I dragged my eyes to the wooden floorboards. It had come from my eleven year old, sister’s room. I immediately knew what had happened. And then the tears came, in all the shock, they ran down my own cheeks.

Thump…

     Thump…

         Thump…

They were coming. The footsteps, they were coming down the hallway. I shuffled to my right, placing my back against the wall behind the coat rack. But they passed… they were heading towards my door. My goal was to make it to the stairs and straight out the door.

I waited, only two seconds upon hearing my room door be pushed open, then I took off. I exited the room, faster than I would have if the house was on fire, dashing towards the stairs. I was stopped in my tracks, yelping as I stumbled back. There he was. He was standing right in front of me—gun held at me.

I couldn’t take my eyes off his muzzle as it was directly pointed in that space between my pupils. I was so scared to make any sort of movement—and at first I didn’t notice, but I was holding my breath.

With his gun, he gestured for me to get up, but I just stumbled over my own feet. Again, this time, more aggressively, he gestured for me to stand. I pulled myself up the wall, using it as a brace due to the jelly feeling that numbed my legs.

“Scared” The man whispered at me. It was sudden, and I couldn’t stop myself, but I was whimpering and begging for

him not to hurt me, real tears budding in my eyes. He took one large step to the left of the stairway, giving me a clear path. He stood there, looming high—Six foot 5 high. I stared at him with a confused expression. As I was trying to gather my words, in-between childish whimpers, he gestured for me to go in the same way you would welcome someone into your home.

I couldn’t take my eyes off this man for a second. Even though his eyes and face were covered, I stared to where his eyes should have been. I took two, small, weak steps forward, my hands in a surrendered stance. I paused… stared.

Then I darted straight for the stairs.

It was then it hit me like a gunshot. Literally, the pain that struck me in the side of my waist. It was a gunshot.

The pain was beyond excruciating and I didn’t know what to do with myself, except lay still. I didn’t know if he was still there, if he’d run, but I did know that I was losing blood. I could feel it pouring out my side.  It was bleeding like a tap in an unusual manner, and even though I couldn’t see the blood--I knew it was there.

“You couldn’t have possibly thought you were leaving here so easy, could you?” a rusty whisper let me know that he was still there.

I had to get away, or my head might have been the next thing to get shot, so I did all I could. I mustered up energy in my arms and pulled myself forward, but the next thing, my body was rolling down the first flight of stairs, lurching itself onto the landing. To say I was in pain was a real understatement. All I could remember was his blurry figure watching me from the pinnacle of the staircase before my vision faded to nothing.

.......

Beep,

Beep,

    Beep,

       Beep!

I opened my eyes and let my body fly up straight, and before I could fully awaken I found myself shouting.

“Rghhh, shut up!” I yelled, sweeping all the objects off my side table. The lamp, and the phone. The notebook, the clock, and the tissues, they all fell to the floor. Wait. The clock. My grandmother’s god damn clock!

“Kate, what was that?” My Mother hollered frantically as if the ceiling had collapsed in front of her.

“Nothing, sorry!”

I dashed out of bed and picked the clock up but I should've known, it was broken.

Lucky me, I thought sarcastically.

I had a history of having really bad,  unintentional morning tantrums if my sleep was interrupted and they could get real ugly. I always  felt ratty  and melancholic because of this exorcist behaviour. It wasn’t how I usually acted, you see. When it wasn’t morning, I was a well-behaved child… sometimes.

So this is my better/second attempt at writing a short story. The first one was for school and was reallly short and basic. So I'm trying a real story in my fav genre this time :D give me feedback! - thx Cal for the tweeks and edits :)