Mesmerized and horrified at the same time I stood on my tiptoes to reach for the box. Pushing the see-through one to the side I stretched arm out as far as it would let me. My fingertips brushed the side of the lid but couldn't hold on to it. I grunted as I made myself as long as possible. When my shoulder was about ready to dislocate I managed to wiggle the box just the right amount to the side so my other hand could get a hold of it. I smiled triumphantly and planted my feet back on the ground firmly. As soon as I had started to reach for the box the light had faded and it now appeared to be like any ordinary shoebox. Then laughter arose from inside the object I was holding.
With a terrified yelp I let go of the thing and it fell to the ground, spilling all its content. Photographs, drawings, notebooks and other knick-knacks scattered on the carpet. I pressed my back against the closet, almost falling when there was no door to support me and I got swallowed by the hanging clothes. I saw a glistering of gold reflected by the ceiling light as something rolled under my bed. I pressed my chin to my chest with my eyebrows knitted close together as I examined all the stuff that was now lying on the floor. There was nothing out of the ordinary that could have produced the strange and spine-chilling voice. Was I going made? My hands were shaking as I pushed myself away from the clothes and stepped back into my bedroom. Maybe my friends were playing a trick on me. What if they hid something like a walky-talky in the shoebox? That would definitely something they would do. I picked up the box and turned it upside down so the rest of its content fell to the floor. I frankly rummaged through everything. I couldn't make my heart stop racing. My pulse quickened as anger flowed through my veins. My skin heated up and little beats of sweat broke out all over it. This was ridiculous.
But then there was another laugh, this time coming from under my bed. My spine went rigid. This time it was not because of how creepy the voice was; it was because it sounded familiar. I slowly turned around while still in my crouched position and let myself drop to my stomach. The beating was in my throat, I couldn't breathe. I was so relieved to only seeing a pen lying under the bed besides form the other things lying there. Yet my breath was taken away again once I saw the golden glow coming for the item. The thing was glowing on its own like a candle, illuminating the darkness that was constantly under a bed. The only way I could properly describe the glow was like a godly one. I took my breath away not because I was taken aback by the fact that a pen was glowing on its own but because it literally took my breath away. I was mesmerized by it just like I was when the shoebox had been shining a light. Now I knew it was the pen that was glowing. I didn't realize I was reaching for it until my own hand came into my peripheral vision. Suddenly it was like I was an outsider looking in. I could see myself lying on the floor on my stomach, reaching for the pen while my sleeve picked up some of the dust. An as my fingers closed around the pen and I felt the chilliness of it – which surprised me majorly since it was glowing like the sun itself and you'd think it would be warm – I was pulled back and everything was back to normal. I pulled myself form under the bed and shat up unto my knees. I let out a huff and pushed back my bangs that was sticking to my forehead due to the layer of sweat. My grandmothers pen. Why had it been glowing like that? I turned it around with my fingers to inspect it. It had stopped glowing as soon as I pulled it from under the bed but it still had this captivating feeling radiating from it.
I instinctively wanted to throw away the pen into the farthest corner there was in my bedroom, but my fingers had a mind of its own and wrapped themselves tightly around the thing. The voice had been inside my head this time. Like my own internal thoughts. But I was sure it had come from the pen. Or it was the pen that made the voice appear inside my head. Or – I don't know. I just knew this pen was creating the voice and was the source of my problems.
"Write with me."
The voice was distinct this time. I felt my legs lift me to my feet and turn me around but I wasn't actually conscious about the fact that I was willing my legs to carry me up and towards my desk. I wasn't telling my body to move. It was just doing it. It set itself down onto the desk chair, pulled open the only drawing that was part of the table and pulled out a notebook. I felt the texture of the wood of the desk and the hard cover of the notebook under my fingers as I carried out the motions my body made. My eyebrows pulled together as I watched my hands move on their own. I was thinking about holding them still but the just moved. My pulse quickened. Stop¸ I thought. Nothing happened. I willed my fingers to relax and drop the pen, however that only seemed to make my fingers tighten around the object even more. What was happening for god's sake?
"Stop it." I whimpered out loud to my body. But all that happened was that my hands opened the notebook and turned to an empty page. Then it took of the lid of the pen and just as the end of the pen touched the paper a rushing feeling shot through my head and my vision went blank.
YOU ARE READING
Dreamer of Death || A Open Novella Contest II Entry || IncompleteFantasy
A cursed family heirloom and vivid daydreams that seem to come alive once written down. At the night of her twentieth birthday, Thea's life takes an unusual turn and she's undecided if it's a good thing or not. Especially when people start getting...