Preview
Bloody footsteps.
They drip down the creaking wooden floorboard. A roaring chainsaw rings down the empty corridors. The wind carries his final songs as the moon hangs behind the clouds.
I sit upon the silken bed with its cream covers staring at the burials through the window. An ominous odor oozes out the lonely graveyard behind the Inn. I cannot blink my dove eyes away from a peculiar grave. Whereas the rest were decorated with grandiose marble- the middle one was made with muddy cement. The gravestone speaks to me in hushed whispers. Sometimes in the late of midnight, there came soft messages. Other times, they would distressingly scream to be seen. Whenever I would stare -a dominating aura- would force itself upon me. Slipping undone the bed sheets, and grasping the pillows as I continue to stare in a looming trance. Unable to break away, I would hear the field crackle with the pop of the occasional lightening. The rotting daisy flowers besides me wilt even more. A mixture of excitement and pain rapidly overcomes my body in the heated moment. The ruffles on my night dress creep up my thighs as I amble closer to the window. I shift closer toward the subtle gazes of the courtyard. Hardly anything was tranquil about it. A mystifying lore enchanted me to give attention to the lonely skeleton buried underneath.
The doorknobs turns. I sharply avert my attention with a cherry tint setting upon my cheeks. Down the hall, I can hear the heavy footsteps nearing for minutes. I prayed he would not pry upon my door at this late hour. The door slowly creeks open with his hands curling around the door frame.
It is him. My prayers have not been answered. He has come to bother me in the stark midnight as the rain pelts down. The static sounds of the droplets fit his shifting appearance. One minute he is elated as a young boy, the other he holds the violent temper of a drunken young man. He stands arrogantly fixed upon me as if I called him over. His tall stature silhouetted against the dim lighting of the candle. A musky shadow hangs over his dark bangs. I cannot read his expression in the opaque atmosphere. His pearly whites silting upwards as a chilly breeze climbs my spine. The spark of flame dies down in the candle besides us.
The grandfather clock strikes 1 a.m. The rain outside screams in my final moments. The soul of the wind howl furiously in the storm. I can no longer glance at the grave-tomb outside. He demands all my attention. His plush lips slither down my vulnerable neck. I gaze upwards with my vision cloudy. There is an intoxicating fury that warns me in the back of my mind.
He pulls me closer in a cold embrace.
He is not human.
YOU ARE READING
Room 175
HorrorOnce upon a time, demons and ghosts roam Bloom Academy's halls. Bookish Willow remains skeptical over them. An unexpected detention lands Willow in night duty. Where all the doors lock and blood runs thinly down the wall. Invisible screams and punge...
