After days of organizing our new home, my family and I finally felt the satisfaction of settling in.
I'm huddled in my bed, my notepad in hand, as I try to come up with ideas for my book.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to focus on the page in front of me, but the feeling of writer's block was like a heavy weight in my chest.
"Shoot, I've only just started and I'm already stifled by a lack of imagination!"
I searched the walls of my spacious new bedroom for any hints of inspiration, but none were revealed.
"Ugh, why!?"
I felt so overwhelmed by my frustration that I picked up my notebook with blank pages and threw it onto my bed.
The room was eerily quiet as I sat, my thoughts filled with doubt about the future of my writing career.
My new bedroom was much larger than my old one, with more than enough space to move around. I finally decorated the room in the Sailor Moon theme I'd always dreamed of - the walls were filled with magical symbols and characters. Although many people might view my love of Sailor Moon as childish, I don't think being childish is about what you like or what your tastes are. To me, those who deem others inferior because of their interests and passions are the most immature.
I got up from my bed and felt the softness of the carpet beneath my feet as I examined every detail in my bedroom. My closet was large, white and adorned with colorful 3d sailor moon stickers. When I opened my closet, I was greeted with an array of vibrant colors, arranged into a rainbow with precise organization.
The closet in my previous home was so tiny that it was necessary to pile up the clothes, and it was always a shock when I opened the doors and the clothes would jump out at me.
I ran my hand along the smooth walls of my closet, admiring the way everything was so neatly arranged and color-coordinated. My wardrobe comprises a plethora of bright colors and adorable patterns, just like Usagi, the protagonist of Sailor Moon. I closed the closet doors and turned around.
The walls are a blushing pink, and the bed is big, white, and its sheets have a sweet star and moon design.
Twinkling fairy lights draped around my bed give the room a tranquil, magical feel. Also, in the walls, I have many pretty sailor moon posters adorned with sparkly star stickers that are firmly affixed to the wall.
I stroll up to my laptop table, taking in the sight of my Sailor Moon figures lined up neatly on the shelves. When I looked at Sailor Mercury, her sweet, humble smile was captivating. The magical old-looking notebook she was carrying matched her pretty blue skirt and white top.
I repeated the words, "old-looking notebook," as I ran my fingers over the figure. The memory of the dusty notebook I had found in the attic of my old house suddenly flooded my mind!
"Where had I stashed it away?" I took a moment to think.
I opened the closet and felt the weight of the boxes of writing materials and notebooks as I searched through them. The sound of rustling paper greeted me when I opened the various boxes where I stored notebooks, books, and other stationery items.
"Where did I put it?" I posed the question to myself again, my words bouncing off the walls as my cat snuggled in the soft carpet.
I have those plush carpets that Napoleon loves to roll around in, and his contented purrs fill the room comfortingly. I reached down to give my fat cat Napoleon a stroke, telling him, "You are so adorable".
Unexpectedly, I heard a box tumble, and the old notebook I was searching for emerged, almost as if it was telling me, "Here I am."
"Oh wow, next time, hiss or something, ok maybe not hiss, my cat would freak out, chirp then?"
Without considering the mess scattered across the floor, I snatched the notebook and leapt onto my bed. I yanked the pen off the nightstand, and the cold plastic felt reassuring against my fingers as I scribbled away, "This notebook belongs to Dove".
As I wrote my name on the paper, the lights in my room slowly dimmed and turned off. Outside, the air was getting cooler, as I peered through the window, I could see my neighbor's house lit up with the glow of light reflecting off the windows, making me feel scared because I had just replaced all the lamps in my house with energy-efficient ones to save power and benefit the environment. I shivered as I got up from my bed and quickly shut the window, trying to keep the cold air from entering the room.
As soon as the lights went out, the air in my room chilled so suddenly that I could almost feel the breath leaving my lungs.
"OK, this is so weird!"
I glanced away from the window and noticed that the corridor light beyond my door was still lit, so I realized the issue was only with my bedroom lights.
This all happened when I wrote the last "e" of my name. It suddenly cast the bedroom in darkness from the lamp on my bedside table and the ceiling lamp.
I ran to my bedroom door and discovered that someone had locked it.
My voice echoed through the room as I screamed, "I never locked it!" I loathed the feeling of being trapped inside a place, as if I was being suffocated.
I jiggled the handle, but the door remained firmly shut.
"MUM, MUM!" My voice trembled as I shouted for her, my heart pounding with fear.
I shivered, my skin crawling with goosebumps as the feeling of uneasiness settled around me. Goosebumps prickled my skin as if tiny needles were poking me, and I heard a faint, mysterious whisper coming from the shadows. I felt as though I was being watched by something unseen. It's a sensation that's all too familiar, like when you catch someone staring at you on a bus.
Should I look behind me? Imagining the worst, I was hesitant to turn around. My body was as still as a statue, my heart beating in my chest like a galloping horse, and I could feel the sweat dripping down my face.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever might wait for me. I'm a firm believer in the supernatural, and with this being a new house, I can't help but think of all the horror movies I've saw where families moved in and an evil presence was waiting for them.
I spun around in a panic and there it was - a tall figure standing by my bedside, its long nails glinting in the dim light. Its body was skeletal, and it had no clothes, its eyes glowing a sinister yellow-red and fixed on me.
"MUM!!" My throat felt raw as I screamed again, the high-pitched sound reverberating around me.
My mum always used headphones while she's in the kitchen... she can't hear me.
As the figure moved closer to me, it was shaking and jerking as though it was being controlled by an otherworldly power, and my heart was racing as I watched it draw nearer. The creaking of the joints of this thing as it moved sent a chill down my spine.
My heart was beating so fast, it felt like it was hammering in my chest and the sound of it was thunderous in my ears.
I quickly scrambled away from the door, feeling the cold sweat dripping down my forehead and hearing the loud and menacing growl of the demon. I tried to scream for my mum a third time, but my words were stuck in my throat, my fear paralyzing me.
"M-u-u-m-m" I could barely hear it in the silence, a stutter coming from my lips.
The thing made a sudden movement towards me, and before I realized what was happening, it had his big hand firmly around my neck. I was no longer in contact with the ground, and it took away my breath in an instant.
My eyes filled with tears as my breath became shallow. 'Is this the end for me?' I thought, smelling the musty air of the impending darkness. I felt my vision becoming distorted as the edges blurred and my head felt light from being deprived of oxygen. I had the realization that the end was imminent.
The end of me.
Just as I was about to succumb to the darkness, I heard a loud screech and felt my cat Napoleon jump and scare the creature away. I heard the monster growl as he slowly released his hold on me.
I desperately needed oxygen and all I could do was cough, trying to take back what had been taken away from me. As I was regaining my strength, I glanced up and saw my cat Napoleon valiantly struggling against the monster, its claws poised to strike.
I could see the malicious intent in the monster's eyes, and I knew it was going to hurt my cat. I rose with rage, and screamed, "LEAVE US ALONE!"
I frantically scanned my surroundings for something I could use to strike the demon.
Beside me was a baseball bat. I felt the rush of adrenaline as I realized this was my window of opportunity. I'm going to unleash this fury inside of me on this demon.
I picked up the bat and, releasing a guttural yell, swung it with all my power at the demon.
Nothing happened as I looked back at the demon, my poor cat still trying to fight this evil monster, the smell of sulfur lingering in the air.
The demon's voice was low and menacing as he spun around and spoke to me.
"Do you want Ice cream?"
"What?!" I gasped in surprise at the unexpected question.
He asked the same question again, his voice booming through the room.
"DO YOU WANT ICE CREAM, DOVE?"
My mum shook me awake, and I opened my eyes to her smiling face. I was slick with sweat, my heart thundered in my chest, my mouth felt like sandpaper.
"MUM! Napoleon and I are in trouble - a monster is coming for us!" I told her, my arms waving wildly as I became increasingly hysterical.
"Hey, Dove, it was just a nightmare. That's what happens when you immerse yourself in horror and write about it. Have you ever tried writing about romance?" My mum tried to comfort me. She believes that horror stories cause the mind to wander into dangerous and dark places, which could lead to people going crazy.
"If writing horror is something you want to do, I'm here for you, but I know it will give you bad dreams." She put her hand on my shoulder and then tenderly stroked my hair, her words of encouragement ringing in my ears.
Even though I didn't agree with her, I felt a strong connection to her unconditional support for my writing, and I must respect her opinion. Despite the potential for nightmares, I will continue to strive for my goal of writing horror stories.
She asked again, her voice soft and inquisitive.
"Would you like some ice cream? Dad brought us some icy treats from the ice cream truck in the neighborhood, and they are waiting for you in the kitchen."
She got up from the bed.
"Ah! The ice cream truck man crept your dad out, and he doesn't think he'll be going back for more." and a chuckle escaped her. "If you had seen your dad's reaction, he was so spooked by the ice cream truck man."
The thought lit up my mind like a firework! That's just the element I need for my story.
"Omg, mum thanks, you're the best! When you spoke, it was like a lightbulb went off in my head - I now have an idea for my story." As I spoke, her face lit up with a smile.
"I'm glad!" she exclaimed. "Let's go get some cold, creamy ice cream."
I looked at the old notebook I found in the attic. It now lay on the bed with "This notebook belongs to Dove" written in black ink. Now I recall what happened. I wrote that and then closed my eyes to focus on ideas and drifted off to sleep...
I grabbed the notebook, my laughter ringing out in the quiet air, feeling finally relaxed after the harrowing nightmare. I jotted down the title for my book.
"Ice Cream - You Scream!"
"Ahh, perfect," I murmured, placing the book back in my bed before making my way to the kitchen for a cool, creamy treat.
I was now in the kitchen, and the aroma of my favorite ice cream, chocolate with almonds, filled the room.
"Thanks dad! So what happened with the ice cream truck man?"
I was eager to find out what could have scared my dad, since he was so fearless and strong-willed. Perhaps he'd give me some thrilling ideas for my story as well!
"His appearance was so menacing that it seemed like he had stepped out of one of the horror movies that you love to watch. If I was a kid, I would run and scream for my mom and dad, as if he was one of those evil monsters that eat little children."
"Is that all?" I asked, my heart sinking with disappointment as I had expected something more dark and sinister.
"Not just that, no... I noticed a finger in the ice cream maker machine... I was about to tell him that... when he switched it on and the finger was all chopped up and blended into the ice cream - it even changed the colour from white vanilla to a deep red..." My dad ran his hand through his hair before continuing his narrative about the strange man from the ice cream truck.
"When the sinister man realized I had spotted... that thing... the cut finger, he called his wife and then stepped away, taking her place in the truck's front with a heavy sigh. When his wife served me. The ice cream was being scooped out of the packages and I knew I wouldn't have to worry about any unwanted additions in the ice cream."
I looked at him, still not knowing how to react. I heard my brain buzz with confusion and felt my eyebrows rise in disbelief.
"Are you sure it was a finger?" I posed the question to my dad, struggling to comprehend the idea of someone chopping off fingers and stirring them into the ice cream.
My dad said, "Dove, yes, I'm sure..." with a hint of stress in his voice, and I could tell it bothered him I didn't believe him right away. He was usually so calm, but I could sense the tension in him as he assured me.
"Alright, if you say so. Do you think this guy is a psychopath? Should we call the police?" I nervously queried my dad.
"Honestly, I'm not sure. Let's just leave it be for now. If I see anything suspicious, I'll let someone know. So I asked the neighbor's next door, who were hard at work, pruning their garden. They said they didn't notice any peculiar behavior from the ice cream truck guy, so let's let it go for now." My dad licked the last bit of ice cream off of his spoon while telling me.
I savored the last bit of creamy sweetness from my ice cream before I returned to my room and opened my "new" notebook, determined to capture the ideas before they escaped. When my dad met the ice cream truck man, it was a creepy encounter, but it turned out to be a blessing in disguise - for me.
As a gust of wind blew through my bedroom, the open notebook on my bed shifted and halted on pages that were filled with words I had never seen before.
"Hold on! This handwriting is not mine, and I didn't notice any writing before..." I examined the notebook more carefully and discovered stories within it, signaling that the owner of the notebook must have been a storyteller. How intriguing!
I saw a lot of empty pages ready for me to fill with my story, but the other half of the notebook was filled with someone else's words. Maybe I could get some creative ideas while I'm here that I could apply to my Ice Cream - You Scream story?
Total words: 4581