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I'm trying my damnedest to get back into writing because people have been bugging me to. So gently caress it, I'mma get IN UP IN THIS WITCH.
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Oct 8, 2018 02:51
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 02:42 |
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Screams in the basement "George," Josephine murmured, her thin, arthritic fingers gently grasping, shaking her husband's shoulder as he lay sleeping next to her. "George, I hear it again." George awoke with a start at the sound of his wife's voice, and he turned to blearily look at her. She was pale, eyes wide and bright in the near-darkness of the room, illuminated only by the streetlights outside. "Don't worry about it," George muttered, concern and sleepiness warring in his voice. He sounded so tired. "Go back to sleep. Please. It's probably just the house." "Houses creak," Josephine shuddered. "They don't scream. George, I'm scared." "It's nothing to worry about," George pushed, eyes closed, voice distant with sleep. "It happens every night. Just go back to sleep for once, Josie." Josephine crawled out of bed without a sound, shivering faintly despite the midsummer warmth. She glided softly along the old wooden stairs and across the living room floor, deathly afraid of making noise. She trembled slightly, nightgown flowing behind her through the dark and quiet house. She did not breathe, her lips were a taut line, her heart was still, her eyes stared straight ahead. She arrived at the sturdy basement door, always so securely locked. She slipped a hand around the doorframe and found the key George kept hidden there, unlocked the heavy lock, and swung the door open with an angry creak from its hinges. She replaced the key into its not-so-secret niche, then stepped forward and flicked on the light. A bloodied shape writhed at the bottom of the basement stairs. It looked up at her, raising a broken, twisted hand, then released the same terrible, pitiful wail that had awakened her from her fitful sleep. The most horrific part was its face: ruined, smashed, agonized... Hers. She tried to back away, lost her footing, and slipped. She fell hard down the sturdy wooden steps, a cacophony of cracks and pops erupting from her brittle form with every impact. She landed in a broken heap in the floor, her nightgown torn and bloodied. She looked up at the figure at the top of the stairs and raised a gnarled hand toward it, sobbing raggedly. She convulsed, tried to rise, and fell forward, gurgling as blood flooded her lungs from a broken rib. George stood at the top of the stairs just before the open door and shook his head. There was no fear on his face, no horror or shock. Just weary resignation as he shut off the light and closed the door with a click. "Every night. Every drat night. God, I'm tired." George sighed, tears bright in his eyes as he walked back to the room that had been his and his alone since the first -- and, truly, last -- time his wife went to investigate the basement. That had been his and his alone since he'd went back to sleep and let her go on her own. His and his alone since she lay there, screaming and gasping until well into the next morning, when she fell silent. His alone, save for the few precious hours she lay beside him before waking to repeat her fate. "You never listen, Josie. God, you never listen."
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Oct 27, 2018 02:46
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