1-Paragraph Horror Story Wrong. The door ajar. The lights out. My legs devour the porch steps, and I fling the door completely open. No glow of clocks or electronics. All wrong. I call out, and my voice echoes on the hardwood floor. The only response is the bead of sweat on my brow, which means the air condition has been off for some time. I rush to the bedroom, bumping and turning over meaningless things as I go. Bedroom door is closed which should not be. I fling it open, crashing against its stop. My eyes strain to see through the pitch. There is horror in the darkness inside the windowless room she wanted as relief for the pains in her mind. A squeaking horrible sound pierces the darkness and trembles my eardrums. It’s the closet door that she’s asked me to oil. Following the sound is a light. Could it be her? She’s always been my light. The candle burns a few feet closer. I see not my love, but her blood on the face of the monster who has devoured her. LewisAleman Twitter @RealLewisAleman FB - LewisAlemanAuthor
Posted on: Mon, 13 Oct 2014 23:13:57 +0000
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