Loved to Death

Jonathan Hill is home alone on a stormy night, babysitting his baby sister who won't stop crying. When he finds her room door oddly locked, it's only the beginning to a horror filled night.

The sun hung high in the midday sky. Family and friends had gathered under a large canopy tent to attend the grave-side service for Jonathan Hill's mother. The pastor conducting the service was reading from John 14:27, "Let not your heart be troubled..." when his words began to trail off, leaving him staring toward the back of the tent. 

 

"Can I help you?" The pastor asked a man, a doctor, standing just at the edge of the tent. The doctor was garbed in his surgical scrubs from head to toe. Those in attendance, including Jon and his father, who sat at the front nearest to the open casket, turned to look down the aisle at the sudden arrival. 

 

"I would like to say a few words," the doctor stated as he made his way down the walkway toward the front of the gathering. He stopped at the casket and positioned himself behind it, facing the family. 

 

"I'm so sorry... there wasn't anything more I could do..." he said, shaking his head from side to side. He then reached into the casket, pulling from it slowly a slimy, bloody, screaming new born baby girl. He held it toward the two.  

 

"I'm sorry!" 

 

Jon shot upright from the couch. His breathing was deep, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. "Just a dream," he breathed easily. The same dream had been plaguing his sleep ever since the move.  

 

"Change is healthy. It'll help to start somewhere new, somewhere to make new memories," His father had told him.  

 

"Help who?" He wished he had asked him then. It was hard enough for a fifteen year old to cope with the loss of his mother seven months ago, but to ask him to up and move, leaving behind everything he'd ever known? That was too much. 

 

Jon knew better, though. He knew the move was more for his father; he had been looking for a way out long before his mother's death.

 

Jon could still hear their late night fighting in his head, his father going on about how this wasn't the life he wanted and his mother calling him a coward, among other things. Nevertheless, no matter what had been said, screamed, or thrown, his mom would always come into his room after the situation had settled, sometimes her eyes red from crying or her voice hoarse from yelling, but she would assure him the same thing every time: "We'll always be a family," and would seal it with a kiss. 

 

There was a boom of thunder and a flash of lightning that sent Jon jumping out of thought. The storm had been raging on all night and showed no sign of letting up. From upstairs, he could make out his baby sister, Melissa, crying, likely brought on by the weather. Jon looked at the clock on the wall. "Nine-seventeen; Dad should be home soon," he reminded himself thankfully. Like most teens, he despised babysitting. 

 

Jon sprang off the sofa and headed to the staircase near the foyer. He reluctantly began to ascend the stairs, and with every step he took, his sister's crying became more and more audible over the unwavering storm outside. Just as he reached the second floor the lights cut off, freezing him where he was, only to flicker back to life a moment later. He breathed a sigh of relief as he continued into the hall towards his sister's room. 

 

Standing at Melissa's door, her shrieking became even worse: the kind of noise that made your teeth hurt like nails to a chalkboard or dry sand crunching beneath your bare toes. Jon reached for the knob. "What the..." He wondered, puzzled as to why the door wouldn't open. He tried the knob the other way then both ways again but with a bit more force. It still didn't budge. The door was locked. "But how?" 

 

Just when he thought the situation couldn't get any more difficult, the lights cut out once more, this time without powering back on. In the pitch black, things seemed heightened, silence twice as quiet and the slightest of noises amplified. His sister's crying was no exception, going from ear throbbing to ear piercing. Jon had to get to her for her sake and his sanity's. "The window!" The thought crossed his mind. There was a trellis under the window that he could climb. It seemed to be a good enough idea to a fifteen year old boy at least. 

 

Pushing through the dark, he cautiously made his way back down stairs, away from the maddening, dominating sounds of his sister's continual crying, back to where the storm's rage ruled. He went down the stairs, across the living room, followed along the wall, and into the kitchen where he found his way to the rear door that led to the backyard. He opened it to a strong blast of wind that swept the door from his grasp, slamming it against the wall. Wind and rain rushed inside in frenzy, sending Jon in a panic to quickly get the door closed, which he finally did leaning his weight against it. 

 

"Maybe I'll just wait for Dad to get home," he thought, second-guessing his not so ingenious plan. As if Melissa had read his mind, her screams seemed to erupt tenfold, batting back his most recent idea. Jon huffed, shaking his head in frustration at what he was about to do. He halfheartedly opened the backdoor once more, this time bracing it to hold the weather at bay, as he stood behind it like a shield peering out into the night. The storm was relentless: wild winds tossing the rain madly at all angles. 

 

Jon frowned before braving into the darkness where he was instantly drenched. Wasting no time, he moved across the porch; his eyes squinting in an attempt to look through the night and rain on his way towards his purpose. He kept running, off the patio, and onto the flooded grass until he stopped under Melissa's window. The eager teen leapt onto the trellis, scaling it as quickly as possible. Reaching the ledge, he pulled his top half up to look into the glass. There was nothing but blackness and his reflection staring back at him. Just as he went to open the window from the bottom, right before his very eyes, his own reflection appeared to fade into a pale woman's--his mother's. He gasped at the sight which startled him backward and sent him falling from the ledge. He hit the wet ground head and back first with a heavy thud. 

 

-- 

 

Jon's eyes blinked open. He was lying on the couch, completely soaked, with a throbbing headache. "How?" He questioned as he sat up, noticing the lights were back on. The teen remembered making a try for the window and slipping off the trellis, but "How did I get back in..." His sister's screams interrupted the thought. It had gotten to the point where he wanted to scream back at her, tell her to shut-up. Instead, he took a deep breath before rolling off the couch, and marching towards the stairs. Jon meant to get in that room if he had to kick down the door to do so.  

 

Just as he reached the foyer the distinct sound of metal crunching sounded outside, stopping him where he was. It dawned on him, his dad wasn't home yet, and it sent his heart plummeting into his gut, causing a sickening feeling. He hurriedly averted his course towards the front door where he swung the door open. The storm had let up, yet the boy hadn't noticed, for his eyes were fixed across the street on his father's blue car wrapped around the base of a large tree. Jon took off through the doorway, sprinting along the driveway, and straight across the street.

 

"Dad!" He screamed as he arrived at the scene. The car had t-boned the tree on the driver's side. His dad was motionless within the vehicle, and there was a splat of crimson where the tree and driver's side window had met.

 

"Dad!" Jon screamed once more. Tears brought on by fear had already begun to pool up in the corners of his eyes. He frantically scrambled around the car, making his way to the passenger side but halted. Something caught his eye. 

 

Squinting through his tears, he looked down to the end of the street--the direction his dad had been coming--there stood a woman in a white hospital gown. It was an apparition of his mother.

 

Jon couldn't breathe; he couldn't speak or move. It felt like an ice cube had melted down the arch of his back and had frozen him in place. The tears; however, continued now streaming down his cheeks.

 

There was a crack of lightning that lit the sky, and she was gone, leaving Jon sobbing and powerless to move. He tried to grasp exactly what he had seen, but his mind was a blur of mass confusion: of panic, terror, and uncertainty. It reached out for one thought. "Get help." 

 

"Get help." Jon told himself again. The thought forced him to move, making a mad dash back to the house. He didn't dare look back at the wreck; he could only attempt to convince himself, "He's okay... He's okay... He's going to be okay."  

 

The teen nearly ran through the door on his way inside. He went for the kitchen where the portable house phone was mounted. "Nine, one, one." Jon recited the numbers as he punched them in and brought the receiver to his ear. There was nothing. The lines were down. He was on the verge of tears once more when he noticed the silence. It was a silence he would have welcomed earlier but now dreaded. Jon listened closely. There was only the faint sound of the storm rolling on in the distance outside. His sister's crying had ceased. 

 

The boy placed the phone back on the base and warily began to walk from the kitchen toward the stairs. Gradually, he made his way up to the second floor, pressing forward through the silence, down the hall, and stopping at Melissa's door that was now eerily ajar. Jon carefully eased it open, stepping over the threshold and into the room. Bit by bit he closed the distance between him and his sister's crib until he was standing over it looking into it... Melissa was lying there unmoving, voiceless, and totally lifeless.  

 

"Oh, God." The words rolled weakly from his trembling lips. 

 

From behind him, a tranquil humming washed over him like a wave. It was a familiar woman's voice, one he could have never forgotten. The hairs on his neck stiffened, his heart was pounding, threatening to punch from his chest, and his breathing became difficult. Each breath seemed more feeble and unable to appease his lungs. 

 

"Jonny..." The haunting voice whispered, calling to him. It felt like a gentle chilling breeze. 

 

"Jonny..." It welcomed the teen again, urging him to turn and face her. 

 

Jon gulped and slowly turned to the voice--to his mother--sitting in the rocking chair, gently swaying back and forth, Melissa in her arms, and his father standing beside them. Jon's eyes went wide; he was instantly fear stricken, incapable of releasing the scream of horror bottled up in his throat. 

 

"Come see your sister." The ghost smiled. 

 

Jon remained unable to blink or speak. He had begun to inch toward the door and was soon easing himself out of the room in reverse; his eyes never once leaving the three. He backed out of the room, down the hall, and was just about to turn to make it down the stairs when the lights cut out again. The power immediately flickered back on only to reveal Jon's mother within kissing distance of his face. He gasped and threw himself back, stumbling before tumbling down the stairs.  

 

The boy lay dead at the bottom of the stair case, his neck broken from the fall. 

 

They were a family again...

Reviews

[Rasteely]

"In the pitch black, things seemed heightened, silence twice as quiet and the slightest of noises amplified." I think this was my favorite line. It reminds me of making my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I never turn on the lights because I don't want to wake up somebody else up. The noises and sounds all around seem to get so much louder and creepier.

[J.S. Wayne]

Wow. This was absolutely harrowing. Confusing at a couple of points, but truly, genuinely scary. Nicely done!

[Brian W. Hastings]

Loved the beginning hook. Also the way you describe the situations using more than one of the five senses is a great trick most writers overlook. The ending was a twisted one where the loved one was feared. All in all, this is a great horror story.

[Jūdan FyreHeart]

The build up was well done; it was illogical and emotional enough to make it very believable. The imagery was nicely done, although the storm idea could be cliche it did add to the atmosphere. The ending was very tidy and smooth. =)

[Jill Wallflower]

Well, despite the thunder and lightning storm chliche of a horror story, it was really good. There was emotion, but not too little and not too much. The build up to the end was good, and i couldn't stop reading so that's a good thing. The last line also added so much more to it, showing realisation o what just happened.

[numbers17]

The thunder and lightning bit was cliché. When writing horror you want to make sure that you avoid common themes if you want to be really original. If you are using common themes make sure that they stand out in a way that the reader doesn't recognize the cliché.

Otherwise a solid, albeit typical, horror story. You just need to hone your craft is all. Give it time and energy and I am sure that you will write something truly horrifying.