Chapter 2

The room is not what it seems it is....

2

I sit in the kitchen; it’s 1 o’clock, yet another night without sleep. The light is bright, burning my eyes a little bit. The water is soothing as it goes down my throat. I sit still, thinking of nothing, my mind looking straight into the wall; concentrating, looking for something.

A frantic knock on the front door startles me. I jerk my head to the noise, looking away from the wall. I am not going to get up a voice goes off in my head. I ignore it. I can feel my heart race inside my ribcage, building pressure in my throat. I cannot move. I stand up from the chair, walking over the floor to my bedroom. There wasn’t another knock, all is silent, even the wind lays down. My eyes are weary from the little sleep. I really need to get some sleep.  

“S**T,” I curse softly as I walk past the mirror, my reflection in the dark, scaring me; my legs almost collapse. The passage to my room looks daunting, stretching a vast number of meters, into the darkness. There is no light, no moon to show me what lies beyond the darken floors.

It is only your mind playing tricks on you! You only need some sleep that is all! I say after hearing a noise in the living room. Every footstep on the cold tiles creates echoes bouncing off the wall, alarming me each time I put my foot down. You are going to kill yourself. Go to sleep!

A cold wind enters the room making its way up into my back, raising all my senses and creating goose bumps over my body. I turn around slowly, looking into the direction of the back door, staring in horror as I look. The door is wide open, the curtains blowing freely in the wind. I locked the door?

The rigid tiles press hard against the soft flesh in my feet. I close the door, and turn the key, disrupting the silence that hangs in the air. I turn it as quick as possible; getting uncomfortable where I stand in the dark room. The light switch is only a couple of centimetres away from my face. I lift my hand to switch it on, I move my finger upwards. The light is not on.

 “Fu...” I stumble over my own feet. My hands immediately try to cover up my face; I try to get away, but walk backwards into the cupboard. I struggle to get away; to move my legs over the floor, I feel trapped. My legs start to tremble, my heart won’t stop accelerating. On the white floor a stream of blood lie. My eyes follow the trail, tracking every detail. My eyes stop with shock, my heart jumps a beat, and my eyes jerk away from my newly found treasure. In the middle of the floor, lying in its own blood is figure, disembowel probably by hand. I fall to my knees, on the cold-hard floor. “Jesus what is this,” I say loud, breaking the silence in the room.

            “This is not a dream,” a hoarse voice says, laughing softly, creating a light breeze on my ear. I open my eyes again, looking straight into the body lying across our floor. My hands are shaking, my legs trembling; I can feel him stand behind me. A hand moves its way over my shoulder. Cracks filled the hand, or only the part I see; gloves covering his hands except the finger tips. Under his nails there is dirt, and some of the fingernails are broken.

“It won’t hurt a bit, Son,” I stare in shock as his voice stretches the word son. Is it my father? Who is it? I turn around...

It slides with no effort into my neck. I know it is a knife, or blade. I can’t breathe. There isn’t time for tears. Blood flow out of my neck; I stand helpless, my hands dangling on the sides of my body. A single tear drop form in my left eye; dropping to the floor with a stream of red blood. I fall to my knees. My head hit the floor. My eyes close. I can hear the footsteps of someone walking over the floor. I try to open my eyes, but it is hopeless.

 

I am lying on the bathroom floor. The tiles are cold, pressing hard against my body. Quickly I stand up, grabbing my neck. I start to search for any signs of a cut; there is nothing. Red lines encircle my eyes, blood beneath the skin. I have a head ache from the cold floor, or I think it is because of it.

I walk out of the bathroom into my room. On my bed is a note, yellow with stains on them. The paper is soft in my hands, but small. Slowly I open the note; a white flower falls out of it, hitting the floor. White powder explodes into the air; pollen spray all over my floor. It wasn't a dream is scribbled over the yellow paper, in my own handwriting. The paper swiftly sways out the window, taken by a gust of wind; it flies over the streets, coming to a rest on a piece of lawn. I close the window and pull the curtains close.

The room is dark. I walk away, out of my room. Entering the next room, I feel something on my shoulder. It is ash. The room is full of old furniture. The walls are covered with thick black moss. As I step into the room, the door closes with a loud screech. I turn my body around, looking at the door. It is locked. The pain shoots into my arms, blood dripping from the door. Slowly I back down, walking away from the door. I look at my hands, blood dripping slowly from them, a splash on the ground. White pieces of paint mix with the raw flesh of my hand. Monochromatic colours fill the room, grey ash fall from the ceiling. A thick layer lies on the ground, making the floor a soft bed of ash. I walk over the soft floor, pain throbbing in my hand. I sit on the chair, the only one in the room that is not covered with plastic wrapping. A cloud of grey ash form around me as I sit down; falling to the floor shortly after. I rip a piece of my t-shirt apart, wrapping my hand with the brown cloth. I pull the edges, tightening them to stop the blood. The raw flesh burn, excruciating pain fills my hand. Fu*k.   

“Jessi? Is that you darling,” I stand up from the chair. “How did you get in? The door is locked,” my voice travels in the room. She sits on the bed, eyes filled with tears, shining in the little light. Pink skirt, blue top, the only colour in the room. I walk closer to her; her eyes not smiling like they use to. Her hands are still on her lap, her blond hair lies still on her shoulders, her mouth shut. I walk up to her, taking her hands in mine, “Are you okay?”

Blood escapes out of her mouth, throwing up on me. She smiles, the blood dripping down her lips. The blue top is covered in the red stains of her own blood. “Who are you,” my voice trembles as it comes out of my mouth, tears rolling down my face while I hold her gentle in my arms. Her skin is soft against my cold flesh.

“Hey,” she looks up to me, blood still slowly dripping down her mouth. In her eyes there is something else, cold, hard, hate. It is not her. I stand up, almost throwing her body against the bed. Her skirt is damp; spit and blood lie on her minute body. My tears dry up, turning into hatred. “Who are you,” I shout across the quiet room. She only manages to smile, her eyes smiling with her; hiding the hate. The ash falling turns into red droplets. I fall over two chairs, hurting my ankles.

She stands up, portraying a different picture. The skin on her face turns to ash; clouds of dust form as the red drops fall on her. Finally the weight is too much; she falls to the ground, engulfed by rain of ash falling on the ground. I stand in the corner, throbs in my hand, fear in my mind. I stand, looking in shock. I stand in the corner, not knowing what to do.

Author's Note

i havent reread it... but think everything is in present??

Reviews

[Shep]

Still in shock as the blood keeps coming awesome write moving on to your next chapter.

[Jeremy Haynes]

Pretty good. I did not catch many errors, very good.

[Raya Avans]

I have a problem with switching between present and past tense in my writing too, so I know when reviewing it you have to be very thorough and it takes time, one sentence at a time. Agreeing with KAOlmsted, I think you should slow it down. Use the way she suggest to do it also, or at least I would. I think that would take this to a whole new level. She may be harsh but she is offering you a lot of helpful words of wisdom.

~ rae

[((Teenage_Poet_Loser))]

hahaha i just coppied and pasted this story.. i nver reviewed it... i dont undrstand.. but busy doing it over.. dont wory..

[KAOlmsted]

oh my...where to begin.

The first and most obvious error is your tense. Either write in the past or present tense, never in both unless, of course, your protagonist in the present tense is remembering something from the past, and then you may slip into past tense. But never never never in the same paragraph, or the same sentence. It's confusing.

I think I understand the pace of the story; you are trying for fast paced and suspenseful but what emerges is sort of jumbled together. I think if you slow down a bit, maybe draw out the action and intersperse it with the psychological terror your protagonist obviously feels, this would be a much more successful piece.

A bit of simple advice: use the spelling and grammar correctors that almost every version of word offers; there are just too many here to mention them all. Hope this helped.
-kimmer

[Jeremy Haynes]

I didn't see many errors, very good, kind of like my fav author Stephen King.