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The Figure

By Amelia Blank All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Fantasy

Chapter 1

The figure stood tall against the bleak blackness of the darkened house. I stood frozen with fear, my hand clutching the banister. It’s impressive form began to shift forward. I stood there at the top of the stairs, for what seemed like an eternity as I watched this monstrous shadow among ink black darkness slowly move its impossible body toward me. My senses finally came to me and I ran up the stairs toward my room at the end of the hall. I slammed the door behind me and fumbled to lock the door. I struggled to imagine the hulking thing dealing with something as human as door handles. I stumbled my way to the window and tried pull it open. It stuck, as if it were glued or welded shut. My strength had left me the only time I ever needed it. I could sense the death making its way up the stairs. I could hear each creak and moan of every step. I looked out at the pitch black street below me. Empty, and cold and coated in rain water. The fall looked as though it could be devastating and leave me broken, bleeding and immobile. The risk was worth it to get outside the damned house. I grabbed whatever I could to break the glass. I pulled books off of their shelves, and heaved the heaviest ones at the window in hopes that it would shatter. There was not a crack. I pulled out the shelves themselves from the bookcase, heavy thick wood, and swung them against the glass. The wood splintered from the force, but the window somehow remained intact. I slumped to the ground, letting the chuck of useless wood fall from my hands. I let out a howl of frustration. I leaned my back against my bed and began to sob to myself. It had come for me. I couldn’t escape it. It wouldn’t let me. It came for me, and it will have me. I sat there and just listened. I heard the walls pop and swell as the thing lumbered down the hallway. I could hear the thing scrap against the ceiling with its towering frame. I heard each immense step and I could feel it reach the door. I could hear the wood bend around the handle as it reached out to touch it. I crawled onto my bed and slunk into the corner. I pressed myself against the wall and closed my eyes. I tried to will it all to not exist. To pretend I was suffering some strange, vivid, hallucination. A nightmare aping the sensations that belong to reality. But each shattering bang on the door reminded me how real this nightmare was. Each booming knock shaking me. I screamed out “Get away! You shouldn’t have found me! It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have found me!”The door shook with furious force. “You’re not real! You’re just nonsense!…Go away…”The door’s hinges bent and cracked and walls reverberated from the impact. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! I’VE DONE NOTHING!” I screamed, tears pouring down my cheeks. I shut my eyes up tightly and shook my head. “THIS IS NOT FAIR! THIS CAN’T BE REAL!GO AWAY!!” The door began to splinter and crack. Pieces of the solid oak door flew across the room, and pierced the walls. I wrapped my face up in blankets. My wet, hot breath circulated in and out of me. I had prepared to be snatched away. I had prepared to never see my room again. Never feel the cold air against my skin or the sun beat down on my face. I had prepared for death.But then there was silence. The creaking and breaking had stopped. The banging against the door had quieted. The strain on the walls ceased and I was left alone, again, in an empty house. I slowly lowered my blankets and surveyed the room. Chunks of wood was strewn around my floor. I quietly and deliberately made my way to the door, trying not to trip over the books that littered my path. My fingers fumbled with the lock as my hands shook. I turned the doorknob, preparing to meet the figure in the dark, but as I pulled the door open, there was nothing. My eyes darted around the hall as I made my way to the top of the stairs again. I looked down at the living room and there was nothing there either. I quickly ran into my room and grabbed a piece of what was left of my shelf for protection and wandered down the stairs. I listened for anything strange. Any bends and cracks. Any creaks and murmurs. I slowly wandered each room, clenching my splintered weapon. As I checked the bathroom, the lights began to flicker on. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and startled myself. I swung wildly and smashed the glass to pieces. “God damn it! Dammit!” I shouted as I realized I attacked nothing and sent shattered glass to the floor. I leaned against the wall and tried desperately to catch my breath. I let my improvised weapon fall to the ground. For several minutes I just sat there breathing deeply and heavily. I eventually found my way into the re-lit downstairs hallway. I staggered my way into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. I felt the cool liquid make it’s way through me and I felt something warm make its way down my hand. I looked down and saw blood dripping to the floor from my fingertips. I opened my hand and saw my palm was torn and shredded and I saw small splinters of wood lodged into the stream of red pouring its way down my fingers. I wandered back down the hall into the linen closet and grabbed a wash cloth and wrapped it around my hand. Its white, soft texture quickly turned wet with a deep red. I found my way back in the bathroom. I looked down at the shards of mirror that covered the floor and saw little glimpses of myself grabbing the piece of shelf up off the ground. I slowly dragged it behind me as I made my way back upstairs. Every step felt like it took a thousand years. I grew more and more tired and light headed. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the blood loss or just the sudden realization that, no matter how alone I felt in that house, I wasn’t. And it wasn’t with pleasant company. I reached the top of the stairs and looked down the upstairs hall at my door. It was whole. No cracks, not bends. No pieces missing. I ran as fast as I could toward my room and ran my hands against the door. It was real and undamaged. Slowly, I opened the door to see my books still thrown around the room along with pieces of shelf. I turned my eyes to the window, where it was shattered and the wind threw the drapes wildly. I rushed to it and touched it. The window too was real and very much damaged. I looked down at the street and saw several of hardcovers soaking in five inches of rain water. I ran out of my room and looked down at the living room and saw nothing but a blood trail left from my shredded palm and an empty house.Start writing here ...

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