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Hanging by a Thread

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“An invisible red thread connects two people who were destined to be together since the moment they were born. The string can be stretched and tangled, however it can never break"

Horror / Mystery
Bone Zone
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

“An invisible red thread connects two people who were destined to be together since the moment they were born. The string can be stretched and tangled, however it can never break no matter what time or circumstance. They are bound to each other the whole of their lives, the only real challenge is finding them- or them finding you.”

Jaw tense, and shoulders rigid, Ryan tightened the harsh grasp that he had on his book, the tips of his clammy fingers turning a sickly pale colour from the pressure that was forced into the stiff cover. Moist had built up in his sapphire orbs, causing his vision to blur and his teeth clicked together in a grimace worthy sound as he clenched them shut abruptly with a harsh force. The veins in his hands had rose out of the surface of his pale heated flesh in a striking manner and his skin seemed to have tightened around his bones, making them to seem almost skeletal as he dug his blunt nails into the creased spine. Dishevelled blond locks clung to a pale crinkled forehead from underneath a dark blue knitted beanie and his loose clothes practically hung off his slim stiff form.

Ignoring it seemed to be the best option at first- letting it seep into the murky abyss of his mind where all of his darkest desires lingered and leaving it to fester at the edge of his fragile sanity. It wasn’t very hard, he had been young still any way and nobody but his parents were concerned about his possible soul mate. However, as his friends grew up around him, merely watching as each of them grouped off with their Others to; live together, get married and have children; a burning sensation had started to develop in his pinkie finger, an agonising reminder that his thread hadn’t been connected to someone. Everyday life had slowly became a living nightmare, walking past all of the happy couples in the park, or being forced to watch his blissful colleagues at work go around their day, every single one of them possessing a thin red thread that connected them to their Other.

A sound that could only be described as a growl rumbled from his chest and escaped his hearse throat from between his gritted teeth. It made bile rise to his throat as he caught peoples pitying looks on the streets from the corner of his eye. It wasn’t fair. It was supposed to be perfect, destined, written in the stars or whatever bullcrap poetry that ten year old girls describe it as in their sloppily penned diaries. But it wasn’t.

With the anger rippling through his veins, Ryan flared his nostrils and in one burst of violent movement he tightened his white knuckled grasp on the aged yellowing pages to hurl it at the closest bare wall that was possible. The pages tore themselves free from the crippled spine, flittering around the cramped box room that served as his bedroom. Pieces of tattered paper rolling over on the stained fraying carpet and spreading themselves on his single (single) unmade bed with rumpled sheets that had been left unwashed for weeks.

However, he ignored the newest collection of the messes in his bedroom and instead concentrated on the prominent dull thud that the spine made as it cracked against the wall, the sound of it rattling around in his skull. Bubbling rage and pure insanity throbbed through his veins and the deafening sound of the one movement of destruction that he dealt made his blood practically hum in delight. It made a slow wicked smirk twist on the edge of his pale features, and he blinked away the moisture that warped his sight into an odd blend of colours.

He opened his mouth, working his jaw only to hear a faint click when the bones scraped together in an effort to use his barely used vocal cords. Licking his dry cracked lips, Ryan curled his pale slender hands into fists and burst into a cacophony of raspy hysterical giggles that clawed their way out of his parched throat. More moisture pricked at the back of his eyes and he could feel a hot wet trail trickle down his red cheeks.

Fleetingly, he scanned the room, the hearse laughter still flowing from his smirking lips. His room didn’t consist of much: just a small bed in the corner, a couple of draws, a small wooden desk with a mountain of different notes for his work on pieces of scrap paper, an old wardrobe whose doors were nearly off of its hinges that was filled his few second hand clothes and of course his beloved book shelf that held his favourite childhood books that he used to bury himself into on cold nights when the gaping hole in his chest widened, the red thread hanging off his little finger limp beside him.

The twisted smirk widened and it almost felt like it would split his face into two. The bookshelf it was then.

Jerking his body in a forward motion, his curled fists smashed into the fragile spines of the soft backs, the total force of the punch reddening the pale flesh of his knuckles and making them tingle. Another giggle erupted from his dry throat from the feeling and a sudden thought pushed its way into his frontal focus, his pupils blow wide as he lost himself into the bubbling insanity that had washed through the floodgates.

His teacher always said that he should hit the books more.

Another laugh.


Another punch.


And another.


And another. And another. And another. And another. Andanotherandanotherandanotherandanother-!

Creating an odd four beat rhythm with his punches, the reddened sore flesh on his hands split, warm liquid oozing sluggishly and mixing with the circled sweat on his skin, a delicious stinging sensation swallowing up all of the feeling in his nerves.


Absolutely nothing could stop him now, not even the forever present creeping darkness that had settled in the room, not even the grey silence that fogged his mind since childhood.

His chest was heaving, little pants of breath stuttering out his thin giggling lips. Ryan could feel his heart pounding against the curved ivory bars of its cage. He stopped for a pregnant pause, before grasping the wooden shelves and tugged on them harshly. A large pile of broken books fell to the thread bare stained carpet, and he twitched slightly in pain as he stretched his crimson matted hand from its curled position, jaggedly sharp pieces of wood embedded into his skin.

Vaguely, somewhere in the black of the black swirling depths of his mind, he felt the need to stab one of them into his eyes, to scoop them out, to stare into his own eye as he watched the black gaping hole in his skull cry crimson tears, to laugh callously at his own pain and misfortune. With the Glasgow smile still tugging at his lips, he plucked one of the bigger ones out of his flesh, not even flinching as small jolts of pain zipped through the delicate muscles in his hands. He brought it closer to his face an inch away from the blown up pupil and-

A loud static noise crackled through the room, it was so sudden in the bleak grey silence in the room it made Ryan drop the wooden shard in confused shock. The static sounded like a warped version of his mobile phone. The one that he didn’t use. The one that nobody had the number for. The one that hasn’t been charged in months.

Blinking in confusion, he stalked over to his desk (he had to side step the massive pile of broken wooden planks and books, however he ignored them), socks skimming over the dirty brown stains and rifling through the paper mountain to pull out an old flip phone whose screen was smashed and several buttons missing from the black scraped keyboard. He flipped it open hesitantly, a numb feeling growing in his joints and the feeling of warm liquid clotting over his bruising flesh. The cracked screen that blinked white, random different coloured pixels dotting all over it, with a message that stated it was from an unknown number.


>> RyAn MicHael WiLliam doN’t you bLOody dARe<<

Ryan blinked owlishly. Wait…What?

Fleeting sapphire orbs scanned around the room, looking for any intruders, camera’s- anything. There wasn’t.

His body trembled, and he suddenly became aware of little lumps that had developed on his bare arms, the sweat that he had shed earlier dried, sticking to his cold flesh. Another burst of crackling static erupted from the broken phone, and he paused in his scanning of the room to look at the piece of damaged technology.


>> YOu have suCh preTty eyes, whY wOUld you wAnt to ruIn tHem? <<

A quick intake of breath was taken in through his nose and a creeping feeling of vulnerability washed over him, completely overshadowing the feeling of pure sadism and insanity that had clouded over his mind before. His heart was still drumming, banging at the bars of its prison and dying to rip out of his chest.


>> OnLy I aM aLloWed to DO thAt, my bEloVed <<

Eyes wide and nearly out of their sockets, Ryan shook his head in disbelief, his blond greasy locks whipping him in the face from under his hat. Paranoia seeped through the creases and placed themselves at the frontal focus of his mind, the old black phone clenched tightly in a crimson grip. Blindly, he took a couple of steps backwards, skirting away from the wardrobe (had it always been open just an inch?) and most of the darker areas (he was just imagining a pair of glowing eyes staring at him from underneath the bed, right? Right?). However, what he forgot about as he was slowly back up was the pile of books with their spines wrecked, and beyond repair, his blue sock clad feet slipping out from underneath him. A sharp shock of agony zipped through his system as he fell onto the pile of fragmented wooden planks, and a sickening click was emitted from his ankle, a deep throbbing pain awakening in his muscles. Ryan clutched his right leg to his chest, hissing as the throbbing pain worsened as he moved it. He wrenched his eyes open (when had he closed them?) and peered past the four o’clock in the morning moon light that had seeped into the room via the open window.


>> WhAt’S the mATter? I thOuGht you wANted to mEeT me? <<

The messages seemed to be coming through quicker now, the static sound becoming louder and more persistent. What did it mean? Who was it, and why did they know him? No! In fact forget all of those questions, the most important one is; how the hell does this guy send him messages on a phone that is broken and has absolutely no battery? In what universe does that make sense?


>> Don’T wOrRy DarLiNg, yoU wOn’t be coNfusEd for a moMeNt lOnGer <<

His stuttering breathes quickened, jerking out from his heaving chest. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be re-

Sparks started to fly off of the piece of broken technology, the crackling static noise got even louder, filling up the whole room and clambering into his ears. Ryan shook, his body trembling and he tried in vain to move up onto his shaky throbbing ankle. The darkness that had crept through the room seemed to bend and warp, the inky shadows moving; twisting to form a body that vaguely resembled a humanoid figure.

Ryan’s sapphire orbs widened as they settled on the figure, his pupils mere pin prinks as they took in the childlike mask, a wide smiley face carved onto the porcelain, rosy red cheeks that resembled a clown’s make up and the black sludge that sluggishly oozed out of the massive black empty eye holes. A long snake-like tongue poked out of the masks forever grinning mouth hole and on its chest was a still beating heart, stitched sloppily in place with wonky white thread. The rest of the- the Thing wasn’t any more pleasant to look at, its body was long and gangly, its spine bent forwards so it was forever hunched and large black claws on the end of long nimble fingers. And on the end- no. Nonononononono!

On the end of its claw was a crimson thread that wrapped around its body like a puppet, coming off its long over proportioned limbs in a tangled mess and if Ryan looked closer, if he dared to, he would see that the snarled thread curled across the stained carpet floor to his own pinkie finger, attaching them together.

A scream crawled its way up his throat and he tried to scramble across the floor, he didn’t care where, just away- for the love of God just anywhere far away from that! His sore fists scraped against the carpet, the needle like splinters impaled in his raw flesh getting jostled and pushed in deeper. Feebly his injured ankle wacked the ground, spikes of discomfort shooting through his nerves as he didn’t manage to gain any distance from the creature.

HoNey, yOu sHoUlDn’t stRuGgle, you ArE mY OtHer anD I shALl loOk aFTer you. ANd thEn we cAn be toGEthEr for aLl of eternity." The creature’s speech was a deep baritone of gurgles, more inky black tar leaking out of its sockets as it slowly crept closer, twisting its mangled long limbed body to cooperate with its moments. Shadows seemed to almost bleed from its very existence, growing hands of their own and clamping onto his flailing limbs.

Ryan tried in vain to twist his convulsing away from his captures strong grasp, but it was no use. The creature’s shadows had bound themselves around his trembling form, completely immobilising him and clinching hard against his throat. And the last thing that he was aware of in his last final moments was a long scarlet forked tongue wrap around his ear and a gurgled breathed whisper of:

You’Re mInE.”

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