The Girl of the Dark Room

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short story about a girl and her never-ending dark reality. The point is, besides being creepy (if you find it that way), to make you think how you'd feel in her position.

Submitted: August 03, 2017

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Submitted: August 03, 2017



Once upon a time, there was a young girl, who lived in a very dark bedroom. She had the windows painted black and the curtains always closed. She had her door locked. Even the keyhole was stuffed with an old cloth. She was sitting there alone in the corner next to her bed.

A dark room with only an old light bulb hanging naked. On and off it goes every single second, as the tall man plays with the switch.

On the door, only three knocks every minute. The old pale neighbor wants to come inside.

The closet door creaks as it barely opens once every hour. It will creak again when it closes.

The shadow is still there at the corner, watching her.

The dolls on the shelf always stare at her, no matter where she is. When the clock shows midnight and the cuckoo screams continually for a long minute, the porcelain doll heads twist thrice.

The little boys giggle for ten minutes as they play in the darkness under the bed.

It's time for her to sleep again.

She gets in the bed and the old lady sitting in the chair next to her scratches the window a few times with her long nails.

She looks at her self in the mirror across the bed. Her reflection gets out from the mirrored bed and the mirror she approaches slowly. Her reflected self, then, starts singing a lyric-less lullaby as the music box with the ballerina starts playing on its own its creepy music. The song goes on and on and on until the young girl falls asleep.

Then, the Dream-keeper welcomes her to her nightmare.

On a chair she sits, in the middle of nothingness, with only a hundred eyes in front of her staring and that beautiful lullaby in the background.

As she wakes up she notices a nice but yet boring smell. On the table next to her there is a tray with a bowl of soup, made of unknown ingredients, together with the usual piece of paper with only one word written, in a forced-seeming way: Eat. She eats the soup made from the mysterious cook she has never seen.

And thus, once again she sits in her corner on the floor and waits for time to flow again, as she lives, never-changing, in her twenty-four-hour loop.

Will this madness ever end for her or is she cursed to go on forever and ever... and ever... and... ever...


Who knows.

© Copyright 2019 E. Cyrus. All rights reserved.

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