Vermillion - Chapter 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

The second instalment of my book, Vermillion.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Vermillion - Chapter 1

Submitted: July 06, 2012

Reads: 170

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Submitted: July 06, 2012

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Chapter One - Vermillion 

I should honestly stop feeling like this: I constantly have to shake the feeling of someone watching me from my mind. Even though I know I'm the only one in this wretched house, I manage to imagine faces in the shadows, voices round the corners; that might say something about my sanity. 

Sighing, I placed the cracked pocket mirror on the dressing table, brushing my fingers across the layer of dust on it's silver surface. Before walking to the kitchen, I stopped to stare at my reflection. 

My hair was long and pale, a knotted and messy frame for my sharp-cheeked face. Set deep in that sad face were my eyes: dark violet gems that always seemed to be threatening tears. Thick black lashes grew like spiders around those eyes, an odd contrast to my white-blonde hair. My lips were a slightly unhealthy-looking shade of grey; they were the same colour as my skin. 

A horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach told me to look just to the right of my reflection... I immediately regretted it. 

A dark, leathery face was hidden in the shadows behind me in the reflection, with black holes for eyes and a lopsided slash of a mouth. It's skin was browning, but not in that gorgeous tan you saw people with - this man's skin was rotting! 

The bad thing awas, I knew I had seen that face before. 

Breathing deeply, I shook my head and turned around. 

"See, you stupid girl," I scolded myself quietly. "There's no-one there!" And there really wasn't, I had been imagining the scary figure again. Lord only knows how lonely I was... 

Shivering in the cold of the evening, I pulled my thin shawl tighter around my shoulders and padded into the kitchen. That was better - it was so much warmer in there, thanks to the furnace and oven. Rubbing my thin hands together over the flames, I sat one the lone, wooden chari. 

"Oh, little girly, don't you cry," I sang to myself, reminding the child inside me of my parents: they had passed away many years ago. "Don't you cry, cos I'm gonna see you in the sky. Birds with songs nearly as sweet as you, there's nothing more you can do...cos I'm staying here, I'm staying with you at home." 

The melancholy lullaby of my childhood eventually sent me to sleep, sending me into a world of disturbed dreams and half peace. 

But it wouldn't last for long. 


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