The Pretty Little Dancer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
As it begins, it soon will end...

Submitted: April 27, 2010

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Submitted: April 27, 2010

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Her eyes slowly creak open. She picks her head up slowly and wonders where she is. She is kneeling on what feels like cold metal. The grooves in it cut into her skin and she is hurting all over. She is gagged and there is a metallic taste in her mouth. A trickle of a warm liquid drips down her forehead and across her cheek. Probably her own blood. She tries to remember what had happened but can't. She cannot even remember her own name.

She surveys her surrounding. The whole room smells horrible. The room is quiet except for the steady drip-drip of... water? It is a dimly lit room, lit only by a small bulb on the ceiling that casts a yellow glow about the room. The ceiling is too high for her to see without lifting her throbbing head. There is a metal tray directly across from her but the light does not hit it well enough. She cannot see what is on it. The wall across from her that she can see is tiled. It is so caked with dirt that it is brown instead of what she assumes had once been white. It also has darker brown stains splattered across it. Blood? She wonders fearfully.

She tries to get up and realizes that her feet are chained. Her arms are over her head and held by chains as well. They are cutting into her skin and there is blood dripping from her left wrist. She struggles futiley against her bindings, letting out a few muffled cries. "He- Help... Please....." She manages a small whisper through her gag. Her head is pounding and the room is beginning to spin. She hangs limp, defeated.

A door opens behind her. The creak of the hinges and then the slam of the door cuts through the silence like butter. Her ears are ringing, only increasing her headache. A shadow passes into her line of sight. A man's sillhouette, blocking the light behind him. His face looms into view and she lifts her head to meet his eyes. They are glazed over and creepily shiny. He looks middle aged. His smile is maniacal and there is a drop of blood on his cheek. She shrinks back in horror, but only to hit the wall behind her. He grabs her face in one hand and forces her to looks at the ceiling. She gasps at the sight that greets her eyes. Along the ceiling, strung high, are bodies. Dozens and dozens of bodies, hanging like marionettes by their arms and legs. They all have a sick smile carved permanently into their faces and cheeks coloreddarkly with their own blood. They are dressed in costumes, some in clown suits, some in a doctor's scrubs, and still others in varying other costumes and dress clothes.

The sight is horrifying, she becomes dizzy and nearly faints. The man pulls her face back to look at his own. "I already have the perfect outfit picked out for you," he rasps. He lifts a hand. He is clutching a light blue dress, a simple halter top. He is also holding a white pair of ice skates. He places them down on the floor next to him. He reaches back to the tray behind him and turns back to her. He brings his hand up. He is holding a long, serrated knife."But first, my pretty little dancer, smile!" He cackles and he laughs as she struggles and screams and tries to get away from the knife. She finally goes limp. He takes her from her bindings and dresses her in that pretty blue dress and the little shoes. The shoes are a little tight but to him it does not matter. He takes care to apply the girl's own blood to her cheeks and then slit her throat for good measure. "My best puppet yet. The Pretty Little Dancer..."


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