The Temptation

Reads: 628  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

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

The Temptation was a soul invading spirit, aimed at tempting in children, to their death. Slowly. Luring them closer towards it. Some would say a spirit, others would say an illness, a ghost, a ghoul. Whatever it was, it was unwelcome amongst all families. Once it entered a family, one child at a time, it would take full control, until the whole family was dead. Young families across the globe diminished from this unknown cause, just corpses left behind. No similarities other than having children under the age of ten. There was nothing the authorities could do but treat it as a usual murder scene, forensics found nothing. No fingerprints, loose hairs, nothing. Just the remains of the bodies all in one room, holding hands, each and every one smiling with their eyes wide open. But strangest of all, a butterfly carved into their faces.

Come child, come. Come to me. I will be your new mother, your only friend. Come child, come, come to me. Closer. Closer. Closer…

????

The Temptation was a soul invading spirit, aimed at tempting in children, to their death. Slowly. Luring them closer towards it. Some would say a spirit, others would say an illness, a ghost, a ghoul. Whatever it was, it was unwelcome amongst all families. Once it entered a family, one child at a time, it would take full control, until the whole family was dead. Young families across the globe diminished from this unknown cause, just corpses left behind. No similarities other than having children under the age of ten. There was nothing the authorities could do but treat it as a usual murder scene, forensics found nothing. No fingerprints, loose hairs, nothing. Just the remains of the bodies all in one room, holding hands, each and every one smiling with their eyes wide open. But strangest of all, a butterfly carved into their faces.

?

Young Sarah-Jane, just five years of age, was drawing butterflies in her new notebook, sprawled over her freshly laundered Barbie duvet case. Her mother was in the kitchen washing up the dishes from lunch, her father was at work. She reached for the red crayon, to colour in the butterfly’s wings, the crayon fitted nicely into her small chubby hands. The smile on her face suddenly dropped, her head titled quizzically to the side, making her fine blonde hair fall slightly beneath her shoulder. The colour drained from her now gaunt face, her eyes blank. Blood. Its blood. The butterflies are dying Sarah, the butterflies are dead. They don’t love you anymore. Nobody loves you anymore. But I do. I love you, very very much. Come to me Sarah. Come. Closer. Closer. Sarah-Jane stood up in an instant, towards the kitchen, where her mother hummed away happily to the radio.

“Hello Sarah-Jane, how are you? Would you like a drink?” She asked softly.

Sarah-Jane ignored her Mum and continued further into the kitchen, walking stiffly like a soldier on parade, towards the marble worktop. Her small arms outstretched, reaching for the knife block, picking up the meat cleaver. Her mother screamed in shock as the blade swiftly massacred her lower arm. Her limp body fell to the floor, like a flower that hadn’t been watered, her arm tumbled across the floor, staining the floor tiles. That was when a smile finally found its way to Sarah-Jane’s face. Now you, now you need to hurt, hurt yourself. You need to be strong, be brave, hurt yourself. I love you, I love you very very much. After this, you can be mine Sarah-Jane. All mine. The knife, too big for the hands of such a young girl, found its way to Sarah’s thigh, just beneath her skirt. The blood trickled down onto her foot, onto the floor. You are a butterfly Sarah, a beautiful butterfly. I am your new mother. I love you very very much. Come to me. Tranced, Sarah wandered to the living room. I’m in the fire Sarah, come to the fireplace, come, I’m waiting for you. That’s a good girl. Keep coming. Sarah felt no pain from her leg, only the desire for more, the desire to meet her new mother, the desire to feel again. She was now in front of the fireplace, watching in awe as the flames danced. They became pictures, pictures of a pretty place with horses, a room full of Barbie’s and dolls houses, a room designed just for art. This is your new home Sarah. Come child, come. Come to me. I will be your new mother, your only friend. Come child, come, come to me. Into the fire, I’m here, Come. Come. Come…Sarah-Jane stepped closer into the fireplace, she watched as the skirt licked her skirt, spreading up onto her tiny vest top. Here I am my darling child, I’m coming. Her flesh began to melt away, dripping down onto the carpet, creating a pungent smell in the room. Burn, child, burn, pain is good. You need pain. Sarah-Jane looked around for her new mother, but she was nowhere to be seen. I’m almost here child, I’m coming, life is better with me. Not a tear fell from Sarah-Jane’s eyes, not an emotion to be seen in them. Just blankness. Emptiness. Like a shot, a forceful shove struck Sarah Jane’s petite back, soon her whole body was engulfed in flames, she lay on the floor, her pale flesh pouring off of her like a sticky goo. I’m here Sarah, I’m here. Her blonde hair fell out like sawdust, leaving huge patches of baldness on her burnt, scabbed scalp. You look so beautiful now daughter, like a butterfly. A beautiful butterfly. Daddy will be home soon, from work, he deserves to be a butterfly too. Just like you. Just like me. Almost lifeless, Sarah-Jane was draped on the floor of the living room she used to watch Dora the Explorer in, sat on her mother’s lap, laughing. But now her mother was dead. Killed by her. Similarly, she was almost dead. But she felt no pain, only relief. She was a butterfly now. A beautiful butterfly with a new mummy, she was so so lucky. Daddy is almost here. Daddy needs to be one of us too. Daddy needs pain.

After a long day’s work at his job as a businessman, Mark Jacobson enjoyed coming home to his family and putting his feet up. His wife Penelope made him the happiest he had ever been, a smile always firmly planted on her face, her voice as soft as a feather. Together they had a beautiful young girl called Sarah-Jane, she was as beautiful as her mother, with flowing blonde hair, rosy cheeks and a love for anything pink and girly, particularly Barbie. Although she was only at the tender age of five, it was already obvious that she had her mother’s talent and passion for art. She sat in her bedroom for endless hours, doodling away. Today, Mark had some exciting news to tell the two people he cared most about in his life, he had been promoted at work. After struggling to keep up with mortgage payments and electricity bills, this was the news he had been waiting for. He pulled up into the drive of his home and reluctantly got out of his car into the pouring rain, the grey sky loomed above him, clouds heavy with rainfall. He walked up to his front door, a skip in his step and a smile on his face. He turned the key in the lock an opened the door. He stopped in his tracks, it was unusually quiet, the only sound to be heard was the familiar voices of the radio. The voices stopped.

“Hmm, must be a power cut, it’s this weather. They call this summer!” He murmured, laughing to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark could see the shadow of his daughter around the corner. A smile crept onto his face at the thought of his beautiful daughter.

“Sarah-Jane, its Daddy, come and give me a hug” He cooed.

Daddy doesn’t need a hug Sarah-Jane, he needs pain. He needs to be a butterfly. Just like us. Make him a butterfly, just like you did to your old mummy. Yes, that’s right, good girl, pick up the knife. Go, go, go…

Mark could see the shadow of his daughter coming around the corner, he waited, she tended to be slow before running into his arms and embracing him into a hug. At last she came. But this wasn’t his daughter. A gasp escaped Mark’s lips at the unrecognisable sight of his daughter before him. Her flowing blonde hair was almost completely gone, leaving her raw red skin bare on her head. Her blue eyes weren’t shining like they usually did, they were blank. Most disturbingly, her skin didn’t seem to fit on her anymore, sheets of liquid skin hung off her and flowed like rivers down her arms, her legs, her chest. She had no clothes on, her body bare, a huge gash on her right thigh and her skin burnt and scarred. She was smiling, but not her usual happy smile, a forced smile. This couldn’t be his daughter. But it was. He knew it was from the few recognisable features. As usual, she ran at him full pelt, but this time it wasn’t for a hug or a warm embrace. He stood in shock as his little girl ran at him, plunging a meat cleaver into his chest. He slowly drifted away, his last sight was the deep blue eyes of his five year old girl, a beaming smile on her face. That’s it my darling, good girl. I love you. I love you very very much.

Three days later, after neither Mark nor Penelope Jacobson had attended work or rang up Sarah-Jane’s school to report her absence, the police arrived at their house. There was a car parked on the drive, signalling that someone was home. Constable Turner knocked on the door, once, twice, three times. Eventually, he knocked the door down. The house was silent, only the clicking of the grandfather clock in the hallway could be heard. He walked through into the living room, he knew the rooms in these houses well as he owned one himself, just up the road. The living rooms were the largest and therefore most used rooms, so if anyone was there, they would most probably be in there. He knew the Jacobson’s on a personal basis so was surprised when he was called onto this job. They were a well-respected family in the area and the reported absences were unlike them. He walked through the door, entering the living room. He stopped, startled. The three bodies, or what remained of them, had been hung up on the wall. To the left was Penelope Jacobson, missing the lower half of her right arm. Next to her, holding her left hand, was young Sarah-Jane, barely recognisable as the happy girl he had seen so many times before, on her pink bicycle, complete with stabilisers, up and down the street. Finally, was Mark Jacobson, a knife still lodged deep into his chest, fresh blood dripping down from the wound. Each and every one of them had a butterfly carved deep into their faces, with their eyes nailed open and their mouths hooked into a smile.

Constable Turner picked up his walkie-talkie and spoke back to the office, reporting, “The Temptation took over the Jacobson household, 55 Tetra Lane, Southampton” 


Submitted: August 09, 2015

© Copyright 2022 Arabella Hogsworth. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:


Facebook Comments

More Horror Short Stories

Other Content by Arabella Hogsworth

Short Story / Horror

Short Story / Health and Fitness