The Fearful Nightmare

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Feel your heart race as you wipe the sweat from your brow; tonight is going to be a 'bumpy' night.

Submitted: February 21, 2012

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Submitted: February 21, 2012

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Beyond the door, the one to your right, there is a passage. Narrow and long, you fear where it leads. Your heart beats faster, your breath thickens. You know yet you don't where its destination leads. Yet your hand has a mind of its own and gently, slowly, grips the brass door knob. You think your hand may slip with the warm condensation on your palm. The door opens steadily with a slight creak. You can smell the musk of old, stale air and dust; like a rotting wooden box. Do you peak? There you stand, hiding behind the large, peeling door, listening. Listening for any sign of danger, any monster in the dark ready to pounce, or any shocking mutilation that will scar your mind. You know, yet you don't. You feel it, you sense it. The anxiety is apart of you now. Sewn and stitched in your mind. Do you dare look? It's inevitable that you lean towards the crack, your eyes wide, trying to take in everything. What could be there? You must know. All is dark around you, all is still, as if waiting for you to move. Stepping one foot in front of the other you enter the damp room. It's a cramp room with too much furniture, with yellow light coming in from the thick, dirty windows. You stumble in not knowing where to step. You feel, yet you don't know. There is something there, something that makes your back stiffen and your anxiety rise. Something wants to harm you yet you don't know who or how. You are frightened. Taking careful, quiet steps over to the window, you dust it off and peer outside. There you see a large oak tree with a wooden swing hanging from it. It's swinging back and forth as though someone had just gotten off. You can almost feel something coming. There! In the dark is a creak! Your breath stops and your heart jumps. You cant see anything but what is lit by the dim, yellow light. Something moves in the silence. Fumbling, you run towards the door, it's coming closer. Your wet hands slip as you grope at the old rusty knob. It's waiting for you. It's breath is steady. The door is forced open and you run as hard as you can. The swing suddenly stops and the door slowly closes. You feel, yet you still don't know.


© Copyright 2019 Britany Joyeli. All rights reserved.

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