Dark, hollow, and eerie, the bedroom reeked of a strange, sweet smell. Gray furniture were scattered all about the room. A rush of cold bitter wind swept through the room from an opened trembling
window facing a brown poster bed, decked with torn curtains. Behind the curtains, lied a girl, hair tousled, eyes widen, staring out into the blackness of the cracked ceiling. Her eyes never left
the ceiling, hypnotized by the shadows that swirled endlessly above her.
Very softly, the French doors of the bedroom opened. A voice called out,
“Emma, are you there?” The girl stiffened at the sound of her name. She looked away from the ceiling and tried to make out the tall figure that was walking from the door to her bed. Every step the
mysterious creature took, Emma’s hands clenched her blanket tighter, her head spinning with fear. Nervously, she addressed the person,
“Grandpa?” The man stopped walking and reached into the poster bed and pulled away the old curtains. His gray hair was cut short, his face unshaven, and his clothes hanging loosely. Emma stared
into his brown wrinkly eyes for a moment. The air between the two thickened.
“Time is running out, my child, take this,” Emma’s grandfather rasped. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a black, metallic weapon and shoved it into Emma’s hands. Then, a second person appeared before the doorway, and ran towards them.
“Get away from her, James,” the second man yelled at Emma’s grandfather. The man took out a knife and aimed at the elderly man’s throat, cutting deeply. Grandpa howled in pain as the man lifted the knife out slowly from the throat and stabbed his heart. The blood splattered onto the floor and Emma’s bed sheets. Tortured by the slow death of her grandfather, Emma, sweating profusely, tried to position her given gun, putting her shaking fingers onto the trigger. As she tried to fumble with the weapon, the man assaulting her grandpa turned and jumped at her. His strong hands found his way to her hands and tried to wrench the weapon away from her.
“Run Emma, forget the gun, forget me,” Emma’s grandfather weakly commanded her, sounding dangerously faint.
“No, Grandpa, I can’t leave you,” Emma screamed in anguish. She struggled to use her legs to kick at the murderer, her hands still tight on the gun. Seeing that she was too stubborn to let go, the man reached for her hair, grasping it tightly, and lifted the knife to her throat. Suddenly grandpa appeared behind the man and grabbed hold of his waist, trying to pull him off Emma. In the midst of all this, consecutive shots burst out of nowhere and two bodies on the bed stopped moving. Thick, red liquid poured over the bed and soaked the whole mattress. Emma, with little strength she had, began to shift out from her bed. She pushed the men aside and stood up, her stained hands gripping a gun. She started to run towards the French doors before the man said sharply,
“I will find you Emma. You will pay.” As Emma heard this, she felt a knife searing on the flesh of her back. Her vision blurred and she became numb. When she could see clearly again, she found herself back under the clean covers of her bed, alone. Tears started to fall from her eyes like countless nights before. The shadows hovered over her eternally in the dark.
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