the stuck girl
I can still remember that day. I was walking in my backyard, it was late fall. The leaves crumpled under my feet in piles of orange and red. The wind had died down, after the storm last night. Branches where lying everywhere covered in mud and drowned in water. I was out taking pictures of the damage that the storm and caused while swirling thought. I would probably photoshop them later for art. The storm was so big last night they canceled school, earning me another day to take the pictures.
I decided to walk my favorite path. I had just stared traveling down it, and had my hands up bracing the camera for a picture, when i felt a rock hit me square in the back. I whipped around, camera thudding to my chest. Standing not, 10 feet away was a scary, sort of wood carving with glassy eyes and a red hat. I stood still studying it for what seemed like hours, it seemed to trap me in a spell. It looked to be about 100-year-old.
I slowly walked away creeped out by the doll sort of figure. As i turned away i felt another rock topple down my back, when i looked back the figure had disappear there was nothing left but a tiny piece of ripped, notebook paper. I bent down to pick it up it was damp and the words where slightly smeared i whispered the words to myself all the way home.
“when the clock strikes midnight, when the clock strikes midnight, when the clock strikes midnight” Like a chant over and over until i bumped into my house.
Later that night i was listening to music on my ipod, in my room. I heard the clock strike downstairs, i froze just waiting for something to happen, anything at all. I held my breath, a crash echoed from down stairs, followed by a piercing scream that i could tell belonged to my mom. i stumbled off my bed tears prickling my ears, my ipod fell to the ground. I lunged for the door, i tugged on the door handle over and over, it wouldn't open, even turn or twist in the slightest. I heard more and more screams, thenI heard a shatter from glass then a door slam. It all went silent, i tried the door again and again it wouldn't budge.
I listened to the cops come that night, questioning someone downstairs. I listened to them not being able to speak, thought stuck. I listened to them that night, i listened to them talk about my death.
Now if i listen i can hear people all over the world speaking about the girl who still haunts her childhood house and how the door is locked and no one knows what happened for sure that night or why but if i listen at night i can hear pebbles against my window.
“clink, clink” All night long.
when ever i got back to look at that piece of paper i regret not telling anyone and now i am stuck here in this room forever.
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