Post by crowsrlaughin on Oct 28, 2005 19:05:56 GMT -5
She shook and shivered violently; inside of her safe and warm bed; in her safe and cozy house. Small noises of discontentment accompanied her body’s reaction to the disagreement within her dream. Her lips moved softly as they released her unconscious trauma in soft terrified sounds, her long curvaceous body thrashing left to right, her head tossing against the pillow.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Slowly she convinced her eyes, bloodshot and damp with tears, to open despite the fear. The glistening orbs strained a moment until blurred vision became clear. The first thing she knew that she consciously did was to scan those wide scared eyes over her room. No, everything was in its place; everything was as it should be. Still, something felt odd, misplaced, or eerie.
She chewed on her lower lip with the nerves, trying to release the fear that was bottling up inside of her for no reason that her brain could think of. She didn’t even understand where the taste of blood came from when her lip began to bleed, the metallic taste flooding her tongue, adding a layer of fear to her wracked mind. She lifted her shaking fingers to her mouth, touching the torn skin of her lower lip, and her scared eyes lowered to the faint wash of crimson on the very tips, just under her nails. Just then a shiver consumed her, wracking her body with shivers until she was forced to abandon the thought of sleep. She pulled herself from the bed, slipping out of her sheets, pausing only to grab a blanket and wrapped it around her lithe, pale body.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Pausing a moment, she knitted her brows together, listening to the faint whispering which she swore she could hear, echoing through the house. Same as the fear she had felt earlier, her mind was afraid but could find no real reason or source. She took a shivering breath before continuing along, the wooden floor cool beneath her bare feet. Her stomach was twisted in knots, sliding slickly and sickly over itself as she padded her way towards the kitchen. Those sharp, squeezing pains that seemed to taper and increase randomly, continued as she put a hand over her stomach. It was the oldest cure, holding on to something that hurts in the hopes that it would ease the ache. Same as if she were five years old with a stomach ache or ten with a bee sting, however, her cradling hands provided no relief. Attempting to bring logic to the situation and to ease her mind, she blamed the pain on the fact that she had went to sleep on an empty stomach. Even as the thought passed through her mind she dismissed it. She never ate before sleeping.
She entered the kitchen and moved to the fridge, her mind briefly flitting on the idea of food. The door swung open with the barest of sounds and light spilled over her haggard face, silhouetting her outline on the wide white counters and cabinets behind her. She glanced through the contents of the fridge absently; looking for something to satisfy her nonexistent appetite then suddenly glanced down at the floor between her chilled feet. Something was missing.
She reached into the fridge, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade she had made earlier that day, then moved to the counter and pulled down a glass, skipping her normal habit of checking for water spots and nervously pouring the liquid. With the glass half full of the sweetened drink, she froze, her body stilled as if it had frozen over.
The missing thing. She remembered now, remembered what was missing. Her mind had thought through the fear and now her skin crawled as if worms burrowed beneath the surface of her flesh. Misha: her cat. Misha always came to the fridge when she heard the door open and saw the light on the floor. Maybe she had been locked outside this evening? For the third time that evening, her mind tried to rationalize what was happening and almost instantly discarded the idea. Misha hated being outside.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
The sound of dripping liquid reached her and she felt something cold splash against her leg. With a half stifled scream she jumped and saw lemonade flooding the glass, spilling out onto the counter, cascading down onto the tiles. She began to chew her lip again, a nervous habit she’d long been fighting and loosing to. Capillaries broke beneath the torn flesh, sending a bead of burgundy to her lip. Instinctively her tongue darted out, wiping the blood from her lip, reminding her of the sweet metallic flavor. She became aware that her heartbeat had gained speed, from the gentle thump that it normally was to a pounding race, similar to that of a runner’s thumping feet: boom, boom, boom, boom.
With goose bumps rising on her skin she moved from the fridge, leaving the spilt lemonade for the moment. She wanted to find her cat, crawl upstairs, and hide under the covers.
"Misha, Misha?"
Her shaky and meek dainty southern belle voice called out into the darkness of the house, but the cat did not arrive and she heard no sound of the feline elsewhere in the house.
"Misha, come here girl."
No answer. Not even the light ring of that cute little bell that was hooked up to the cat’s pink and gemstone-studded collar. With the feeling of sickness intensifying she crossed her arms over her stomach, holding back a terrified whimper. Her arms wrapped around her body, hugging herself.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Misha had to be here somewhere. All right then, she'll just go out onto the porch and wiggle that little carton of her favorite kitty treats. Moving back into the kitchen she took the cat treats down from the cabinet, then walked hesitantly to the door. She went out onto the porch, in the slight chance that the cat had left the house, and shook the carton slowly, making kissing noises.
“Misha?”
She called out once more. She stepped forward, moving down the wide porch steps, eyes scanning the dark corners of her yard, looking for signs of Misha. Her eyes widened, her breath caught, her heart clenched, and her blood ran cold. There was ice in her stomach. There was a vise on her heart. The gate was open. This was not of her work; she always checked the gate before going to bed. Someone else was here. Or something else. No. She shook her head in utter refusal. Someone.
It hit her nose like a storm, a sudden and quick change of the wind that brought something deadly. Her nose wrinkled up. What was that smell? It was grotesque, distinct, causing her to gag suddenly. Her throat closed up and she tried to contain the bile that was threatening to rise up her throat.
She dropped the carton of cat treats and it hit the ground with a soft clang of metal on concrete and rolled away along the walkway. Her eyes were frozen, watching the bright labeling with the grinning cartoon cat roll away, away, away. It rolled into something; something sticky and wet with coagulated blood, and stopped against the mass.
Breath. Breath. Breath. Just keeping breathing.
Her heart was pounding in her ears so loudly, so rapidly, she could swear by now all her neighbors could hear it.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
There was no reason for what she saw to exist; it wasn't even human. She lost the feelings in her legs, body shaking without control. Finally her watering eyes managed to focus on what stood before her and still she could not stop her body from shaking in fear. The glistening thing looked down at its supposed foot where Misha’s treats sat, cat happily grinning, oblivious to the world outside of Tast-E-Treats. It was standing in the open gate of her house, and the reek that emitted off it was overpowering, like scorched spinach and old rotting eggs. For a brief moment, a thought flitted through her mind, the thought that if she lived past tonight, she would never ever forget that smell, and never ever be able to explain it to another person.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Its flesh was decayed and festering; thick in some places and thin in others, but enough that you could recognize the muscle beneath it. Two rusty rings were embedded in its skin at the shoulders. Chains hung from matching metal loops along its back. Its spine was twisted, skewed, crafted to pierce through the flesh in spikes that rose through the muscles and decaying skin. Similar spikes rose from its forearms, shoulder blades, and shins to create rows of small, sharp spikes. Two more bone-spikes projected from it’s temples and two more sets on it’s jaw-line. All in all it was terrifying and she stared in horrid fascination at the tall, beastly…thing.
It grinned at her with a putrid wheeze of stale air, showing off upper and lower canines, which were elongated and deadly sharp. One eye is visible; while the other is pushed so far down its socket all that is seen is a gaping black hole. A long tongue slid out of its mouth after a few gurgling noises, sliding over its lips, leaving a trail of thick, bloody saliva on its mouth.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
She let out a blood curdling scream as she backed up, shaking her head and praying to her God, her savior. As she’d often thought before, God had abandoned her again. There was to be no salvation for her tonight.
She watched in horror, ignoring the thought of abandonment, soft prayers on her lips as she watched the creature. She noticed now that it’s remaining eye was glazed slightly, covered with a thick mucus. Hoping it’s sight was not very good, she stepped back towards the shadow of the doorway, towards the comforting thought that if she could only reach the safety of her bed and the reassurance that this was a dream. Then the creature turned it’s head, the exposed bone of it’s nose still clung to by small flaps of rotting skin which jerked back and forth as it’s breath.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
She started to run away screaming, out of her mind with pure terror.
Havoc.
It followed her, its head lolling about on its neck, dragging its half-rotted mass towards her, its clawed hands grasped for her, grabbing at her. She was scared, surprised at the speed of the diseased corpse, near to screaming with her terror. She cried. She turned. She ran. The kitchen. A knife. Something. Her frantic hands scurried along the counter top in the kitchen for anything, anything to save her. Ripping drawers open and pushing random cooking tools aside for what she needed.
It was getting closer and finally it grabbed her, cold waxy skin, literally sending her into pure shock now. She thrashed and fought against him. Flakes of skin ripped and peeled off its body with each movement. As she twisted and squirmed in its tight, bony grip the creature leaned in and scraped its raggedly sharp teeth against her fair soft skin...dragging them down and puncturing her skin to the very bone of her skull. It began ripping flesh from her face, not even bothering to chew...just swallowing. Her screams became louder and more frantic as she struggled within its death grip.
Then it was over, as it moved to grip the back of her neck, digging its fingers into her skin as if it were play-doh, and tearing her spine from the base of her neck. Her body slithered to the ground like a sheet of fleshy material. Pooling, her skin surfaced over her insides as they splashed over the wooden floor.
There wasn't much left once it was done with her.
Silent...
Silent...
Cold as ice...
Misha crawled out of the place she’d been hiding, the small space beneath the couch, and moved to the kitchen. She mewed as she lapped hungrily at the leftovers.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Slowly she convinced her eyes, bloodshot and damp with tears, to open despite the fear. The glistening orbs strained a moment until blurred vision became clear. The first thing she knew that she consciously did was to scan those wide scared eyes over her room. No, everything was in its place; everything was as it should be. Still, something felt odd, misplaced, or eerie.
She chewed on her lower lip with the nerves, trying to release the fear that was bottling up inside of her for no reason that her brain could think of. She didn’t even understand where the taste of blood came from when her lip began to bleed, the metallic taste flooding her tongue, adding a layer of fear to her wracked mind. She lifted her shaking fingers to her mouth, touching the torn skin of her lower lip, and her scared eyes lowered to the faint wash of crimson on the very tips, just under her nails. Just then a shiver consumed her, wracking her body with shivers until she was forced to abandon the thought of sleep. She pulled herself from the bed, slipping out of her sheets, pausing only to grab a blanket and wrapped it around her lithe, pale body.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Pausing a moment, she knitted her brows together, listening to the faint whispering which she swore she could hear, echoing through the house. Same as the fear she had felt earlier, her mind was afraid but could find no real reason or source. She took a shivering breath before continuing along, the wooden floor cool beneath her bare feet. Her stomach was twisted in knots, sliding slickly and sickly over itself as she padded her way towards the kitchen. Those sharp, squeezing pains that seemed to taper and increase randomly, continued as she put a hand over her stomach. It was the oldest cure, holding on to something that hurts in the hopes that it would ease the ache. Same as if she were five years old with a stomach ache or ten with a bee sting, however, her cradling hands provided no relief. Attempting to bring logic to the situation and to ease her mind, she blamed the pain on the fact that she had went to sleep on an empty stomach. Even as the thought passed through her mind she dismissed it. She never ate before sleeping.
She entered the kitchen and moved to the fridge, her mind briefly flitting on the idea of food. The door swung open with the barest of sounds and light spilled over her haggard face, silhouetting her outline on the wide white counters and cabinets behind her. She glanced through the contents of the fridge absently; looking for something to satisfy her nonexistent appetite then suddenly glanced down at the floor between her chilled feet. Something was missing.
She reached into the fridge, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade she had made earlier that day, then moved to the counter and pulled down a glass, skipping her normal habit of checking for water spots and nervously pouring the liquid. With the glass half full of the sweetened drink, she froze, her body stilled as if it had frozen over.
The missing thing. She remembered now, remembered what was missing. Her mind had thought through the fear and now her skin crawled as if worms burrowed beneath the surface of her flesh. Misha: her cat. Misha always came to the fridge when she heard the door open and saw the light on the floor. Maybe she had been locked outside this evening? For the third time that evening, her mind tried to rationalize what was happening and almost instantly discarded the idea. Misha hated being outside.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
The sound of dripping liquid reached her and she felt something cold splash against her leg. With a half stifled scream she jumped and saw lemonade flooding the glass, spilling out onto the counter, cascading down onto the tiles. She began to chew her lip again, a nervous habit she’d long been fighting and loosing to. Capillaries broke beneath the torn flesh, sending a bead of burgundy to her lip. Instinctively her tongue darted out, wiping the blood from her lip, reminding her of the sweet metallic flavor. She became aware that her heartbeat had gained speed, from the gentle thump that it normally was to a pounding race, similar to that of a runner’s thumping feet: boom, boom, boom, boom.
With goose bumps rising on her skin she moved from the fridge, leaving the spilt lemonade for the moment. She wanted to find her cat, crawl upstairs, and hide under the covers.
"Misha, Misha?"
Her shaky and meek dainty southern belle voice called out into the darkness of the house, but the cat did not arrive and she heard no sound of the feline elsewhere in the house.
"Misha, come here girl."
No answer. Not even the light ring of that cute little bell that was hooked up to the cat’s pink and gemstone-studded collar. With the feeling of sickness intensifying she crossed her arms over her stomach, holding back a terrified whimper. Her arms wrapped around her body, hugging herself.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Misha had to be here somewhere. All right then, she'll just go out onto the porch and wiggle that little carton of her favorite kitty treats. Moving back into the kitchen she took the cat treats down from the cabinet, then walked hesitantly to the door. She went out onto the porch, in the slight chance that the cat had left the house, and shook the carton slowly, making kissing noises.
“Misha?”
She called out once more. She stepped forward, moving down the wide porch steps, eyes scanning the dark corners of her yard, looking for signs of Misha. Her eyes widened, her breath caught, her heart clenched, and her blood ran cold. There was ice in her stomach. There was a vise on her heart. The gate was open. This was not of her work; she always checked the gate before going to bed. Someone else was here. Or something else. No. She shook her head in utter refusal. Someone.
It hit her nose like a storm, a sudden and quick change of the wind that brought something deadly. Her nose wrinkled up. What was that smell? It was grotesque, distinct, causing her to gag suddenly. Her throat closed up and she tried to contain the bile that was threatening to rise up her throat.
She dropped the carton of cat treats and it hit the ground with a soft clang of metal on concrete and rolled away along the walkway. Her eyes were frozen, watching the bright labeling with the grinning cartoon cat roll away, away, away. It rolled into something; something sticky and wet with coagulated blood, and stopped against the mass.
Breath. Breath. Breath. Just keeping breathing.
Her heart was pounding in her ears so loudly, so rapidly, she could swear by now all her neighbors could hear it.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
There was no reason for what she saw to exist; it wasn't even human. She lost the feelings in her legs, body shaking without control. Finally her watering eyes managed to focus on what stood before her and still she could not stop her body from shaking in fear. The glistening thing looked down at its supposed foot where Misha’s treats sat, cat happily grinning, oblivious to the world outside of Tast-E-Treats. It was standing in the open gate of her house, and the reek that emitted off it was overpowering, like scorched spinach and old rotting eggs. For a brief moment, a thought flitted through her mind, the thought that if she lived past tonight, she would never ever forget that smell, and never ever be able to explain it to another person.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
Its flesh was decayed and festering; thick in some places and thin in others, but enough that you could recognize the muscle beneath it. Two rusty rings were embedded in its skin at the shoulders. Chains hung from matching metal loops along its back. Its spine was twisted, skewed, crafted to pierce through the flesh in spikes that rose through the muscles and decaying skin. Similar spikes rose from its forearms, shoulder blades, and shins to create rows of small, sharp spikes. Two more bone-spikes projected from it’s temples and two more sets on it’s jaw-line. All in all it was terrifying and she stared in horrid fascination at the tall, beastly…thing.
It grinned at her with a putrid wheeze of stale air, showing off upper and lower canines, which were elongated and deadly sharp. One eye is visible; while the other is pushed so far down its socket all that is seen is a gaping black hole. A long tongue slid out of its mouth after a few gurgling noises, sliding over its lips, leaving a trail of thick, bloody saliva on its mouth.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
She let out a blood curdling scream as she backed up, shaking her head and praying to her God, her savior. As she’d often thought before, God had abandoned her again. There was to be no salvation for her tonight.
She watched in horror, ignoring the thought of abandonment, soft prayers on her lips as she watched the creature. She noticed now that it’s remaining eye was glazed slightly, covered with a thick mucus. Hoping it’s sight was not very good, she stepped back towards the shadow of the doorway, towards the comforting thought that if she could only reach the safety of her bed and the reassurance that this was a dream. Then the creature turned it’s head, the exposed bone of it’s nose still clung to by small flaps of rotting skin which jerked back and forth as it’s breath.
Whispers...
Whispers...
Cold as ice...
She started to run away screaming, out of her mind with pure terror.
Havoc.
It followed her, its head lolling about on its neck, dragging its half-rotted mass towards her, its clawed hands grasped for her, grabbing at her. She was scared, surprised at the speed of the diseased corpse, near to screaming with her terror. She cried. She turned. She ran. The kitchen. A knife. Something. Her frantic hands scurried along the counter top in the kitchen for anything, anything to save her. Ripping drawers open and pushing random cooking tools aside for what she needed.
It was getting closer and finally it grabbed her, cold waxy skin, literally sending her into pure shock now. She thrashed and fought against him. Flakes of skin ripped and peeled off its body with each movement. As she twisted and squirmed in its tight, bony grip the creature leaned in and scraped its raggedly sharp teeth against her fair soft skin...dragging them down and puncturing her skin to the very bone of her skull. It began ripping flesh from her face, not even bothering to chew...just swallowing. Her screams became louder and more frantic as she struggled within its death grip.
Then it was over, as it moved to grip the back of her neck, digging its fingers into her skin as if it were play-doh, and tearing her spine from the base of her neck. Her body slithered to the ground like a sheet of fleshy material. Pooling, her skin surfaced over her insides as they splashed over the wooden floor.
There wasn't much left once it was done with her.
Silent...
Silent...
Cold as ice...
Misha crawled out of the place she’d been hiding, the small space beneath the couch, and moved to the kitchen. She mewed as she lapped hungrily at the leftovers.
