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Rowan woke up in his soft warm bed, moonlight beaming through his bedroom window and casting a soft shadow over his airy bedroom. He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at the bounty of sweets and chocolates he had collected earlier that night; the shiny wrappers glinted in the moonlight. Next to the pile of sweets laid the Halloween mask that he had worn. Rowan didn’t like to follow conventions and didn’t want to wear another corny Scream mask or something similar, he made his own mask. He wanted to be original and always made a big deal about Halloween, it took him weeks of hard work but finally Rowan created a mask he thought was truly worthy of Halloween. It wasn’t meant to look like anything in particular but it incorporated the features of a genre Rowan knew all too well, horror. With pale eyes and a horrifying blank expression, the mask was the essence of horror.
Rowan put his feet on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom and stood up. He walked across the creaky floor and onto the dimly lit landing with three doors on it. He walked steadily to the door of his parent’s room and pushed it gently open. Inside was a neatly made bed illuminated by the bright moonlight glaring through the open window. The large grandfather clock on the landing struck 3, Rowan’s parents were out at a party but had promised to return before midnight, but as usual they would get back at the crack of dawn and lie about what time they arrived home.
Rowan sighed and began back to bed, standing briefly in front of his bed before getting in and looked out into the night sky. He saw a bizarre reflection on the window and moved closer to examine it; upon closer inspection it was nothing but a smudge on the glass. As he turned to walk back to bed, a noise on the roof tiles above startled him and he swung around to see a cold deathly face glaring at him through the glass. The face had white empty eyes and wore an emotionless expression. Rowan backed away, terrified, but tripped over his chair and cracked his head on the corner of his solid oak dressing table.
Rowan reached to the back of his head and felt a damp patch growing rapidly and a sharp pain dulling his other senses. He looked to the side and in the moonlight saw a crimson puddle growing steadily from the wound on the back of his head. Looking back at the window he saw nothing but the fat moon hanging in the sky. He tried to push himself up but he was weak and felt weary. He lay on the floor with his eyes open facing the pale ceiling. The floorboards behind him creaked and his eyes darted around to see who was there. A dark figure leant over Rowan with a cold emotionless face and dead white eyes and whispered in a deathly voice, “Happy Halloween.”
As daylight broke Rowan’s parents let themselves in quietly and tiptoed up the stairs. “What’s that awful smell?” Rowan’s mother whispered to her husband “It’s coming from Rowan’s room” he replied softly as he walked though the doorway, suddenly halting at the horrific sight. His son surrounded by a pool of blood, his eyes open wide and his mouth nothing more than a small O in his face. Rowan’s mother went to ring for an ambulance immediately and his father began trying to rouse him.
Later that day a man in a white coat with thick glasses and a mop of unruly black hair entered the waiting room where Rowan’s parents were sat. “Are you Mr and Mrs Jenkinson?” questioned the white-coated man. “Yes” replied Rowan’s father, clutching his polystyrene cup of coffee tighter. “I have some bad news for you both” retorted the man in the white coat, “Your son was dead on arrival, there was nothing we could do for him.” Rowan’s mother began to sob heavily on her husbands shoulder. “H-how did it happen?” asked his father shakily. “The autopsy showed that his heart stopped suddenly” he paused briefly, “Your son was scared to death.”
Rowan put his feet on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom and stood up. He walked across the creaky floor and onto the dimly lit landing with three doors on it. He walked steadily to the door of his parent’s room and pushed it gently open. Inside was a neatly made bed illuminated by the bright moonlight glaring through the open window. The large grandfather clock on the landing struck 3, Rowan’s parents were out at a party but had promised to return before midnight, but as usual they would get back at the crack of dawn and lie about what time they arrived home.
Rowan sighed and began back to bed, standing briefly in front of his bed before getting in and looked out into the night sky. He saw a bizarre reflection on the window and moved closer to examine it; upon closer inspection it was nothing but a smudge on the glass. As he turned to walk back to bed, a noise on the roof tiles above startled him and he swung around to see a cold deathly face glaring at him through the glass. The face had white empty eyes and wore an emotionless expression. Rowan backed away, terrified, but tripped over his chair and cracked his head on the corner of his solid oak dressing table.
Rowan reached to the back of his head and felt a damp patch growing rapidly and a sharp pain dulling his other senses. He looked to the side and in the moonlight saw a crimson puddle growing steadily from the wound on the back of his head. Looking back at the window he saw nothing but the fat moon hanging in the sky. He tried to push himself up but he was weak and felt weary. He lay on the floor with his eyes open facing the pale ceiling. The floorboards behind him creaked and his eyes darted around to see who was there. A dark figure leant over Rowan with a cold emotionless face and dead white eyes and whispered in a deathly voice, “Happy Halloween.”
As daylight broke Rowan’s parents let themselves in quietly and tiptoed up the stairs. “What’s that awful smell?” Rowan’s mother whispered to her husband “It’s coming from Rowan’s room” he replied softly as he walked though the doorway, suddenly halting at the horrific sight. His son surrounded by a pool of blood, his eyes open wide and his mouth nothing more than a small O in his face. Rowan’s mother went to ring for an ambulance immediately and his father began trying to rouse him.
Later that day a man in a white coat with thick glasses and a mop of unruly black hair entered the waiting room where Rowan’s parents were sat. “Are you Mr and Mrs Jenkinson?” questioned the white-coated man. “Yes” replied Rowan’s father, clutching his polystyrene cup of coffee tighter. “I have some bad news for you both” retorted the man in the white coat, “Your son was dead on arrival, there was nothing we could do for him.” Rowan’s mother began to sob heavily on her husbands shoulder. “H-how did it happen?” asked his father shakily. “The autopsy showed that his heart stopped suddenly” he paused briefly, “Your son was scared to death.”
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Nice little story but, sorry, not weird enough for me.
b銊ánt wrote:
> i think short storys are great but i feel there are many more since
> roj got a GAD for his.
> am i right?
Nope you're wrong. Stories normally get posted in here since they took the Story Forum off us
* sob
b銊ánt wrote:
> i think short storys are great but i feel there are many more since
> roj got a GAD for his.
> am i right?
Nope you're wrong. Stories normally get posted in here since they took the Story Forum off us
* sob
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