ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing»
  • Commercial & Creative Writing

An Older Piece

Updated on November 18, 2009

Creepy short short

An earlier Piece of mine.


She realized suddenly that she was walking.  Down a dark cool hallway.  What time was it?  It was either extremely late or extremely early.  She could not tell. Her feet carried her down, towards the bathroom, light shining brightly from underneath the door.  She tried to glance behind her to see if any light shone through the window.  Her muscles would not obey.  She tried bringing her wrist to her face to see her watch.  Again, her body would not respond.  It was simply not listening to her.  And she could not hear anything.  Cotton had been shoved into her ears, there was no sound.

Where was she going?  Did she have to pee?  Didn’t feel like it, so why was she walking to the bathroom?  The silence ate everything around her.  Could she be sleepwalking?  Is this what it feels to sleepwalk; to be aware of everything and have absolutely no control over it?  To be trapped within a dream, like a caged animal, frantic to be free and in the open.  Panic stricken she watched her hand reach for the knob and slowly open the door.

Light burned her eyes, the only part of her body that would listen.  Her breathing was regular, despite her inward gasping for freedom and air.  The light filtered around, enveloping her foreign body in orange, grabbing a hold and not letting go.  She stepped onto the rug before the sink but could not feel a thing.

Suddenly bursts of sound entered her ears.  Thousands of whispers.  So close next to her ears.  They were gentle, they were vehement.  Cynical, jabbing, jeering, encouraging, confiding, persuading.  All whispering together, melting into one solid voice speaking to her.  One word: Mine. Repeated.  Over and Over again

If her mouth would have let her, she would have screamed.  Shattered her eardrums to shut out the whispers.  If she could have run, she would have flown through the walls.  But instead, her body pressed onward, towards the bathtub, filled with water.  She had not filled the tub.  Steadily, though her mind was on fire, her arms lowered herself into the water, already cooled.  Her shorts and shirt absorbed the tepid water, clinging to her thighs and breasts.  Cool water rippled slowly towards the other end of the tub.  The whispering grew louder; Mine!

She could hardly breathe though her lungs continued to fill themselves.  Everything in the bathroom looked fine but felt wrong, soaking up the light and tainting it `til dark.  The shower curtain glowed, the walls sparkled, and the ceiling grew upwards.  The water slowly began to spin around her ankles, her arms laid down beside her thighs.  The air around her grew in intensity, crackled inside her bones.  Whispers, screaming.

When she thought she would cry without tears, everything stopped.  The water stopped immediately.  Her breath came in rasps, and the light stinging her eyes diminished to the one she’s always known.  Her body collapsed of its own accord and she sank beneath the cold water, her hair turning dark.  Bubbles fluttered their way to the top of the water.  And her muscles screamed at her brain in agony, cramping.  Blackness enshrouded everything, and softly she heard the sound of distant laughter.


    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • Jonathan Janco profile image

      Jonathan Janco 8 years ago from Southport, CT

      A powerful piece, Laura. Still not sure how to interpret it, but very interesting. You really have a knack for surrealism.