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Closet of Strings

Updated on November 19, 2011

There are some things worse than death.

I realized this as I stepped quietly inside the room where they hung on ropes. My own breath was the only thing I heard, its uneven rhythm quivering quietly in the air. Though my eyes could barely adjust, I saw the silhouettes drifting in the air, suspended by hundreds of thin strings. But the eyes were what chilled my skin to frigid ice. Their piercing gaze, glassy and vacant, stabbed through my stomach and I held my breath. My limbs locked. My heart seemed to be throwing itself against my ribcage, trying to get out.


A whisper. My name. But hundreds of voices overlapping to say those two simple syllables. Like a chorus of sweet noise mixing together. In its sound I felt myself being drawn to the hanging bodies.


“Yes,” I whispered, gazing at the hundreds of corpses. Something did not feel right. But at the same time, I felt so good. My hand reached up to caress the foot of the nearest dangling body. My fingers trailed along it, feeling soft wood.


Someone in my head laughed quietly.

There are some things worse than death. I realized that as thin strings fluttered down to blend with my freezing skin. In the room, soft music played, like the melody of a music box. But it did not sound right.


My heart raced.


I watched the faces again and their glassy eyes seemed to melt into empty sockets. Their grins stayed, stretching across their faces in ways that chilled my spine. The strings were everywhere now, and I even felt myself start to grin. I smiled.

There are some things worse than death.

Sometimes…when I am dangling on the strings high above, with empty sockets staring at me, I grin back. I do not know why I grin back, drifting in the dark room surrounded by wooden bodies. But I do. The puppets laugh. They whisper.

And my vacant eyes smile.


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    • Nat Amaral profile image

      Nat Amaral 6 years ago from BC Canada

      Gripping--you have the talent of a suspense/dark fantasy author.