Sunday, 5 June 2011

Lucy...

Hi!  Thanks for everyone's comments on Thursdays post :D I decided to do a horror slightly scary story today (or at least attempt to do one!) It probably won't be very scary but hopefully you'll enjoy it :) Sorry it's really long...

Lucy               

She was coming. I ran through the garden, the grass whipping my legs and the stones piercing my feet. The picth black of the night clouded my vision of the path. I could hear her crying behind me. I looked round. She was less than a metre away from me now. Her curly brown hair bounced on her shoulders. Her little blue dress clung to her pristine skin. Her soft blue eyes were brimming with tears but they flashed violently in the moonlight. Her feet were stuck firmly to the ground but she was constantly getting closer, edging towards me with every step I took. I turned back around and sprinted for the gate. It loomed ominously in the distance, tempting me with a chance of escape. I ran towards it. I was nearly there...Just one more step....

I felt her tiny hand grab me. I froze, paralysed by her icy grip. She let go of my shoulder and stepped in front of me. With a flick of her hand, the gate was gone. I was trapped, and I couldn't move. I watched in horror as she looked at me with her large eyes and smiled. "I'm Lucy," she said, her voice perky and unnaturally high. She grabbed my throat. "Can you play with me in my playhouse?" I struggled for air. "Please?" Her grip got tighter and as I looked into her eyes, I could see the playhouse, broken and forgotten at the end of the garden, it's doors dark and musty and the spiders and the words and the dark and the damp and the blood and the broken dolls and the boxes and the moss and the words and the choke and the dirt and her and the dirt and her and her and her and her and her and it and the blood and the sheet and the her and NO!

I sat up in my bed. I was drenched with sweat and my cheeks were wet with salty tears. I fumbled blindly for my lamp. I hurriedly turned it on and searched for my glasses. My eyes were useless and fuzzy, seeing only the outline of shapes in my room. Finally I found them and put them on. I looked up at the ceiling and screamed. She was there, plastered above me, looking at me. I screamed again. Her eyes filled with tears and suddenly, with a hurt whimper, she disappeared. I tired to calm down. I concentrated on my breathing. In and out, in and out. My heart rate soon returned to normal and I collapsed exhausted onto the bed. I closed my eyes for a second before glancing at my alarm clock. 7:56. I sighed nervously and pulled myself out of bed. My alarm clock was due to go in 4 minutes anyway. I paused for a second and looked out the window. It looked over the garden. And the playhouse. It had been there since we moved in 6 months ago. It was a faded blue with vines creeping up the sides, dirty and dark inside. I shuddered before heading over to the door. I shrugged my dressing gown over my pjs and stepped out my room.

It was lunchtime when Mum asked me to clear out the playhouse. I argued profusely but she wasn't having any of my "I have homework" or "I'll get my new jeans dirty". I was close to telling her the truth but I quickly pushed that out of my head. Mum was a psychiatrist and I had no intention of being diagnosed with hallucinations. So, out I went, armed with a bin-bag and a brush. I gulped when I saw the playhouse. It stood proudly among the vines and trees at the far end of the garden. It was almost beautiful in the sunlight, but I could just see the sheer darkness that lived inside. I cautiously took one step forward. The playhouse stayed the same. No homicidal little girls. I took another step.The wind blew menacingly through the trees. I took another step. And another. And another. I stepped through the long, overgrown grass that had whipped my legs in my dreams, felt the small stones press into the heel of my shoes. Then I stopped. I had reached the playhouse.

Up close, the extent of the neglect was easier to see. The once lovely paint work flaked out in clumps, the wood creaked a groaned with every gust of wind, with every gentle breath. I peered through the window. Inside it was dark and dusty, just like in the dream. I gulped and went onto my knees. Fearless, that's what I was. I was the brave explorer Rebecca Wallace. I wasn't afraid of anything. Despite my comforts, my hands shook as I gently pushed the door open. it creaked angrily in protest but a gust of wind pushed it open. Slowly, carefully, I crawled inside.

She was there. I could sense it as soon and I took that first breath. The cold, chilling air, musty and damp, filled my nostrils. It smelled unmistakably like death. All I saw was darkness. I warily took my phone out and turned it on. It's bright light illuminated the piles of boxes and sheets that filled the playhouse. I swivelled round. Suddenly, I heard the door shut. She was there. I turned around to face her. She was standing by the door, her hair falling in a cascade down her shoulders and her skin pale and freckly. She didn't move, only eyed me warily. I blinked, then gasped in shock.

She had changed. Before she had been almost pretty, with her blue dress and brown ringlets. Now she was hideous. Her hair stuck up in clumps around her head, short and rotting. Her skin was brown and blue speckled with black dirt and maggots. Her beautiful blue eyes had sunk back into her head and her nose had vanished, now an empty skeletal hole in the middle of her face. Her dress was ragged and torn, her feet bony and scarred. She looked like the grave. I made to scream but she clamped her hand over my mouth. It was bony and disgusting. She stared at me, before pointing at a corner of the room. Whatever she wanted, it was over there. I hastily crawled towards a large sheet in the general direction that she pointed. I looked at her. She nodded approvingly, her head falling down to her chest. I breathed deeply. This was it. I touched the corner of the sheet and pulled it back. It was her.

A week later, I was in the paper and all over the news. Mum had called the police as soon as I told her about Lucy's body. Apparently I had solved the case of Lucy Smith. She was 6 when her father strangled her and dumped her body in the neighbours playhouse. The image of her, broken and rotting in the playhouse, has haunted me all my life. I was 11 when I found her, now I'm 14. 3 years of living with the body of a little girl wrapped inside your head, with the immense sadness when you thought about her just wanting to play with her only friend - me. I couldn't take it. Which is why I'm here now, standing on this bridge. I will finally be able to make ammends - to play with Lucy in her playhouse. Goodbye.


4 comments:

Rose said...

but, but, but she...she didnt want to play with... and the little girl was all...and her eyes were... and her dad strangled her...and she wasnt going crazy...and she was...and it was... and...but...but...but WHY??? oh i feel so sorry for her! :'(

Jenni said...

So does that mean you understand it or not...??? I'm confused now! O_o

Cat :D said...

OMG!!!! That was amazing! Scary...but amazing! You're really good at writing horrors :D

Spottedfire :P said...

Oooooh.... Suicidal. Me likely.
Sorry, that sounded creepy. Well, the story was creepy. I have to say I'd kill myself if I saw a little dead girl begging me to play with her.