Thursday, October 14, 2010

Haunted Halloween Story Contest: Entry: Whisper

These two lovely blogs are hosting a slew of contests this month and two of them just happen to be to write your own short story and to create your own spooky cover for a book that you'd like to be written. I've redesigned covers before, so that was fairly simple, but I've never claimed to be a writer. The cover I created is for the short story I wrote.

I've only ever dabbled in writing, and by dabbled, I mean I've written zilch. I tend to just write ideas down and maybe tiny little scenes, but I've never attempted a story, short or otherwise.
Damien was filled with dread as he crossed the threshold of Milton Manor. Fear emanated from his every pore, clouded his vision, and burned its way through his lungs with each breath.

Then the whispers began…

Get out! You don’t belong here. This is our home!

With each whisper more and more voices joined in, bringing the words to a crescendo, reverberating around Damien’s head and bombarding his mind. The voices began screaming at Damien, commanding him to leave.

Leave now or we’ll kill them all!

Leave. But where would he go? Milton Manor was Damien’s home, at least for the foreseeable future. His parents inherited the place after some great great uncle died. His dad was the only Milton left. Aside from Damien, that is; And he certainly did not want to be counted, not if it meant he had to take care of the creepy, and definitely haunted, Milton Manor.

“Why don’t you go pick out a room, Damien.” The wispy voice somehow broke through the whispers that swirled in and out of Damien’s mind, but he was still caught in their trance, staring blankly up the ornate staircase that led out of the elaborately carved foyer.

“Damien, honey, is everything all right?” No. Everything was not all right, but Damien couldn’t tell his mom that. The last time he did, it put him on the not-so comfy couch of the renowned Dr. Delbert, child psychologist extraordinaire.

“Everything’s fine, mom. I’m just taking it all in. This place seems huge.” The lie came easily to Damien’s lips, but he wasn’t prepared for what followed. The feather-light voice sounded so innocent and sweet, but the little girl laughter had an edge to it that sent goosebumps up Damien’s arms.

Her voice drifted down the stairs and took hold of Damien's senses. The song was a trance that pulled him like a rope. Up the stairs he climbed, the whisper growing louder with his each of his heavy steps.

Liar, liar pants on fire
Death and destruction is all we desire
Into our arms is where your fate lies
Turn off the lights and close your eyes
Milton Manor holds the key to your life
To your future days and future strife
We’ll steal your soul and take over over your mind
If you don’t leave us now, you’ll be lost in our bind

Creaking floorboards and spiderwebs dotted the lengthening hallway at the top of the stairs. Photos of Milton’s long dead littered the walls. Each frame brought with it the image of another dead relative and another step deeper into the mystery of Milton Manor.

As Damien neared the final door at the end of the hallway, the song came sharper, louder, no longer a lilting whisper, but a beating thrum. The hallway narrowed with every step and the walls were literally closing in around Damien. His breath came in short gasps as he grabbed hold of the ice cold doorknob. A slight turn to the left and the door cracked open, the sliver of light from the hallway illuminating the sole piece of furniture in the room. It was an antiquated wooden chair…and it was rocking.

We’ll steal your soul and take over your mind
We’ll steal your soul and take over your mind

The little girl with the sweet voice turned to Damien as she sang her song. Seeing her cruel, monstrous face snapped him out of his trance and as he opened his mouth to let out a scream, Damien was overtaken by the voices, the bodiless spirits that ruled his life.
He was nothing, no one, just a whisper lost to the wind.


Brit said...

Wow, this was really good! Very well-written! Good luck!

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