short stories

SHE

She’s standing there, in the shadows. Waiting. Watching. Looking for the right time to strike. The right time to pounce. Her hair is like smoke, as it wisps back and forth across her face. I can see her smile, her insidious, sinister smile. Just leering and sneering at me, as if waiting for something to happen.

I don’t know why she follows me. Or why her eyes reflect mine, her hair the same shade and her smile the same colour. I don’t know what she’s waiting for. I never do. She just stands there and smiles, sometimes with teeth that look rather sharp and frightening, and eyes dark and dilated. Sometimes she creeps closer, leaning in behind someone, or brushing against my body. It’s like she’s toying with me, playing with me. Seeing how I’ll react to whatever it is she plans to do.

No one see’s her. No one wants to look for her. But they will find her, if they look close enough. If they stand near enough. She’s hard to miss, especially when she stands out so much. But still, no one see’s her. No one but me, I suppose. I wonder why that is, why no one else can see her when she’s there, just brewing under the surface and waiting to explode. Are they oblivious? Do they really not see her, standing right before them? Probably, they never see what is right in front of them is anyways.

 Sometimes, I feel her presence even when she’s not near. I feel her in my head. I feel her in my veins and I feel her under my skin. It’s hard to think she can be in two places at once, but she still manages to do it.

She invades my senses too. Makes me see things I don’t want to see. Makes me hear things I don’t want to hear. Like how she leans too close to the people I love. Or how she trails her long, sharp, ugly nails down their arms, begging for me to do something, anything. Or maybe how she shifts in close to me, whispering words in my ear that I don’t want to understand.

I think she enjoys watching me fight her off. Watching me kick at her and scream at her to leave me alone. Maybe she enjoys the chase, enjoys watching me squirm underneath her control. The control she has over me somehow. I see her in the mirror too, watching me with that sick smile of hers, standing behind me and staring at me silently. It’s like she wants something from me. Something that I can’t ─ I won’t ─ give her.

I can feel her breathing in my ear now, hovering over my skin. The shudders that run through me are involuntary, and her soft spoken words send chills shivering down my spine. I try to concentrate on the girl in front of me, as we sit in a secluded part of the woods. Away from prying eyes. Away from any witnesses. The girl is talking, and I know I should be listening, but it’s her. Whispering into my mind like a soft lullaby. A lovely siren.

She’s telling me something, prodding my arm with her sharp claws and gnashing at my cheek with her crooked fangs. My breath is unstable and so is my heart, beating rapidly against my chest like a drum. She wants me to do it. I know she does, but the girl is looking at me strangely, head cocked and eyes narrowed.

My hands sweat profusely and I wipe them on my dark jeans. The girl knows. Oh god, the girl knows. She can see her; feel her presence hovering over me like a dark shadow. I’m sure of it.  And now she’s getting too heavy, weighing me down and making me feel very drowsy and dizzy. If I wasn’t so sick i would blurt out that she’s right next to me, scaring me.

But the girl just mumbles something and turns her face towards the trees. I’m shocked, because I thought that maybe if the girl saw her like I saw her, the burden would be lifted and she would be off my shoulders.

If the girl saw her then maybe she wouldn’t look so much like me, and instead reflect the other girl, the one who is not as troubled by her presence. The one who doesn’t have to suffer the way I do. The girl sits there, looking all happy and well with her life. Not plagued by the nightmares and fantasies of red and dark and monsters in the night. Content with herself in knowing she’s sane and she’s good.

Anger quickly rises in me, and she laps it up, tasting my anguish, my hate, my fury. Bile rises in my throat as wicked thoughts fill my head. I can hear her voice clearly now, just egging me on, wanting –no needing- me to do something. Anything to sate her hunger. And I want to. God knows I want to. And I’m not afraid of her anymore. Instead I welcome her into me, into a part of me that finally feels complete.

The girl can see the change in me, because she suddenly looks very frightened and afraid. But I am not afraid. I am excited and hungry and ready to taste the sweetness of revenge. She tries to shuffle away from me, but my claw like hand reaches for her and tugs her towards me. I can hear her screaming violently, and I can hear myself hissing at her to be quiet.

Tears are sliding down her face, and I ─we─ laugh at her. My nails dig into her arms and she lets out a long pitch of pain. I bathe in her pain, loving the sound her screeches in my ear cause me to shiver, how her voice fills my head with delight. ─more more I need more─

So I grip tighter and I tug harder, dragging the girl further into the woods. No one will hear her scream now. Just me and the monster in my head. I can’t think straight, and she’s telling me that it’s the right thing to do. The good thing to do. So I throw the girl against the floor of the woods and climb on top of her. She’s crying hysterically, begging and pleading for me to stop doing this. But I can’t. Doesn’t she see that? I need to do this, for her and for me.

So I wrap my hands around the girl’s neck and squeeze. Her mouth flops open as she struggles to breathe, clawing at my hands furiously in an attempt to escape. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this girl is Annie. My best friend Annie. But the monster inside me won’t stop now, so I press harder and slam her head down on the ground repeatedly. I do this for minutes, and her struggles become less and less until there is no more life left in her.

And when I finally let her go, she is satisfied. She leaves my body and I pulsate as she does. My mind clears and I sway back and fro, suddenly sick to my stomach. I look down at my hands, coated with the blood that leaked from Annie’s head. And as I look up at the demon that made me do this, she stares at me and smiles her sick smile and clicks her twisted claws. And I realise she won, because I have Annie’s blood on my hands. Blood on my hands. On my hands.

.....

They found me hours later, sitting down next to Annie with my eyes crying and my mouth screaming. At first they didn’t know what to do, seeing a girl breaking down next to her dead friend. But they caught on pretty quickly, and grabbed me away from Annie’s lifeless body, broken and twisted on the ground.  I pleaded at them that I didn’t do it, that she made me do it. And they didn’t listen, even when i pointed right at her. And when I look at her sick, sharp fanged smile, her soft whisper is all I hear as they finally drag me away.

It was me.

It was always me.