Hang Me

"Sophia...Sophia...Sophia...." The voices were talking again, saying things. Things I didn't want to hear, but things they wanted me to hear.

They always talk, trying to get me to out to the woods. They say they have a special necklace out there for me, one that lets me sway from the tree, like a rope swing, except they told me the rope hangs around my neck, not around the my waist. They say it's special and only for me, but I know better. It's for bad kids, very bad kids who misbehave. Bad kids who have killed people, bad kids how have stolen things and lied deadly lies. I'm not a bad kid, I've never killed anyone, I've never stolen anything, and I've never told deadly lies. The voices are the one who lie deadly lies, steal, and kill, not me.

"Sophia...come meet us...Sophia..." The voices speak again even more demanding.

They always talk like that, but I won't listen! I stay in my room, locked up like an animal when I'm alone. My parents aren't ever around, neither are my siblings. In fact I haven't seen them in a year. I'm too afraid to walk out of my room, I hear horrible noises, screams echo in the house at night, the sound of ripping flesh comes from underneath my bed, and blood oozes from underneath my door every day. I try not to panic, try not to scream, and try not to open the door.

"Sophia aren't you hungry? Thirsty? Spohia...we have water and food...Sophia....come get your necklace..."

I'm not hungry, I'm not thirsty, and I don't need to use the bathroom. The house, the voices, and the nightmares mess up your senses. I haven't eaten in what seems like a year. I haven't drunk anything since last Friday.

"Sophia....aren't you bored...Sophia...come out and play...Sophia...you can be the princess...Sophia...we have a special necklace only the princess can wear..." Truly, I am bored, but not that desperate, I write, read, and draw, I haven't run out of paper or pens and pencils yet. I don't have any electricity, I don't have signal, all I have is a battery powered radio and a knife. I use the knife for sharping the pencil and I use the radio for music. I sit alone and slowing slipping from normality to insanity. The batteries in the radio are nearly dead, my knife has gone dull, and the candles and matches are nearly out. I don't know what I'm going to do when everything is gone. Will I open my door and see what folds in front of me? Will I go meet the voices in the woods and collect my necklace or will I simple die of boredom?

The moon was nearly gone and soon it would be daylight, the night was dangerous. I couldn't even sleep! During the daylight the voices went from whispers to whatever the fuck silence is. Silence is unusual around here. At night I'm greeted by the voices and during day, I welcome the birds and bees, but also the blood and screams. Day comes as quickly and night nears. I have no idea what the screams and blood comes from. Sometimes I find the blood surrounding myself, and other times its only leaking through the door. The screams are different however. I know where they come from. They are what the voices originate from. Families who come and die in the first night like mine did. I was smart enough not to go in the woods. I've seen those horror movies, and I know I'm living one too!

The day draws to an end and the voices soon come back. "Sophia....we missed you....Sophia...we love you...come out with us...Sophia..."

The voices don't love me. They don't love anyone. They don't love you, they don't love others, and they don't care about anyone. You know when you here about those disappearances and no one ever finds the body? Yeah, well those people go there, to the tree. The day Trevor disappeared and was later announced dead and missing, I saw him that night in the woods. The voices lead him there and gave him a necklace. The voices won't stop, ever. They will always be there, there nothing we can ever do. They will be there as long as God is there. God never made these. They're works of the devil. Satan made these demons and sent them out the kill innocent people with lives to live and love. The voices are there and they will find you and they will kill you.

"Sophia...Trent's here...he misses you...he thinks your dead...Sophia..."

Trent...those huge, blue orbs, the blonde hair, and the cute freckles. Trent, my little brother, Age 3. Status: dead thanks to the voices. He was my little buddy, the only person who gave a fuck about me. Trent, age 3, blonde hair, blue eyes, and cute little freckles was taken by the voices.

*Flashback*

"Sophie! Sophie! Come see what I found!" Trent yelled, with his toddler lisp.

"I'm coming Trent, hold on!" I yelled back, he was still in my eye sight when I looked down to see what had scratched my ankle.

"Dammit." I muttered as I saw the scrape on my ankle.

"Trent!" I yelled looking up. I had expected him to come running toward me, but he didn't.

"Trent? Trent! Come here! I can't see you!" Trent had disappeared, I couldn't see the blue orbs, a tuff of blonde hair, or even a little freckle.

I heard a few twigs snap and a scream.

"Trent! Come here right now!" I was running towards the direction of the scream. I then heard crying from behind a huge oak tree.

"Trent?" I whispered as I turned around the trunk. Only Trent was crying on the ground. He was up in a tree, silent, hanging like eleven others.

"Trent? Who are these people?" I asked him, I was oblivious to how they we up there until it was nearly too late.

Everyone was hanging by their necks, dead.

"TRENT!" I screamed/cried out.

All the dead bodies turned towards me, including Trent. Their mouths opened and they spoke,

"Sophia...come hang with us..."

*End of Flashback*

I was crying, I missed Trent, I missed the fresh air, and mostly I missed normality. I was certain that the voices will never get to me, I will not cave in, then again, there are other ways to keep from giving in. Maybe just waking out into the woods and taking my necklace will be good, maybe hanging there with my dead family will be good. Maybe hanging there with Trent will be good. Maybe dying will be good. Letting go could be good. Dying young could be good. Dying with family could be good. But dying at the hands of the voices could be bad, very bad.

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I thought this was fun to write and I hope you enjoy it :). Short story or book? Remember to VOTE AND COMMENT. Follow me for update notifications for any of the other works!