Horror

2:59

I finally moved into my dream house today. It was a
steal of a price; a fully furnished, old Victorian
country manor that looks over the beautiful
Yorkshire countryside. The house is in disarray and
looks like it hasn't been lived in for years but
nothing a good mop or a lick of paint can't fix. It's
quiet here - the nearest neighbours are miles away
- but I've always enjoyed my time alone, away from
others. You see, I have large purple birthmark which
covers half of my face and it's always irritated me
how often people rudely stare. Most people
awkwardly gawk, even though they are aware they
shouldn't, they can't stop looking. It'll be a longer
commute to and from work now but I'm tired of the
hectic city life with so much uncomfortable
attention. The middle of nowhere suits me well.
I start unpacking the master bedroom. It is a large
room with an ancient four poster bed and rich velvet
curtains, draped across a dome shaped window
over-looking the lush green fields. The room is
dominated by an enormous old oak wardrobe,
sitting in the corner opposite the window. It is the
height of two grown men and its top almost reaches
the ceiling. The proportions are odd and out of
scale; as the wardrobe rises it becomes wider and
leans in towards you, as if it is leering
intimidatingly. Despite the beautiful craftsmanship,
the wardrobe leaves me feeling unsettled. It'll be
worth a small fortune though, I'll sell it eventually.
For now though, it serves a purpose. I start dusting
the insides. It has a faint musty smell about it. On
the bottom shelf there's an old black and white
photograph in pristine condition. It's a family
portrait of a father, mother and a little girl all
dressed in their nineteenth century Sunday best.
The father sits in a lavish armchair between the two
women with them standing either side of him. The
father has a stern, proud posture with a cruel squint
in his eyes and the mother a tense, nervous
expression in her stance and face. The little girl has
a facial disfigurement, a cleft palate on the right
side of her upper lip. Her long black hair tries to
cover the right side of her face. She looks as if she
is about to burst into tears and is leaning away from
her father with her head facing the ground. She
looks terrified and embarrassed...poor girl. There is
something written on the back of the photograph in
large, angry handwriting: NEVER AGAIN.
I place the photograph to one side, and notice a pile
on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe. My hands
touch the top lightly and recoil. It's sharp; I look
closer and realise they're fingernail clippings! Yuck!
Oddly, they look like fresh clippings. What's most
disturbing is that the inside door has thousands of
deep scratch marks all over. It must have been
caused by some kind of animal - a rat trapped
inside perhaps. Damn it; the damage would bring
the value down considerably. I sweep the clippings
away and put them in the bin. Most of my clothes fit
in the wardrobe, the rest are put in a chest of
drawers I kept from my old flat. I make the bed and
then it's time to get to work downstairs.
Cleaning the kitchen is the first priority. It's a real
mess, but even in its grubby state there's potential,
so I put my iPod on and get started. After a few
hours of hard work there's signs of progress, the
kitchen now has a warmth which it didn't before.
The sun beams in through the window and gives
the mahogany surfaces a gentle glow. Feeling
pleased I reward myself with a long, hot shower.
Still smiling, I return to my bedroom to grab a towel
only to see the wardrobe doors wide open and all
my clothes scattered across the floor. My smile
disappears. What the hell was this? Was my iPod on
so loud that I didn't hear someone sneak into the
house? The kitchen is right next to the front door
after all. I stand still in the middle of my room just
looking at the floor for several minutes, feeling my
heartbeat rising and a slight feel of dread at this
intrusion. I shake my head. Bloody kids; neighbours
must be closer than I thought. They probably hung
out in the house as it's been abandoned for so long.
'You better get out of here or I'll tell your parents!'
My voice echoes back at me. Silence. They're
probably long gone by now anyway. Maybe they
saw my face and were scared away, maybe that'll
keep them away from now on. I set about gathering
my clothes but after a long day I can only muster
the energy to pile them up next to the bed. An eerie
feeling sticks with me so I decide to take a walk to
clear my head. I reach into my chest of drawers for a
sweater; I notice all the clothes in there are still
folded neatly.
After some fresh air and a solid day of work I'm
shattered and happily greet an early night. First
night in my new bed and the mattress is so
comfortable that I can't keep my eyes open if I want
to.
I wake with a sudden gasp, looking around the
room, frantically trying to piece together my
unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly it comes back to me
that I'm spending the first night in my new home.
The clock reads 3:00. I take a few deep breathes.
With sleepy eyes I look at the bottom of my bed and
to my horror a little girl is sitting on top of my pile
of clothes. She must be about ten or eleven with
long jet black hair. Her back is to me and she's
sharply jerking in a crying motion, but she doesn't
make a sound. I'm so scared, my eyes are watering
with fear and I'm shaking uncontrollably. Get a grip;
this girl is clearly in distress.
'Hey, is everything alright?'
At the sound of my voice she instantly stops jerking
and slowly turns towards me. Her skin looks
transparent, as if it hasn't seen daylight for years.
I'm speechless, my hands tightly clench onto the
bed sheets. A cold sweat spreads over my trembling
body. Finally I see her pale, veiny face. She looks at
me with two tearful eyes. I recoil in horror as I see
her mouth - she has no upper lip. It's been cut off;
all I see are long yellow teeth and blotchy black
gums. My stomach turns and gag reflexes spasm my
body. She reaches out to me with her bloody fingers
tips and says,
'Daddy said we'd be safer in there. He'll fix you too.'
I jolt upright, panicking as I struggle for air. My eyes
squeeze tight and open to try and focus on the end
of the bed. Nothing. Sleep is impossible after that
disturbing dream. I glance over at the clock. It reads
2:59 ... the wardrobe door creaks.