My sister doesn’t even stir when he enters my room. His footsteps are silent, but the air gets so cold that I see my breath. My little sister shivers and cuddles even closer to me, wrapping her tiny arms around my waist. I hope she stays asleep.
I know he’s tall and thin, but that’s all I can see. My room is so dark that everything else about him is masked in shadows. My breathing picks up. He’s standing by my side of the bed.
He stares at me and as he does, the spots where his eyes should be begin to glow an eerie and vacant white. He continues to stare at me, unblinking and still. Finally he moves.
He lifts his hand up and gently places his bony and icy thumb to the swollen part of my left eye. He rubs it soothingly. I still don’t move. He adds more chilling fingers to my face and gently trails them down my cheek where an old scar is before he runs his index and middle fingers over my lips. The swelling has gone down, but my bottom lip is still split.
His hand leave my face and moves to my arm. He grabs my right wrist and pulls it up to examine. My self-made marks of mutilation have faded, but are still fairly easy to spot if one is looking closely.
The noise that emerges from his throat is soft, but there is the faintest emotion of despair and amusement to it.
He delicately places it back on my bed and then picks up my left arm. And now his hold on me tightens painfully, but I still don’t make a sound and my sister still remains asleep. And that’s all that matters.
He chuckles as he trails his cold fingers over my freshest cuts and they bleed through the hastily-made bandages I put over them. But these self-made cuts are different from all my others. These cuts weren’t made in a fit of rage or in a moment of selfish weakness where I forgot about my sister and wished for death.
No, this new cuts are...pretty. They are more carefully made and decorate my arm with beautiful dripping red designs of eyes, pentacles, numbers and symbols I don’t understand and didn’t bother to look up. What I put on my arm made no difference to me. All that matters is that it worked.
His lips part and I see a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth smiling at me. He leans closer to me until his lips touch my ear. Cold, he’s so cold.
“Slow or quick?” His voice is soft and whispery, but I still hear the amusement and pity laced with each word.
I look at my sister. I can’t see her newest set of bruises in the dark, but I know they're there.
“Slow,” I hiss.
He chuckles again and leaves my room. I hear my parents scream. I smile, hugging my sister closer.
YOU ARE READING
Scary Stories
Short StoryNot for kids! If you are easily scared I don't recommend you read these. I didn't write these I just got them off of the internet. Enjoy!
