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This is a short scene made for the "Write A Murderer Scene - With Plenty Of Questions Left Open" contest by Mystery.
The contest is already closed!
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Description:
Little 4-years-old Jamie knows something is wrong when his mother takes him and runs...
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"Mom?" little Jamie calls, his voice muffled by his mother's clothes as she presses him very tightly against her body. His teddy bear's furry hair gets stuck in his nose and mouth as he speaks. The bear is squeezed between him and his mom as she walks fast and bouncily, almost running.
Finally, she lets him go, bends and pushes him at the bottom shelf of the wooden, old style closet. He looks up at her, holding onto his teddy bear and sees her eyes. Her eyes look scared.
"Stay in and don't move. We'll play the quiet game, okay?" she whispers with a shaky voice and caresses her son's thin, blond hair one last time. "Everything's going to be alright."
With a choked gasp, she jumpes at a sudden scratching noise not too far away. Her trembling hands pull on the handles of the closet and a sinister darkness envelopes the small inside as the wooden doors creak slightly. There's a big part of Jamie that wants to stand up and push on the closet door to crack it open, but there is also a part that tells him he should listen to his mother. He decides to stick with the second part. He sits still and silents.
"No!" he hears his mother scream. He never heard her scream like that. The order to sit still wavers. A door slams open and he hears his mother shout: "Go away!"
There's a sound of furniture scuffed loudly against the floor. He hears his mother pant. A loud boom and whack disrupt the tense atmosphere and he hears his mother gasp with a tight shriek.
"No!" she screams again, but her voice sounds like she doesn't believe her words would help. He hears something smack against a wall, as if it was thrown, and something breaks with a smashing sound. Tiny pieces tinkle against the floor, like glass. "Stop!" his mother cries, even weaker.
Slowly his eyes adapt to the darkness inside the wood furniture. A ray of light creeps in through a tiny gap between the two doors of the closet and a thin, shining line is on the bottom, where the floor meets the edge of the door. He glances up and sees the hanging rod with a dozen of hangers. Some of them are empty while others have clothes on them. The one on his left has a dress hanged on it.
"Please!" his mother pleads, her voice wavering. "Please, no!"
His mother cries out loud and there's a loud bang, followed by a rattle of a chair. There's rustling of some sorts and he hears her struggle with muffled and scared grunts. Her voice peaks a couple of times in agonizing screams, accompanied by ripping sounds, snipping and buzzing.
He looks at the skirt. It is a summer, sleeveless dress of a white colour, adorned by colourful flowers - hot pink, navy blue and honey yellow. They all look gray and drab in the dim light coming from the small crack between the two closet doors. Jamie barely makes out the colours of the different flowers' designs although he knows they are there. The white background looks like it's dirty, patched by the grim darkness. The same grim darkness that invades his little heart.
His mother shrieks. A desperate shriek followed by a loud thud on the floor. He hears her sob and cry as footsteps come closer to the closet. He hears something being dragged on the floor behind those steps. A tight feeling in his chest pinches him and he stirs. Leaning over, he tries to peak through the small line of blinding light.
He blinks and watches just as the heavy footsteps pass. He sees a hand with a dark glove and a dark long sleeve drag a foot. He sees his mother's leg as it goes by. He sees her torn clothes. He sees a shiny, crimson colour on them as it glints in the light of the room. He sees her bare shoulder blades with marks, scratches and cuts. He sees her ruffled long, blond hair, slithering on the floor as she's dragged face down. He sees her arms marked, bruised and cut. He sees her bloody hands. He sees her fingers arched toward the floor and her dirty nails scratch on the smooth surface. Then she disappears, leaving a red trail behind. He can now only hear her sobs and the footsteps going away.
He leans away, slowly so he doesn't make any sound. He's scared but he has to play the quiet game. His mother told him to. He looks down and sees the shadows disrupt the thin light line at the bottom of the closet's floor. The shadows dance as he hears movement and his mother moans in pain. There's a pause as she sobs gently.
"Please..." her voice begs, heartbroken and wavering uncontrollably. "Please..."
The shadow shifts abruptly and he hears a snip. His mother gasps and after a few loud breaths starts to gargle. He hears a thud against the floor and swishing as his mother coughs and gargles louder and louder. There is a sound of struggle, a creak of the wood, a buzzing sound, and then the coughs stop. The gargles stop as well. Something creaks. He hears a gentler thud and something scuffs against the floor.
The shadow retreats and the thin line of light is full again. Jamie thrills. He really wants to see his mother now. He puts the teddy bear aside, motioning with his finger to be quiet, and leans over without making a sound. He looks once again through the fissure.
He sees the red trail once more, exactly as before, but now there's a slowly lingering redness coming from the side, gradually filling the floor he can see. He hears the footsteps and he tries to glance to the side, but the small slit is too tight to look toward the direction of the sound. He sees a glimpse of his mother's hand.
It has her palm up and her fingers curled. Her fingernails are dirty and spattered with blood. Her blond hair are stuck between her fingers. Blood oozes, swirling lazily around it.
The footsteps go away. Silence invades the space and cloaks the dark inside of the closet. Jamie moves away from the thin fissure and sits back into his place with fright. His teddy bear is still beside him. He didn't move nor made a sound. Jamie carefully takes him in his arms.
"Don't worry, Harry," he whispers to his teddy bear and hugs him, "we are playing the quiet game. Everything's going to be alright."
