I heard scratching that night. I heard that sound everynight. Mother always said it was the wind. She always told me to just go back to bed. She never thought anything of it. Mother never understood, or really cared for that matter. Until now. But it's too late to care now. Tell me mother, where has your little girl gone?
Just like everynight, I heard the scratching from under the bed. Maybe claws or nails or something. "It's just the wind" I told myself, that's what Mother always said. But the scratching countined. I crept from my bed, down the hall into mother's room. "Mother. I heard it again. Something's in my room" I whispered into her ear. She gave me that same response, "it's the wind, go back to bed." Maybe it was the wind. Maybe if I think positive it'll all go away. I tip-toed back into my room and quietly slid back into bed. I rolled over and closed my eyes, but suddenly felt a sharp pain in my hip. Perhaps a mattress spring. I rolled again, but the pain continued, that was no spring. Of course I assumed a claw of some sort. The source of the scratching. I threw my covers off my body, I couldn't see anything in the pitch black room; I reached up to turn on the lantern over my bed. My room was illuminated enough for me to find blood spotted sheets, and blade sticking out my hip, but I couldn't see further than the edge of my bed. Terrified, and confused, I lept from my bed, nearly flying to my door, only to find the knob replased with a knife handle. I pulled and yanked at the door, proving my strength pathetic. "Mother!" I screamed, to no avail. There was a sudden cool breeze in my room, that kind of bone chilling breeze. The wind. My second story bedroom window was now open and the curtains flapped in the wind. A shadow of a sort darted back benethe my bed, I made a run for it.
I hoisted myself onto the windowsill and tried to jump, my only option. I felt the curtain wrap itself around my ankle, trapped again. I wrestled with the fabric, only tangling it more with my fantic movements. Then I felt a cool breeze practically wrap itself around my middle section, like some kind of entity cradling me down from the window, as if it was saving me. But my safety net quickly turned. I was yanked by the mysterious darkness. I tried to scream but my lungs wouldn't allow it. I tried to break myself free, but I couldn't move, completly parayzed. I was yanked under the bed, I braced for an impact that never came.
I just kept falling, swiring into a deep hole, I never thought I'd ever feel so trapped. Everything went black. That's all I could remember.
Next thing I knew I was lying in a hospital bed, bandages hiding my scared hip, an IV in my arm. Doctors and nurses moved in a flurry around me. I tried asking for help, information, but nobody would listen. It was as if nobody could hear me. That incesive wind encircling thier heads, blocking their ears from my desperate screams. I could hear mother's voice as she spoke with the doctor. "We're taking her to Bayplant." he told her, trying to sound sad, expecting a distruat mother. I'd heard of Bayplant. A girl in my drama class went there last year. I never heard of her again. "You can ride down there with her if you'd like." the doctor countinued.
"No, I'm tired, she'll be fine." she told the doctor without a second thought, and she simpy left. No goodbye, no kiss, just a yawn. I tear slipped from my eye and landed on my bandages.
"No! Don't take me there!" I begged and pleaded, but still nobody could hear me.
I rode to Bayplant in an ambulance. Crying, shaking, and silently screaming the whole way. Nobody told me anything. I was terrified, hurt, and alone.
Maybe now mother willl realize it was never the wind. It was always more than that. But it doesn't matter now. She'll never have her chance to tell me. Nobody ever comes out of Bayplant the same.
