Short Horror Stories

Mother

My mother is in the basement. I can hear her tumbling over old books and worn-out furniture while trying to find her way to the stairs. I am lying in my bed two floors above her with my eyes closed, not moving. She is screaming for me to come down. Her voice sounds desperate, almost frantic. Like a little girl looking for her lost cat. She is coming up the stairs now. Very slowly. No wonder, her legs haven’t been the same after the accident. I can hear her crippled feet moving clumsily up the stairs.

I want to scream but it is no use. I am the only one home. Maybe I could jump out the window and hide in the garden, but my legs won’t do as I tell them. She is outside my door now, her nails scratching the hardwood while her fingers lock around the doorknob. My father won’t be home for several hours. He haven’t been himself lately, after the tragedy. She is in my room now, I can hear her breathing.