No Way Out - Horror Shorts

Notes Pt 1

Disclaimer: This story is not real.

I don't know why I'm writing this. Maybe someone will see it? Maybe they'll know how to stop this thing. Because I for one have no clue how to do it. I know I'm going to die.

My name is Craig, and I'm being terrorized by a child's drawing.

Before I go into detail of what's going on right now, let me give you some background of what started this whole thing and my theory of how it came to be.

It all started when my daughter August drew a picture on a Saturday afternoon.

The weather was beautiful that day, so it was odd that August was inside. She loved playing outside, rain or shine. But there she was, sitting at her drawing table. She was coloring feverishly. I had never seen someone draw so intently. I swear she was working up a sweat!

But as I watched, I noticed something terrifying about her drawing. It had her, with her ginger hair and usual red dress that she loved, but then next to her was the lady in white. She had black hair. The scariest thing, though? the woman had blood everywhere. On her eyes, on the dress. It was terrifying. And for a child to draw that? 

"Honey," I had said, "Why did you draw this?" I scratched the back of my head nervously, awaiting her response.

She smiled and replied, "That's Cindy, Daddy! She's my friend. She lives in the attic."

I was dumbfounded. What was was she talking about? A girl in our attic? Part of me wanted to laugh at her, to make a joke about it, and call it a day. But another part of me was terrified to the core. I wanted to protect my family from whatever this thing was. 

But I made the biggest mistake of my life right then and there.

I left her alone to finish her drawing.

And here's why it was a mistake: it was a mistake because I let whatever that thing was, fester in her imagination. I let it take hold of her mind, I let it become more and more life-like in her eyes. I let it become real to her. And in the end, it became a reality. Spoil alert.

But here's my theory on how this thing came to be.

Here's how I think it started: my daughter must've been up late one night, probably couldn't fall asleep. And since this was unknown to my wife and me, we may have decided to watch a scary movie. August, being afraid of the dark, and not wanting to be alone, must've wandered downstairs and seen a scary part of the movie.

This is the only way I can think that she would conjure something like this up. Could my child's mind really be so twisted to think of something like this on her own? 

Or was this thing here before we moved here? I couldn't be sure. 

So let's get to the present.

Currently, I'm in my basement writing this. And I can hear that thing upstairs, wandering around doing God knows what. 

It's about 3:35 am. I've been down here all day trying to write this, trying to figure out the right things to say. I think I've gotten the right things down this time around. I can't tell you what draft this is because I have no clue.

There was a thump upstairs. I'm not going to check it out. I know that that's how people die in the movies, and I am not about to die right now. I get to see August tomorrow, and that's all I have.

I'm starting to get ready to write another page of this note, and then I hear a slam. And it's not from far away upstairs, no. It's the door of the basement.

Now my heart is pounding out of my chest and I'm shaking like a leaf. I haven't ever actually seen this thing, and the thought is terrifying me.

I can hear the basement steps creaking as it puts the weight of its foot on them one after another until it's at the end. But I still can't see it because a wall blocks the last step. All it has to do is round that corner and I'm done for.

I'm grasping the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. I can't breathe due to fear. My body is in fight or flight mode, but it can't decide which is best in this situation.

And she's rounding the corner, and I can see the tips of her black hair and her glowing white eyes.

Then I wake up. Because it was just a bad dream.

I'm covered in a cold sweat, and I'm shaking, a lot like in the dream. And I'm at the desk in the basement, where I must've fallen asleep.

There are no noises upstairs, all is silent.

The note ends here. Coffee and water stains it. It's in bad condition.