• 5/25/15 8:45 am
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Once again I apologise for barely posting anything, however, my exams have ended and I have a few days off of school. Anyway, enjoy.
- - -
My family had always been big on the supernatural. Once a year, we would all gather around a campfire located in the woods nearby my grandparents' house and tell eerie stories that still sent shivers down my back. It was one particular story that burned a permanent scar in my brain.
-
I had just finished draining my hot chocolate when my uncle launched into his own horror story. For several hours - at least four - my family had each been telling their own tales that featured the abnormal. None of them really affected me, for I had grown up with them.
"Right," my uncle gurgled, his drunken stupor reflected onto his face from the moonlight, "I'll tell ye all one terrifyin' story. Many o' us are involved with it." He dangled his pinkie finger around the fire, jabbing it in people with glasses faces. I was one of them. "'Dose with glasses, aye. Well, 'dose with short sigh'." I raised an eyebrow, exchanging a smug look with my cousin, Jack. We were the only short sighted ones, whilst the rest were either long sighted or didn't require glasses; how I wished I didn't have glasses.
"So, what's so great about being short sighted?" Envy oozed out of my other cousin, Analise, as she asked the question. Analise was a typical flouncy girl, with long blonde hair which she seemed to enjoy messing with every second of the day. She annoyed me immensely, and if she wasn't family, I'd probably consider her an enemy.
To Analise's shock, her father chuckled, some liquor dripping down his stubbled chin. "Aye, ma girl, don' know why ye so jealous. Ye should be relieved that you ain't short sigh'ed. Only Jack an' Rose should be worried." Despite being a drunken fool, my uncle developed a serious look in his dark eyes, as he raised them to meet mine and Jack's. For a moment, he looked as he was about to deliver grave news. Then the flames flickered across him and the look died out as quickly as that.
"Now, it all started in a small castle which stood on a faraway hill, in one of them Russian places." He was so accurate. "In the castle (which was called Zreniye Castle), lived a teenaged girl. She suffered a horrible life, for she was short sighted. Her parents, who were wealthy and friends with the King of the time, cursed their daughter as the Devil's child for her weak sight. It even got to the point where they locked their child up in her room, feeding her only cold soup and stale bread. The girl was slowly starving to death, rotting away like a corpse. It all ended one night, on the 13th of Friday on a cold October. Her parents, both staggering with alcohol, broke into the sleeping girl's room. They dragged her out of her bed and - by her hair - pulled her into a chamber that hid underneath the castle. It was full of all sorts of devices to torture people." Shivers ran down my spine as my uncle's voice - which had suddenly gotten clearer - rambled on, describing the ways of how the girl was tortured. "She finally died, vowing that she would get revenge on all those short sighted, so they would also feel her pain. It is rumoured that on the first friday of October, the girl will come and take all those sleeping with short sight."
The whole circle was rapt with attention, and occasionally I could feel terrified eyes stare at me. It was the first friday of October today. But the story wasn't true, none of them were... then why was I suddenly feeling a heavy ball in my gut that could only be described as fear? I scrambled around almost with blind conscious, searching for my cousin. Finally, his petrified gaze met mine. Instead of this soothing me, the ball in my stomach grew larger and I could feel my fingernails digging into my hands, blood emerging. The red liquid trickled down my legs and somehow dripped towards the fire, which hissed as the blood contacted it.
I suddenly felt my glasses being ripped off my head, and then the shouts of my family faded away. The only noises I could hear was a whisper, repeating the same words. It flew around me, causing my body to tingle as it weaved its way through me like a spider web. The other noise was high-pitched screams that seemed to come out of me. Everything was blurry - and the fact that it was nighttime didn't help. Abruptly, I swivelled around as the whispers grew closer, the words becoming more distinguishable.
A shape came into my eyesight, a blurred dark blue with bits of brown. It must've been a human, for what else could it have been? I stretched my arms outwards, attempting to walk closer to the person. Wind whistled in my ears and drops of rain that had appeared pattered down on my arms, almost painful. The warmth of the campfire had long disappeared, and all I could focus on now was approaching the person. They seemed to just stand there, as if they were waiting for me.
I eventually reached them, and as their features became more sharp, I realised my mistake.
It was the girl from the story, her eyes alight with a cruel hunger, waiting to take me as one of her own.
- - -
My family had always been big on the supernatural. Once a year, we would all gather around a campfire located in the woods nearby my grandparents' house and tell eerie stories that still sent shivers down my back. It was one particular story that burned a permanent scar in my brain.
-
I had just finished draining my hot chocolate when my uncle launched into his own horror story. For several hours - at least four - my family had each been telling their own tales that featured the abnormal. None of them really affected me, for I had grown up with them.
"Right," my uncle gurgled, his drunken stupor reflected onto his face from the moonlight, "I'll tell ye all one terrifyin' story. Many o' us are involved with it." He dangled his pinkie finger around the fire, jabbing it in people with glasses faces. I was one of them. "'Dose with glasses, aye. Well, 'dose with short sigh'." I raised an eyebrow, exchanging a smug look with my cousin, Jack. We were the only short sighted ones, whilst the rest were either long sighted or didn't require glasses; how I wished I didn't have glasses.
"So, what's so great about being short sighted?" Envy oozed out of my other cousin, Analise, as she asked the question. Analise was a typical flouncy girl, with long blonde hair which she seemed to enjoy messing with every second of the day. She annoyed me immensely, and if she wasn't family, I'd probably consider her an enemy.
To Analise's shock, her father chuckled, some liquor dripping down his stubbled chin. "Aye, ma girl, don' know why ye so jealous. Ye should be relieved that you ain't short sigh'ed. Only Jack an' Rose should be worried." Despite being a drunken fool, my uncle developed a serious look in his dark eyes, as he raised them to meet mine and Jack's. For a moment, he looked as he was about to deliver grave news. Then the flames flickered across him and the look died out as quickly as that.
"Now, it all started in a small castle which stood on a faraway hill, in one of them Russian places." He was so accurate. "In the castle (which was called Zreniye Castle), lived a teenaged girl. She suffered a horrible life, for she was short sighted. Her parents, who were wealthy and friends with the King of the time, cursed their daughter as the Devil's child for her weak sight. It even got to the point where they locked their child up in her room, feeding her only cold soup and stale bread. The girl was slowly starving to death, rotting away like a corpse. It all ended one night, on the 13th of Friday on a cold October. Her parents, both staggering with alcohol, broke into the sleeping girl's room. They dragged her out of her bed and - by her hair - pulled her into a chamber that hid underneath the castle. It was full of all sorts of devices to torture people." Shivers ran down my spine as my uncle's voice - which had suddenly gotten clearer - rambled on, describing the ways of how the girl was tortured. "She finally died, vowing that she would get revenge on all those short sighted, so they would also feel her pain. It is rumoured that on the first friday of October, the girl will come and take all those sleeping with short sight."
The whole circle was rapt with attention, and occasionally I could feel terrified eyes stare at me. It was the first friday of October today. But the story wasn't true, none of them were... then why was I suddenly feeling a heavy ball in my gut that could only be described as fear? I scrambled around almost with blind conscious, searching for my cousin. Finally, his petrified gaze met mine. Instead of this soothing me, the ball in my stomach grew larger and I could feel my fingernails digging into my hands, blood emerging. The red liquid trickled down my legs and somehow dripped towards the fire, which hissed as the blood contacted it.
I suddenly felt my glasses being ripped off my head, and then the shouts of my family faded away. The only noises I could hear was a whisper, repeating the same words. It flew around me, causing my body to tingle as it weaved its way through me like a spider web. The other noise was high-pitched screams that seemed to come out of me. Everything was blurry - and the fact that it was nighttime didn't help. Abruptly, I swivelled around as the whispers grew closer, the words becoming more distinguishable.
A shape came into my eyesight, a blurred dark blue with bits of brown. It must've been a human, for what else could it have been? I stretched my arms outwards, attempting to walk closer to the person. Wind whistled in my ears and drops of rain that had appeared pattered down on my arms, almost painful. The warmth of the campfire had long disappeared, and all I could focus on now was approaching the person. They seemed to just stand there, as if they were waiting for me.
I eventually reached them, and as their features became more sharp, I realised my mistake.
It was the girl from the story, her eyes alight with a cruel hunger, waiting to take me as one of her own.
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Have something to say?
Just doesn't sound right. Perhaps "It was one particular tale that engraved a lasting impression within my thoughts." But that's only a suggestion.
"when my uncle launched into his own horror story." I also don't like the sound of that. Launched is an odd verb to use in that situation.
"describing the ways of how the girl was tortured." Instead of saying that, it would've been a lot better if you actually described it, felt a little lazy.
However, I liked the plot of the story, can't help but chuckle however at "She finally died, vowing that she would get revenge on all those short sighted". Good work overall :)