Terrifying Nightmare Stories 2024 (Ashes)
She felt lonely. The old room gave her two completely opposing feelings: a sense of security and a hollow heart.
Rain pounded on the roof of the old building
The windows were rain-streaked and badly painted, and the old wooden floor was covered in hay, mud, and wood remnants. She was surrounded by various objects: a neon orange sled to her left, a plastic trash can to her right, and directly in front of her an old blue chair. A small, colorful Christmas tree hung in the older parts of the house: shutters that were no longer up to date, old wood paneling that had long ago been replaced with more durable materials. A broken bike part here, a child's toy box there. It is now considered an obsolete item. There were few things of her youth, but one glance at the quietly creaking attic from the stranger seemed to sum up her entire childhood.
Rain pounded on the roof of the old building. It reminded her of a swarm of little mice in royal blue uniforms, fighting their sworn enemies with toothpicks and safety pins.
She closed her eyes and thought about her life:
She closed her eyes and thought about her life: her friends, her family, her relationships. She thought about religion. She thought about God. People around her often told her that a life without God is no life. She had to find religion to be happy. She had to find religion to protect herself from being "cursed."
Hell, what a concept, she thought. Why does it sound so serious when they say it, but so empty when I say it?
"Hell," she said aloud. Nothing in particular.
The rat war was raging now, and she shook her head back and forth to the music that filled her head as the battle neared its climax. There was no particular arrangement, just some notes and totals here and there. Occasionally the music drifted along with the sound of the wind hitting the window, and she stopped swaying and wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them closer to her chest and chin.
She closed her eyes, her eyelashes brushing her wrists. But as soon as she closed her eyes, they suddenly opened as she heard the faint sound of a small door hidden behind the seat and handlebars of the motorcycle. She carefully raised her head and let her gaze wander over the doorframe. It wasn't a knock, more like a push, as if someone had accidentally put their elbow on a picture, causing it to bounce slightly off the wall.
She opened her lips to scream, but thought better of it. There could be no one there, and the door opened into a crawl space between the wall and its counterpart on the outside. As she stared at the door, her caution faded and a gentle curiosity filled the room. She tilted her head, and a butterfly flew through the keyhole.
Wonderful, she thought, and smiled. The butterfly crossed the narrow space and brushed the bottom of her forearm. She wrinkled her nose in foolish fascination as a butterfly brushed her shoulder and landed on the miniature doorknob. As she was about to turn, out of the corner of her eye she saw sparks flying from the door. She turned and watched in amazement and horror as the butterfly's wings flared and hissed. Flames crept up his small body, leaving a trail of distorted white-grey wings behind him. As she stood rooted to the spot, the smell snaked towards her. She couldn't bring herself to move to cover her nose, but she lowered her head to her feet, feeling the blood drain from her face at the sight of her shoes. They were bright orange, streaked with yellow flames.
She screamed as the flames raced up her feet faster and faster. Pain like a thousand spears pierced her, searing her to the bone. When the flames reached the metal of her belt, the pain became so intense it couldn't have been worse, and she passed out. But she couldn't move, not even to close her eyes. She stood like a witch tied to a stake over the fire pit. She screamed again, but she knew no one could hear her. Her eyelids finally closed, her eyelashes burning. As the pain became too intense to feel, memories of all the terrible things she had done to her life flashed through her mind, even though she couldn't calm down. Even things she hadn't actually done but had imagined, made her feel a deep, burning sense of guilt. Opening her eyes again, she pressed her cheek against the pillow.
She gasped, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and crouched on the floor. Cold fingers ran down her spine, shattering the nerves, and, ironically, she felt a shiver.
It's just a dream, she told herself. But for some reason, the thought did not comfort her. She felt a lump in her throat. She clutched the sheets and felt something tiny brush her fingertips. She couldn't help but let out a small shriek as she looked down. The sheets were littered with ash and bits of burnt eyelashes.
She sat on the edge of the bed, bile seeping into the cracks in the floor, a shiver running down her spine, the sheets covered in tiny hairs and ash. She felt so alone here.
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