Fiction

SHORT STORY: "Alone" – written in high school

The night was cold and grey. Through the walls, Sienna Warfield could hear the rythmic swaying of the trees and could see the wind wrestling with their branches. She pulled the afghan up to her neck and resumed reading the Stephen King novel she had randomly chosen off of the bookcase. The fire crackled in it’s home beneath the mantle and sent a rush of warm air toward Sienna’s comfy recliner. As she got a couple of sentences into the chapter a shrill ringing sounded throughout the house, bringing her attention to the telephone. She jumped up and sprang into the kitchen, where she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” she asked, wondering who would be calling at this time of night.
Nothing. A person’s raspy breathing was all she could hear.
“Hello?” she said again, a note of panic entering her voice.
Normally Sienna wouldn’t get worked up over a phone call, but it was too dark and she was home alone.
She threw down the receiver and ran back to her comfy spot, picking up the book. Not able to actually read the words, her eyes focused on a small spot in the middle of the page. That’s when she heard the sound. A sound that made a chill run up and down her spine and her hair stand on end. It was a slight clicking… scratching, even. It continued for a minute and then stopped, only to start again seconds later.
Sienna stood up. She began walking slowly toward the window feeling as if she was in a home movie and the audience was screaming, “No, stop! Don’t go in there!” But curiosity kept her legs moving, step after fatal step. She unlocked the window and felt herself pulling it up inch by inch. It was too late by the time she noticed the screen was missing. A gloved hand reached up and grabbed her head, pulling it down until it was outside all the way. A glint of metal shown in the moonlight as the killer drew back his hand. She tried to scream but it was cut off by the slash of a knife across her throat.
Sienna woke up screaming, having fallen asleep in her chair. As she looked across the room at the window, a scratching started….

This was written for my sophomore creative writing class back in 1995.

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