Found some more old school shit. Circa 1998. It was written in high school, so its lacking a certain, well, hell just read it.

The night was cold and grey. Through the walls, Caitlin Pierce could hear the rhythmic swaying of the trees and could hear the wind wrestling with their branches. She pulled the afghan, one her mother had made for her when she was little, up to her neck and tried to get into the Stephen King book she had randomly chosen out of the bookcase. It didn’t quite hold her attention and she drifted off into a light sleep.

The sound of a ringing phone startled her awake. She jumped up and sprang into the kitchen, where she picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” she asked, thinking to herself who would be calling this late at night. Nothing. Silence and then a person’s raspy breathing.

“Hello?” she asked again, panic entering her voice. Normally Cait wouldn’t get so worked up about a prank call but it was late and she was home alone.

She threw the receiver back on it’s hook, ran back to the chair and picked up the book. Not the best choice out of all the books in the case but now she was stuck with it. Not actually able to read the words, her eyes focused on a spot in the middle of the page.

She heard a sound. A sound that made her skin crawl. It was a light clicking, scratching even. It continued for a minute and then stopped, only to start again a minute later.

Cait stood up. She began walking slowly toward the window where the noise was coming from. Her mind was telling her not to go 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 glove hand reached up and grabbed her head, pulling it down until it was outside all the way. Metal reflected off of the moonlight for a split second as the killer drew back his hand. She tried to scream but it was cut short by the slash of a knife across her throat.

Caitlin woke up screaming, having fallen asleep in her chair. As she looked across the room at the window, a scratching started….


Wit & Criticism Welcome!!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s