Ana Earl September 18, 2013 Creative Writing Scary Story

The Storm
It was a particularly stormy Tuesday night. Lightning slashed the sky, turning the dead black overcast brighter than an explosion. Its claps echoed as they rumbled through the mountains. Just as quick as the lightning struck, thunder boomed in the sky, its growl shaking everything nearby. The trees swayed and electricity poles wavered timidly, ready to hit and strike the bare ground in a solid thump. The streets become dangerous to walk through because of the windstorms. The town retreated indoors, not taking the risk of being attacked by rain and wind, strong enough to break your leg. Children were instructed to stay indoors this time of year. The fear of a small toddler being swept away loomed over parents heads. The quiet street was asleep, lost in dreams, oblivious to anything beyond their door. There wasnt a single light on in one of the dozen houses on the street. No one would hear a scream. A call of help would go unknown until hours later. Rain flooded the streets. It was the rainy season, and the street could be backed up for days. Knee-deep water throughout the little lane would make cars getting through a challenge. The house was simple and plain. A small porch and front yard, was all the neighbors could see. A small family with a cat moved in just last week. The house was filled with moving boxes, overfilling with clothes, kitchen pots and pans. Pillows and towels littered the rooms, making an obstacle course for anyone to exit. Each room was square and plain. A door to the left, windows on the side. The kitchen and living room were consistent. Office and bathrooms were identically shaped. The house was a duplicate of every basic home. The house consisted of a monotone of shapes and figures. Only the howling wind and torrential rain could be heard to soak the sound of silence that encased the room. The windows creaked, mattress swayed. The wind wanted in, but the doors were fighting back. The sound of the battering shook the roof. The rain pelted down, as mad as a heard of elephants; ready to fight. Shadows from the howls and shrieks were creeping in, looming in the corners of doors and desks. The room was littered with overflowing boxes of clothes and toys, notebooks and pencils. Piles of books lined the wall, paper scattered throughout the small room. Furniture sat upside-down, with blankets and boxes piled over the bulky shapes. A bare sheet and mattress were pushed to the wall. Furniture that was going to move to another room were pressed to the window, and its tallness exceeded the window length, blocking the little amount of light able to come through. The muddle of things strewn through the room made it an obstacle course for anything to exit, locking in everyone and everything until the morning.

The lamps light bulb flickered. The wind was beginning to move in. It was slowly tearing down the electrical wires outside that provided the only light in the room. It was slowly losing its battle against the windows. The wind pushed hard on all sides of the house. It was trying to come in. Everything swayed and screeched. The howling from outside only inclined the tension in the room. Sat upright in bed, she gripped the novel with both hands, not reading the words, just scanning the endless lines; constantly looking up towards the door. She was so fixated by what may walk in the doorway, that she didnt realize the lamp was flickering until it lost almost all of its power. The room was about to go dark, she was about to loose her most powerful sense. Something was creeping in, and she wouldnt be able to see it. She started to frantically think of all of the ideas that would lead her to the nearest flashlight, to a phone or match that would illuminate the room she sat in nervously. Nothing came to mind. There must be something in one of the boxes. Palms sweating and heart racing, she looked frantically from box to box. She wanted to get up, wanted to search through the debris that filled the room, but she couldnt. Her legs froze, her arms tensed. She wasnt going anywhere. Her mind chained her to the mattress. Too afraid to move, as to what might hear her. The light began to flicker faster. The electrical wires outside were slowly crashing to the ground. Once they met the cold soil, the lights would be out. The room frantically went dark and then bright again, over and over. The light bulb was soon going to run out of its shine. Her eyes desperately bounced from one box to the next, to the floor and furniture, desperately seeking some form of light. Nothing. The flicker was growing more rapid, in faster intervals. Just as quickly as she could think about it, the lights went out in an abrupt stop. Strikes from the lightning and howls from the thunder blasted through the sky outside. She was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Unable to move. Unable to see. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a shriek loud enough to wake an ant. Her mind raced faster than a speedway, from one thought to the next, examining all possible outcomes. She remembered reading in the news of the latest kidnapping: of someone creeping into the house at night, ready to take his or her next victim. She shuddered. The room was encased by darkness. The shrieks of the storm outside her thin walls were as loud as a volcano eruption, but inside was dead silent. Nothing moved. Nothing happened. The silence is what scared her the most. The idea of something approaching, moving in, without her knowing; without her seeing or hearing; is what scared her the most. Tip, tap, tip, tap. Something, someone was actually coming. She knew that she wasnt imagining it. This was real. This was worse. Her breath shortened, her heartbeat sprinted. The steps came closer. They became more of a reality with every move, not just her imagination anymore. Something was actually coming and fast. She was still gripping her novel, fingers digging into the laminated cover. Without even knowing it, she became hot and sweaty; her breath became little wheezes every few moments. The door opened just ajar. She could feel it. She could hear the creaking of the hinges, slowly moving towards her. Slowly coming. Slowly entering into the darkness. She could feel it

creeping towards her. The pit pat of the steps slowly grew closer. The door slammed shut, just an echo of the entrance of something, someone. She gripped at her book, knees pulled to her chest, shuddering away. The steps grew closer, the fear was becoming known. She didnt have time to think, only to wor ry. Without any warning or notice something swiped at her face, a clawing streak was left over her chin. What was it? What was happening? Her thoughts raced. Without even knowing it, she tentatively reached her arm out, expecting to feel a machete blade or the cold metal of a gun. But instead she felt the soft fluffiness of fur butting its head into her leg. With a short meow the cat laid down at her feet, expecting to be pet.