FLASH FICTION - worst nightmare

Working title – Halloween Flash Fiction

Context – Short Story in Flash Fiction Style for Competition

Audience – Years 7-9

Purpose – To Entertain

Word Count – 500

 WORST NIGHTMARE

The evening was out-of-focus, the moon was at its full against the ebony sky and the gales were ice-cuttingly cruel. It stood alone at the end of the lane on top of the hill. Its dingy grey, paint-flaked exterior look like it had been neglected for decades. Its window pains were smeared with dried blood and the brickwork was infested with ivy. Adorned as it was with all manner of gargoyle and carvings; the gothic style house held a sinister threat of evildoings within. The sticky air is heavy with loneliness and only he was inhaling it. Only he could hear the decaying branches creak in the wind as the bloodthirsty bats flew overhead.

But was he alone?

                It was the night of the devil. 31.10.1931. The aura of the house didn’t sway his determination to make it to the front door. The path to the entrance was overgrown with bushes and brambles whose thorns reached out to capture the innocent. The door jolted and swung open, it was a gracious invitation by an invisible owner. “Who’s there?” he shouted. There was no answer.

                As he stood in the doorway he saw a shadow flicker in the corner of his vision. He felt immobilized. He took another step into the glorious hallway and the door slammed shut behind him. Shivers curled through the hairs on the back of his neck and raced down his spine. A rush of moist warm air brushed past his ear like a stalkers breath. Creepy noises came from the room next door, thumps, bumps, thuds, whistles, howls, and groans.  Unidentified noises. He could hear someone pacing. Perhaps they were filling up their treat buckets for the young ones who were soon to be knocking - perhaps not.

                Moonlight slipped through a crack in the walls and was illuminating a table, full of letters and newspapers from century’s ago. The fear within was permanent now; he knew he wasn’t alone. He heard the pacing again. This time it was faster and louder. A hand clasped his mouth and he couldn’t breath; he was being dragged. The floor creaked beneath him; the silhouette was enormous and detached from the floor. He could hear the autumn winds howling outside. Another door swung open and he found himself being elevated into the air and something emerging around his neck. He caught sight of a little boy in the corner playing with his figurines. The figure was oblivious he was being choked and lugged upwards towards dreamland. As his skull smashed on the ceiling the doorbell echoed throughout the dividers of the house and he was flung to the floor. The host migrated into the walls and vanished. The figure in the corner was hauled into the floor boards. He stood staggering, shuddering, shivering and darted up the hallways towards the entrance. He gripped the doorknob and forced the door open. No one was there. Was this his mind playing games with him or had someone been there? Had someone rang the doorbell or was it all just in his imagination?