Okay, literally no one has posted. I'll be the first. THis is a short story I wrote last week, I hope you enjoy it.


Death
By Demetria Nicholas
It was quiet, almost too quiet. It seemed like the camp was deserted, but I had only been gone for a couple of minutes. Everyone was gone and there I stood, in front of the cabin, bag of extra-large marshmallows in hand. The fire was still burning, illuminating the woods around me.
“Guys?” I called. There was no reply except for the erie chirping of crickets and the buzz of mosquitoes. I took a step down the stairs and slipped on something, I fell and landed in a huge puddle of it. It stained my hands, my clothes. It dripped down my skin and made me sick to my stomach. Blood. It took everything within me not to puke my guts out right then and there.
Suddenly I realised my mistake. I should’ve stayed inside, I shouldn’t have called out, because now, whoever, or whatever did this, knew that I was here. Vulnerable, in tears, rocking back in forth in a pool of what I was hoping not to be the last of my friends. I shakily stood up and silently walked up to the porch. I pushed the door open and the hinges creaked. I froze and waited for something, anything to happen. Nothing did. I slipped through the crack in the door and slammed it shut behind me. I locked it, barricaded it. Anything to keep myself safe. From what I had no clue. I heard a shrill cry from outside. I curled into a tighter ball, and rocked back and forth, willing it to go away.
“Phoebe! Help me!” I knew that voice, that was my older sister’s voice. The one that sang me lullabies and read me bedtime stories when I was a little girl. I couldn’t let that voice fade, I slowly pulled back the curtain, but what I saw was not my sister. A man as thin as a stick, with quills sticking straight out from his back. His eyes were a crimson red, they matched to pool of blood he was standing in perfectly. A sinister smile crept across his face, paralyzing me with fear. He slowly sauntered over and tapped on the glass. I scrambled away from the window.
“Let me in, Phoebe. I just want to say hello.” It said. But that voice. It was my sister’s voice. I shook my head, this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. But, oh how real it was. The thing tapped again.
“Ohhh, Phoeeeeeebeeee? Why don’t you come out and play?” It sang. I tried to ignore the scraping of its long nails against the wood of the door. I shook my head again.
“It’s not real. He’s not real. You’ll wake up any second now.” I told myself. Suddenly the door exploded, sending scraps of splintering wood out to rain over the cabin. They scraped my skin, got tangled in my hair, but that was the least of my worries.
“Oh, but darling, I am real.” It smiled at me, like it wanted me to be proud, like a child showing its mother a painting they had made. That’s the last thing I remember, that’s the last thing I will remember. I don’t know where I am, who I am, what I am. It’s dark, too dark. I can’t breathe, but I’m not sure that I need to. Is this…… could this be…… death?

What did you all think?
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