Paranormal Night– A Horror Story Attempted By Molly Van Esseveld
I woke with a start. The nightmare was still fresh in my mind. I had read in a book just the other day that dreams all meant something. They are your subconscious trying to tell you something, to warn you of something. What could my nightmare have possibly meant?! I didn’t know that, but what I did know was that I was way too freaked out to go back to sleep. I got up, peering around my room. It was dark and gloomy, a mirror image of itself in the nightmare, creepy. I decided to go to my older brother’s room since he is usually up at all hours studying. As I walked down the hall, the floor boards creaking under my feet, I had a weird feeling of déjà vu. I reached my brothers room. There was no light coming from under his door like there usually was. Perhaps he was using the computer without the light on as he often did. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again, still no answer. Irritated, I grabbed the door handle and shoved hard.
From the moment I first glanced into the room, everything moved in slow motion. A dark figure was looming over my brother’s bed and appeared to have hold of his arm. My brother’s pale face was caught in the moonlight. My scream was ear piercing as I reached for the light switch. Taking a terrified glance back at my brother’s bed I realised with terror that both he and the dark figure had disappeared into thin air. Suddenly I heard footsteps on the stairs; my scream had roused my parents. I was frozen to the spot with fear. I just stood there, my mouth gaping, with my hand still on the light switch. Before my parents could even begin to question me, we heard the front door slam. We all turned and sprinted in confusion, down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen. Without warning, my parents stopped abruptly. Then I saw what they were looking at. There, unmoving in the doorway, was the shadowy silhouette of my brother…
I woke back in my bed the next morning to the usual sounds of my family downstairs getting breakfast. I dressed and went downstairs to join them. It was as if last night had never happened. Sitting at the table, my brother reached out to pass me a bowl. It was then I saw the strange marking on his wrist. He caught my eye for a second but then looked away.
Was last night real after all?
Each year at the girl’s school they hold a writing competition for each year level. This was Molly’s entry.
Move over Stephen King and Stieg Larsson, Molly has moved to town. Maybe we need to find her a pseudonym though; Molly just doesn’t seem like the name of someone that would write psycho thrillers.
I think perhaps it will be a while before she produces the next “Silence of the Lambs”. There is only so much ‘psycho’ a twelve year old girl’s mind can hold. Then again I’ve died many deaths under her steely gaze when I’ve confiscated her phone, perhaps she was planning how she could feed me the fishes…