This is a Halloween short story. Sorta haunting. But not really.... Yet anyways. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. The sky thunders in my ears as I stumble up the muddy slope surrounded with trees. The light is fading, not only from the sky, but from my vision. My bare feet manage to find traction on the slick surface and I scramble up into a huge corn field. The stalks are cut down to about ankle level, the corn was already harvested for winter. My eyes search frantically for the road that cuts through the middle, the darkness in the corners of my eyes gets darker. I see it, a small, packed gravel road. I manage to reach it, my feet getting cut on the rocks that stick up. I spot a small house. At this time in the year, I'm shocked to see it's in good condition, hell, I'm surprised anyone survived the last raid out here. The memories of burning flesh and screams and red eyes and sharp teeth make me shudder. My stomach threatens to up-chuck it's meager breakfast of acorns. I sallow it so it doesn't come up. I slow to a walk and call out with a voice that's raspy from disuse, "Anyone there?" No answer. Not that I really expected one. Instead, my voice echoes back to me, a haunting sound. The sound makes me shiver, any voice, even my own makes me skittish after so long in silence and soltiude. Silence and soltiude, ever since I fled my village after the attacks of The Red Eyes.
" No answer. Not that I really expected one. Instead, my voice echoes back to me, a haunting sound. The sound makes me shiver, any voice, even my own makes me skittish after so long in silence and soltiude. Silence and soltiude, ever since I fled my village after the attacks of The Red Eyes. I reach the house slowly, taking my time in case I should need the cover of the trees. Protection. Every step I take I'm getting closer and closer to possible death. Countless things can be hidden in the small brick house whose shadow now cloaks me in shades of grey. Yet I still move stiffly to the perfect doorway, yes even the door's intact. It stands tall and straight, like the survivor of a war.
I place my palm onto the chipped paint. It peels under the light weight of my hand. I know now, that something is up, but the yearning for one night in a house is strong. I gulp and twist the door knob. The door swings in on itself without a sound, quieter than a hawk watching it’s prey. As soon as my hand lets go of the knob it falls off the door and rolls out the door with a thump thump thump. It’s way too late to run for the trees and the house, its luring me in somehow. Like the Red Eyes do to people. I stand with thoughts rolling like waves through my head. I shake off the curtain of thought only to realize my feet have sunk to their ankles in rotted wood. A scream rips from my throat, the first in a long time. The house, its rotting beneath me, every step I take is followed by a groaning of wood. When I reach the shiny aluminum flooring of the perfect kitchen I look at my path of destruction. My foot prints seem to be ponds in a field of cherry oak flooring. The door frame under my hand rots. Crumbling into my palm like a dry cake. Like that one I made exactly four weeks ago for my brother’s birthday. The day the Red Eyes came. The day my own brother almost bit me with a need for blood as his pale grey eyes turned a dark red. The day I took the cans out from under my bed and ran. “STOP THINKING,” I scream at myself. The noise cracks the walls. At this point I’m too freaked out by the house to notice the capes appearing in the yard through the window. A swish here, a swoosh there. Soon a handful of people with eyes as red as the crayons you get with the kids’ menu at restaurants are around me. The floor not sinking with their weight. One steps towards me. He has his long blonde hair pinned back and has a generally cocky look about him. His eyes seem to be streaked with a gold. The symbol that means he just ate well. “Is this her,” He seems to purr, flicking a finger under my quivering chin to force me to look up. A boy no older than twelve frozen that age forever steps forward. His formerly grey eyes red, and his untidy brown hair matted down. “Yes Kai,” Tyler’s eyes flicker to mine. There’s no emotion in them. I stare at him dead on, taking in his face. Sallow, papery looking skin with perfected features. The long scars over his cheek bones are gone. The slight pudginess to his cheeks aren’t there anymore. “Tyler? What are you doing,” I place my hand on his shoulder, half stopping him from coming closer, half searching for some way to find my brother in this statue. The coldness of his skin radiates through the thick cape on his shoulders. So cold I shiver. "Sarjia you know why," Tyler mutters, not making eye contact. I tighten my grip. "No Ty I don't! Tell me." "There's no words to explain it though!" "You can't do this to me," I say through gritted teeth and I pull my arm back from his shoulder. A hand grasps the back of my neck.