Short stories are great to boost your daily reading habit. Here’s a short horror/thriller story I wrote three years ago. The following is based on a writing prompt from Writers Digest!
Other short stories include The Living Doll and The Face Outside.
The large hands around his shoulders were his only guide as the world in front of his eyes was shrouded in a thick curtain of darkness. The coldness of the concrete could be felt through the soles of his shoes as his inept steps became more and more of a tedious effort.
He felt no energy, no adrenaline, no life running through his exhausted body as he heard hushed whispers that blended together as if they were all one voice.
“Sleep, my friend,” came a honeyed murmur next to her ear.
When he no longer felt the warm supporting touch, his weakened body almost instantly collapsing onto what felt like an ice patch on a cold winter’s night.
His fingertips slightly grazed the cold ground he laid upon as his consciousness dawned upon him.
“Open your eyes,” came a haunting voice.
The boy’s eyes shot open, his adrenaline spreading like wildfire as he saw nothing but darkness. He reached for the back of his head in hopes of finding a blindfold of sorts that was cruelly responsible for hindering his vision, but all he felt was the short strands of his brown hair.
Suddenly, he felt a presence.
Its brief and frigid touch against his abnormally warm skin was borderline seductive. Cries of help became lodged in his throat which was immediately replaced by a choked and helpless cry.
The next words of the voice raised a slight alarm as he caught the familiar drawl in the voice, “What do you see?”
The boy swallowed and said with a wavering voice, “Nothing. I see nothing.”
He heard a low chuckle before the voice replied with the same drawl, “What do you want to see?”
A touch. He shivered.
“Anything… I just want to see!” he pleaded then added, “Who are you?”
An agonizing scream left the boy’s dry throat as a fierce flash of light suddenly appeared in his darkness. Spontaneous flames began burning away the frightful ambiguity until the boy was met with a figure that made the blood in his veins run cold.
“You’re asking questions you already know the answers to. Didn’t you know?”
The boy himself stood in front of him. His short brown hair was soiled and his tattered clothing revealed much of dry blood and old and sewn up scars. Fresh blood ran from his dirty ears which followed his sharp jawline until it no longer could.
The red liquid dripped onto the chilly concrete into a small, black puddle. His dark lips were smiling but sewn shut. And in replacement of his brown eyes were dark empty sockets.
His right hand was placed neatly over his left which was resting on his lap, the skin on his hands peeling away. He wasn’t standing but sitting in a weathered wheelchair, his legs appeared skinnier than the rest of him.
Underneath the stormy clouds, large, gray concrete walls were seen on either side of them, and where the boy was was a fork in the path.
“I am you,” the doppelganger said with a ghost of a smile, “And you are me.”
The boy screamed but heard nothing. He froze and allowed his frantic thoughts to run amok in his exhausted mind.
“You cannot hear,” the boy heard his doppelganger said then added with a drawl, “At least not your own voice.” The boy opened his mouth but hadn’t a chance to speak as his other half continued, “How does it feel to lose a sense we often take for granted?”
“Give it back,” the boy pleaded, “Please. I beg of you.”
“This is only the beginning,” the doppelganger whispered. “It’s the beginning to one of my favourite games.”
The boy stared in fright as the wheelchair moved closer and closer to him with the words, “Welcome to The Rift,” echoing in the back of his mind.
**This piece is crossposted on udictionaryblog.com**