Lovely
Member
- May 12, 2008
- 151
- 0
- 16
high) and tell me why? *** Disclaimer*** some people may find this a little scary.
His greasy hands reached through the darkness, strait for my throat. I could see his ice blue eyes looking directly into my soul and his upturn mouth that stretched across his teeth in some horrible mockery of a smile.
I sat strait up in bed, clutching the blanket in my hands. I was shivering but a sweat was pouring over me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, frozen in fear.
“Shhh,” came a soft voice in my ear. “Destiny, shhhhh, it’s okay, he’s dead. He’s dead. You killed him. Shhhhh. It’s all going to be okay. It was a nightmare.” His arms wrapped slowly, hesitantly around my shoulders and he pulled me into him. His hand moved up and wrapped around my head, patting my hair down.
I realized that I was sobbing. More than that, I was screaming. I was screaming his name. I tried to stop, but the screams kept coming until I was too horse to scream anymore. The last time it came out barely above a whisper, a crackly version of “John Cain.” And suddenly it was quiet. Nick was still holding me tightly, but the only sounds were my labored breathing, and his slow, steady heartbeat right up next to my ear.
“Just a dream,” I heard him mumble.
“Just a dream,” I repeated, still dazed.
He pulled my head up so I could look at him. He was smiling, but it was a tight smile. The worry was still deep rotted in his eyes.
“Nick,” I whispered, “go back to sleep, or people are going to start thinking I’m giving you black eyes.” I laughed at my weak attempt at humor. Then I realized why it wasn’t funny. I was giving him black eyes.
I couldn’t look at him anymore. I couldn’t look at his pain anymore. It just made my pain all that much worse. I shoved the blankets over to him and slid on my fuzzy multi-colored slippers and walked over our wooden floor. After I shut the bedroom door, I turned on every light between the room I shared with my husband and the kitchen.
As light flooded my vision, the image of him fell back slightly, enough for me to put a rustic kettle full of water on the stove. I listened to the familiar click of the stove as the fire began to boil the water. I watched it, ignoring the prickling sensation on the back of my neck. “Go away, go away, go away,” I muttered to the invisible figure. “Go away, go away, go away.”
I watched as the first puffs of steam escaped from the kettle. I went to reach for it, just as the scream started to rise from its hole. Under the scream, I could hear his dark, evil laughter. “I’m coming to get you,” he seemed to laugh. “I will finally kill you.”
I could feel the scream rising in my throat and I reached to take the thing of the burner. I felt a touch on my shoulder, and I dropped the kettle. I turned around. Of course there was nothing there. No one there. I felt an extreme pain on my foot, and I looked down to see red blisters appearing there where the water from the kettle was pouring over it. The scream I was trying to swallow started making its way faster toward my vocal cords. I turned my back to the counter and slid down. I stuffed my right hand as far as I could into my mouth and bit. After a few seconds I felt blood trickling into my mouth, but my jaw didn’t loosen.
I could still hear the laughter. “I’m going to get you,” Cain’s dark voice spoke. “I will kill you.”
His greasy hands reached through the darkness, strait for my throat. I could see his ice blue eyes looking directly into my soul and his upturn mouth that stretched across his teeth in some horrible mockery of a smile.
I sat strait up in bed, clutching the blanket in my hands. I was shivering but a sweat was pouring over me. I kept my eyes straight ahead, frozen in fear.
“Shhh,” came a soft voice in my ear. “Destiny, shhhhh, it’s okay, he’s dead. He’s dead. You killed him. Shhhhh. It’s all going to be okay. It was a nightmare.” His arms wrapped slowly, hesitantly around my shoulders and he pulled me into him. His hand moved up and wrapped around my head, patting my hair down.
I realized that I was sobbing. More than that, I was screaming. I was screaming his name. I tried to stop, but the screams kept coming until I was too horse to scream anymore. The last time it came out barely above a whisper, a crackly version of “John Cain.” And suddenly it was quiet. Nick was still holding me tightly, but the only sounds were my labored breathing, and his slow, steady heartbeat right up next to my ear.
“Just a dream,” I heard him mumble.
“Just a dream,” I repeated, still dazed.
He pulled my head up so I could look at him. He was smiling, but it was a tight smile. The worry was still deep rotted in his eyes.
“Nick,” I whispered, “go back to sleep, or people are going to start thinking I’m giving you black eyes.” I laughed at my weak attempt at humor. Then I realized why it wasn’t funny. I was giving him black eyes.
I couldn’t look at him anymore. I couldn’t look at his pain anymore. It just made my pain all that much worse. I shoved the blankets over to him and slid on my fuzzy multi-colored slippers and walked over our wooden floor. After I shut the bedroom door, I turned on every light between the room I shared with my husband and the kitchen.
As light flooded my vision, the image of him fell back slightly, enough for me to put a rustic kettle full of water on the stove. I listened to the familiar click of the stove as the fire began to boil the water. I watched it, ignoring the prickling sensation on the back of my neck. “Go away, go away, go away,” I muttered to the invisible figure. “Go away, go away, go away.”
I watched as the first puffs of steam escaped from the kettle. I went to reach for it, just as the scream started to rise from its hole. Under the scream, I could hear his dark, evil laughter. “I’m coming to get you,” he seemed to laugh. “I will finally kill you.”
I could feel the scream rising in my throat and I reached to take the thing of the burner. I felt a touch on my shoulder, and I dropped the kettle. I turned around. Of course there was nothing there. No one there. I felt an extreme pain on my foot, and I looked down to see red blisters appearing there where the water from the kettle was pouring over it. The scream I was trying to swallow started making its way faster toward my vocal cords. I turned my back to the counter and slid down. I stuffed my right hand as far as I could into my mouth and bit. After a few seconds I felt blood trickling into my mouth, but my jaw didn’t loosen.
I could still hear the laughter. “I’m going to get you,” Cain’s dark voice spoke. “I will kill you.”