The Bone Girl


The Bone Girl 

   I hear whispers in the night as I lay my head to rest. I assure you I am not ill, I am not mad in the mind or body. Quiet whispers I tell you, tickle gently upon the canals of my ears before each rest at midnight. Like wisps of wind through an empty hall.

  But oddly, I fear them not but I am quite gripped in confusion. As if lost in a room of mirrors, I am finding no exit. But I do not allow my lost mind to be wild. I keep my wits about me as I lay myself to rest. 
  
  What these whispers say I do not know. They are foreign in tongue, or so I think. I reach out to my doctor, he gives me no advice but to take pills to help me rest. He states, "It may be your lack of well rest. Often the mind will become delusional if not sufficiently resting."

  I take his offer of pills and yet, I still hear the somber voices that trickle from the air. I am not mad I tell you, I swear. There is no delusion of my mind, only the haunting of my room. Maybe I should rest in another room? Maybe then I will be welcomed with silence? 

  So I try my living room, I lay my pillow upon my couch and my comforter rests snug upon my body. I hear nothing but the crackling of my fireplace as it dwindles to the night. The smell of smoke comforts my traveling thoughts as I wait for the whispers to come.

But there is nothing...

  Wait, as my mind comes to exhaustion, just before the pills seize my body I hear them. But I am too weak to fight the medication. I drift to the lands of dreams, where I find myself lost in my own home. I am search of something, but what?

  I feel frantic in this dream, my house is bare of any furniture and the front door is wide open. An unholy wind rushes from it. I try to close it but the wind is too strong, I am swept from my feet. Tossed to the corner near the fireplace.

  As I lay with frantic eyes I look to the fireplace and a sudden shriek of a young girl howls from the  chimney. Ash is flung from it and from the ash I see a face. A face of young girl, she appears to be in pain, pure torment fills the room as she screams.

  My heart is rapid in pace and I cannot move. The ash falls upon me and covers me head to toe. I then see a small shadow, that of a girl. It crawls up my legs, it is cold and I shiver. The shadow clasps my ankles and forces me to the chimney. Pulling me up up up, as if I weigh of nothing.

  I feel my bones break as I am forced into the confined mouth of the chimney. I can neither speak nor move. Just as I am pulled to the opening of the chimney. I am transported under the floorboards of place I do not know, but feels familiar. I pound the floor for help, screaming anxiously for anyone to answer. 

  A figure passes above, pacing back and forth madly. But there is no response of any kind. I then wake to find myself covered in sweat, drenched as if it rained. I feel no fever nor bodily sickness. I run to the bathroom and examine myself. No strange signs upon my skin, I am merely parched so I consume water from my sink with haste.

  Lifting my head from the sink I see a shadowy figure behind me. I am breached with fear and I fling myself around. But it is gone, all that is there is the closed curtain of my shower. My heart is beats nervously.

  I grab the bottle of sleeping pills that sits upon my bathroom counter. I read the side effects, but there is nothing of hallucinations. Maybe I am still asleep, I pinch myself and I can feel it. I return quickly no my living room and look to the clock.

  It reads three-forty five AM. I decide to return to my rest. As I close my eyes I whisper under my breath, "I am not mad." I then fall gently to rest and surprisingly have a pleasant dream of my late wife. We laugh and dance beneath the moon and I wake to the early morning sun.

  I assume my usual routine and abide to the call of my boss as he rings my phone asking me to stay late today. I agree, as I must if I wish for a better position in the company. I clean myself up and dress myself in my usual. Brown wool pants, a black cotton button up, my white suspenders and my long black pea-coat. 

  I exit my home and rush to work. Thirteen hours pass by and all I can think about is that horrific dream. Upon leaving my work nearing my home. I begin to hear the whispers again. This time, they are clear, the voice whispers the words, "Help, help, please help me."

  I look about my surroundings and see nothing. Only the lit street lights and the rising dense fog. I listen, but the whispers are gone. All that can be heard is the chattering of shoes upon the stone streets and the laughter of couples and friends as they pass by.

  It starts to rain as I reach my front door. I open the door and am strangely overcome with tiresome eyes. I decide to brew some tea and drop in one of my pills into my cup. I slowly sip my tea as I start a fire. About two hours later I become greatly fatigued.

  Sitting upon my couch my eyes half open. I can feel myself struggling to keep hold my tea. I fall into a slumber, I feel my hand release my half drank tea. I wake, what I assume is a few hours later. My vision slightly blurry, I see my fire has woken itself from small flames to a comforting presence.

  I grab the steel rode beside the fire and adjust a few of the logs. But as I do I become clutched by the sands of sleep. I tumble forward, feeling myself fall as I try to fight but I am unable to save myself. I fall face first into the fire. 

  I try to scream but am silent. I feel the heat ravage my flesh but feel no pain. I become engulfed in flames but only for a moment. A figure from the shadows splashes me with water and lifts me up placing me on my couch.

  I try to look them in the face but they are hidden in the shadows. I suddenly hear the whispers again. They become increasingly loud. They turn to a shriek of pain. My body becomes consumed with fear, I close my eyes and pray in my head for this all to end.

  I then wake again, at least that is what I believe. But again I am under the floorboards screaming and pounding for help as heavy footsteps pace with madness. I start to cry and I look to my hands and they are small, they are not mine. They are of a young girls, looking to these foreign hands I start to feel her pain, who ever this girl may be.

  After what feels of hours, I wake this time to reality and how I know this. I look to the floor and there lies my half drank tea. Spilled upon the floor and soaked to the boards of the home. Looking to the spilled tea, I reach a thought, a conclusion as to what this dream might be telling me.

  I grab hold the steal rode that leans against the wall. I start to pry up the floorboards in front of the fore. There is nothing there. I start prying up floorboards in all the rooms. Frustrated with the irksome need to end this madness before I become the victim of my own mind. 
  
  Hours go by and I have pulled up every room in the house but mine. I start to wonder if I really am mad. Then, in one last attempt to conclude my madness. I briskly make my way up the tall narrow stairs to my room. Why I made the attic my room I shall never know, at least not till I have an answer to these whispers. I open the door and begin to pry each board up. The sound of nails screech as they are forced from their placement. 

  I find nothing so far, I decide to move my bed, I lift it up and press it against the wall. I pry the floor up, my bones start to quiver as I fear I might find what I wish not too see. Prying up the third board, I see something. Something that appears to be bones. I pry the next board and the next and the next.
And as I reveal what lies beneath my bed, I am overcome with grief and despair as to what I find.

I find the bones of small girl still wearing a pink dress and many of her bones are mangled, broken. Her dress appears to have been burned. 
---
What do you think of horror stories/mystery?
Did you enjoy this one, why or why not? 

Let your heart run wild,  A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words 

I am also up and writing on, YouTubeTwitterInstagramFacebook

Thanks for the support! 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Sophia's Love

A Pocket Flower

The Moles Never Learn