I’ve been writing about death a bit lately. Not sure why? But I’ll post it as it comes. Enjoy
“Come out, come out, and play with me.”
The voice whispered, as I lingered on the edge of sleep.
“I can’t. I have to stay here.”
“Please.” A hand slithered up my leg, fingers like ice lingering on my skin, under my skin, in my blood.
“Maybe just once.”
My alarm startled me awake, and I shot up, gripping my chest and kicking back the blankets so I could see my legs. Still the same as when I went to sleep. My heart hammered in my chest, and my eyes flicked around the room, looking for someone, something, I didn’t know.
Julia stirred beside me, her arm hanging over her face as the sunlight streamed into the room.
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty,” I replied, to bewildered to move.
She groaned and rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head, her espresso skin luminous in the morning sun.
Placing my feet on the floor I ignored the impulse to check under the bed, what would I see? Nothing. Just a bunch of dust bunnies, because I was too lazy to move the mattress to vacuum. I made the brave decision to stand and walk to the bathroom.
“Katie. What’s on your leg?”
Panic sliced through me, and I twisted around to look at my calf. A small hand-print with tiny fingers, embedded into my calf, like the skin had been carved away. Brushing my hand against it, I expected it to feel cold, it didn’t, just my normal skin. Maybe I got bitten by a weird spider. Yeah, that would explain these hallucinations.
A small flicker of movement drew my eyes towards the full-length mirror, on the back of the door. On the floor beside me was a little girl, a wide smile on her face, her eyes just not quite right. She turned her head, and one side of her face was missing. Her cheeks lying in chunks on the carpet, one hand on the back of my leg, and the other on a bloody axe.
“Please, come and play with me.”