Scratches In The Night

This was written for a contest. I hope you enjoy :)

The storm was sending the rain down onto the little roof of Elizabeth’s small, England home; harsh and cold and pounding. The thunder commenced with a loud crack, and the wind roared with fury. She hated these types of storms, especially when her husband wasn’t home. She felt vulnerable and out in the open for all to see.

            The hour hand of the small clock above the fireplace hit the eleven and Elizabeth knew she should be getting to bed, husband or not. She smoothed her dress with her lacey, Victorian gloves as she took small, graceful lady-like steps across her sitting room. It was fairly large, painted a powder blue with silhouette portraits of her family hung on the walls. Hers was beside William’s and the children’s followed below them. Nick, Emily, and Sarah were at their grandmother’s house, spending the weekend.

            The wood floors creaked and moaned, even under the slight pressure of such a small lady as Elizabeth, but her mind was not on that, she instead focused on the scratching noises that commenced at her door.

            “William? Is that you?” She called softly, walking toward the door slowly. Elizabeth was not a stupid woman; as she grabbed a fire poker from the holder next to the fireplace as she made her way to the door. She was fully ready to defend herself as no woman should have any need to. The scratching continued, getting more and more frantic. “William?” She called again, slightly louder this time. But no answer came for her, only more scratching.

            A loud howl tore through the air, startling her. She dropped the poker, which landed beside her small foot. Leaning down, she snatched it up, ready to go to the door. Suddenly, the scratching stopped and the only sound that came from outside was the rain pounding the shingles on the roof. Elizabeth breathed a slight sigh of relief, but only for a moment. BANG! Something, or someone, was back at the door. And it didn’t sound like it was backing down.

            She ran to the window, looking out at the door, only to find that there was nothing there. Still, she checked the locks and drew the curtains closed. The banging came again, louder and louder. Elizabeth’s whole body shook with fear as she walked back to the door. She raised herself up to the eye-hole in the door to look outside again, but once more there was nothing there but pitch black darkness.

            Elizabeth’s fear only grew, and she listened to the banging commence for the next hour until she had finally had enough.

            “Show yourself! Don’t be a coward! What do you want?” She screamed at the top of her lungs. She screamed it several more times as the banging continued on, until it finally stopped. She waited a few minutes before she relaxed, thanking God that it was over. She walked over to the mirror that hung beside the door. Her soft brown curls were in disarray and her face was paler than usual. Her plump red lips were drained of color and her green eyes were still wide with fear. She told herself that there was nothing to be afraid of and she believed it. She carried herself with grace to the bedroom, where she laid down and said her prayers before finally drifting off into a deep slumber.

 

            William came home early the next morning, after being stranded in his office by the storm. He rapped on the door a few times before letting himself in.

            “Elizabeth? Elizabeth, my dearest, I am home!” he called to her, craving her sweet voice. He hung his hat and jacket on the hanger and set his briefcase on the couch. “Elizabeth? My dear, are you there? Talk to me,” he called again, receiving no answer. He walked all over the house, still not finding her.

            Finally, he stepped into the bedroom, where William found the shock of his life; His sweet, dear Elizabeth, her mouth open in an eternal scream, was in a bed of tattered and torn sheets, stained red with her blood. Her eyes, wide open, most likely seeing her attacker as her final sight. Her mint green night dress was ripped and long, deep, jagged scratches decorated her thin frame. Her hair was still pulled into the bun that it was in the day before and was caked in dried black blood. She held a note in her dainty fingers. William, horror-stricken, took the note and opened it without taking his eyes from his beloved and read:

 

She shouldn’t ignore the scratches in the night.

Reviews

[Elvina CZq]

Intense, interesting, suspenseful, and no doubt, very horror. I find that the way you described the position this Elizabeth character died on is marvelously shocking and horrific. Instead of describing plainly like "... her mouth opened", by adding the adverb or adjective (or whatever the grammatical names called.. haha, I'm not that good with grammar terms) like "... her mouth opened in an eternal scream", which make a more intense picture.

This is an effortless, beautifully written piece. Don't stop writing this way. Keep it up :)

[A.r. Bazian]

.....
bravo!
pretty intense...
this is one good piece of lit... keep 'em comin

Delicious!
You should expand this a bit, I am ever so interested in finding out who or what killed her. Well written piece, although I do so crave more!
~Calypso Firebutton

[Nicole]

Ohh, spooky. Very well written. xP Suspenseful.

[Jade (insanity)]

I loved it. It was...different and I liked it. It kept me wondering, though the end was kind of to be expected but still, it was beast ;]

[Satellite Heart]

whoa. Nice, a bit different from your other stuff.

[zack]

very good this is one of your best