Monday, October 31, 2011

Leave the Creepin' to Alfred Hitchcock

Because I stink at writing scary stuff. Basically the scariest thing that ever happens to me is . . . well, maybe I should elaborate. 

Walking down the hall. Out of breath. Panting, but trying to appear composed. Late to statistics class again.
"THAT'S 15  MINUTES IN DETENTION!" someone yells. 
Walk faster. Don't meet their eyes. 
Do they know who I am? Can't let them see my face. Haunting images of being locked away during lunch. 
Haunting . . . haunting. 
Something on your arm. A mosquito? A flea? No. It's winter. 
A hair? No. PLEASE NO. 
Panting. Does the fear show in my face? Look at my arm, nothing there. 
Look away. Feeling is back. I know there is a hair on my arm. A long, detached, piece of me, hanging loosely.
Look down again. 
Disappeared. No long hair in sight. 
no. No. NO. 
Feel around, people stare. Shaking my left arm fanatically. Quizzical looks. 
"WHAT ARE YOU?!" I scream at the ghost.
I am haunted by the invisible presence creeping on my outer layer of skin.
Why . . . why . . . 
Despair. Horror. Brush and scrape arm. Brush and scrape. No avail. What is this phantom?
Lay down and give up. 
I will never escape this curse.

1 comment: