Fear

• Claire Croucher, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2014

Sweat clings to my neck like an ant on a leaf. My hand rests on the polished dagger, the worn leather grip slipping easily into my palm. Shadows flicker on the white washed wall. They have always haunted my past, teasing and tormenting me. They dance around the room, giggling taunting. Vulnerability seizes my body as I pull a ragged fleece over my underclothes. My grip doesn’t loosen on my dagger as my eyes dart around the room. The brass lock of the door slides smoothly, and I am outside. Target practice. I fling the dagger hard, and it hits the targeted tree effortlessly, smacking it with a satisfying thunk. But even here I cannot escape the shadows. Writhing around the trees, their laughter is like a cold claw clamping around my heart. Anger heats my body as I retrieve the dagger, even though a gale rips through my clothes and shivers ripple down my spine. I hurl the dagger straight into a cocoon of shadows, the gleam of the metal temporarily weakening them before they return to the normal strength. They hiss at me, outraged, and for a few seconds, I see the faces. I I stumble back and double over, my face contorted into a look of shock and horror. It hits me worse than a punch in the stomach. I drag my limp body away from the looming silhouettes, my fingers clawing at the loose dirt. A shadow descends upon me, and I can almost see a smirk playing across its lips. The images it shows me are all the ones that dominate my dreams and haunt my mind.

A knife clattering to the floor. The sticky stench of blood lingering in the air. My hands stained scarlet, trembling. A pool of blood slowly coating the floor. They are now bored into my head, diminishing all of the thoughts in my brain, replacing them with fear, hatred and death. Too much death. The thing that feeds on my insides, gnawing away until I will be an empty shell, a soulless living creature. But that is not the worst part. I realize the shadows of my family will haunt me forever.