Darkness

• Rebecca Linton, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2016

It smells musty and stale like the world has chosen this place to wallow in misery. As I run my fingers over a hard surface a thick layer of dust coats my finger. My bare feet sink noiselessly into lush softness, which I assume is carpet. I hear a scuttling somewhere but I can’t pinpoint the location. That is my curse. I see nothing. Instead I have to feel my way around, fingers dancing across mysterious surfaces, hearing telltale sounds. A cold wind slaps my face and I wonder, open window? Cracked glass? I shall never know. My finger presses down on something and it makes a loud, high pitched noise. Piano? Once again I will not know for sure. When I breathe in I can taste the filth and grime, decades of emptiness and abandonment. I can sense the solitude and the fear, so powerful it shakes my soul. Never have I been so alone.
As I’m leaving, I hear a gunshot. It’s extremely loud and out of place and I jump in shock and fright. I turn the corner, my hands scouting the cracked, chipped walls. I fear that the landowner has comeback, he doesn’t like it when people trespass. Which puts me at even more risk. I can now smell something acrid and metallic.
Blood.
I stumble across the cobbled pathway to the garden and almost trip over something big and lumpy. Crouching down, I run my fingers across it and they come away wet and sticky. I hold my hand up to my lips, its blood. My mouth runs dry and my face drains of colour. Feet crunch in the gravel behind me and I freeze, paralyzed with fear. A hand grabs my shirt and drags me upwards. I know this scent. It’s the landowner’s cologne. I scramble to get away but his grip is tight.
“Don’t run” he snarls into my face. “You will only make it worse for yourself.”
I’m surprised to hear him threaten me and it turns me back on. I push at him and scratch him, kicking and screaming. He’s come to kill me, I know it. His gun is in his hand, I heard him reloading it. I can just imagine the gleaming metal, meticulous and deadly and I shiver involuntarily.
“He’ll come after you!” he says this time and I stop panicking, curiosity overriding my fear.
“What are you talking about?” I whisper fearfully. My confusion and bewilderment must show on my face as he starts to explain further.
“That man is a killer.” He states plainly. “He has been following you for the past few days. I’m making sure that you live to see tomorrow.”
I want to ask more questions but I can’t. His hold on me falters for a second and I twist around out of his grasp, trying to get somewhere, anywhere, away from him.
“Hey!” he shouts angrily. “Come back!”
But I’m already running.