Abigail didn’t remember getting out of bed the night she was killed. She never did. She only ever remembered waking up in the weirdest places or doing the weirdest things. She could be tying her laces at the end of the garden or gently banging her head up against the wardrobe door until either her parents or the pain woke her up. She’d been doing it for as long as she could remember, but had only recently been semi-conscious of her actions.
Mrs Houston, her counsellor, told her that sleepwalking could be caused by lots of things, and that they should talk about any stresses or worries she may be feeling at home or at school. Abigail didn’t have any! She told her every time, week after week. Autumn, and Lyra, and Jack, and Jennifer, and Rico, were all super fun! Her daddy was her best friend, her mummy was the greatest—not just because her pancakes were amazing!—but still they kept meeting to talk about the same stuff over and over again. It was so frustrating!
She told Mrs Houston a million times about the tall man that had started to visit her recently. The one who stood by the window and scratched the glass slowly with his black claws, until the slow screeching woke her. She told her how he whispered through the glass, convinced her to do the weird things that she woke up doing, and that she didn’t really choose to do them, but her body just did them anyway.
She described his pallid face, and the long features that made him look kind of triangular. Dead and menacing, like the guy from Hotel Transylvania, but worse. Way worse. His eyes were deep-set into his skull and black with the shadow cast from his pointed eyebrows, his lips sharp and unnaturally red. His skin was so white it seemed to glow like the moon, thin looking—old yet untainted by age—almost transparent, and cracked like a sheet of parchment stretched out across his angular bone structure.
Mrs Houston just said that it’s normal to associate her sleepwalking with bizarre dreams, which was probably true if they were actually dreams. Abigail never remembered anything about her actions until she had fully woken up from an episode, which is why she couldn’t remember getting out of bed this time. She was killed before she woke up!
She wondered if she should be angry at the guy in the window, but she couldn’t. She felt great! After biting chunks out of that creep in the white room and draining every last drop of blood from his lanky body, she had a feeling of excitement like she’d never had before. Now she ran naked across the city, dripping in both her own and the creep’s blood, toward the whispery voice of the man that killed her.
Drip, drip. Drip, drip.
She hopped fences and fought through bushes as she made her way through quaint neighbourhood gardens, never tiring. Smooth and delicate, like a wisp of shadow. Her small, naked body carried her faster and further than would ordinarily be possible by anyone living. She could hear the vicious beast-like rumbles escaping from her chest as she went, setting off more than a few dogs as she drifted across their properties. She wondered how they’d taste, but the dead man warned her, whispered sternly into her mind.
Don’t waste this rare gift. Don’t make me change my mind, Little Red. Find me. Come to me. Don’t stop.
She could feel his presence in a new sense she’d never had while living. A knowingness somehow, like red string between two points across a map. He was inside her. He knew what she knew, heard what she heard. In her thoughts, her mind, always, like a spider tip-toeing around it’s web. He owned her now.
She whipped on through the shadows like nothing more than the wind, a swift motion in the corner of the eye, and then gone before anyone could know any better.
In one moment she was flowing onward toward her master, and in the next she heard a familiar voice somewhere in the distance. She knew exactly how far, three gardens across, by the window, inside a home. The sound was amplified, her hearing heightened along with everything else in her body.
“As if you can think of food now!” That was her Mummy’s angry voice! She knew because she heard it whenever she didn’t want to go to sleep, or eat her broccoli, or if daddy came home later than he said he would after being to the pub with his friends.
“I’m not,” her daddy replied weakly. He sounded broken, tired. She heard someone get up and run the tap, sigh, and then run it again. She could hear the splashes against the inside of the glass, the change in pitch as the water filled closer to the top. The large tumblers, with the silver rim—the sound created the image in her mind. She stopped gliding when she reached the end of her own garden, coming to rest in the final bush opposite the window. Her garden, her kitchen. She startled a bird pecking around for berries and grabbed it on instinct, crushing its rib cage with her bare hand.
Don’t. I’m warning you, do not! You come to me. Find me. You want them don’t you? To have what we have? You want them to join us, to share our gift? Come to me, Little Red. We’ll come back for them.
She wanted nothing but to see her parents again, to tell them what happened. To play, like she did with the bird. To show them she’s okay. She hated how her dad sounded, like when grandpa died.
Little Red, don’t. You will kill them. I promise you. You have to come to me, now. His voice came elegantly into her mind. Smooth, but commanding. Like the sleepwalking again, she couldn’t say no. It enchanted her. She peaked her head out of the bush to catch just the slightest, sneakiest glimpse of him in the window. They locked eyes.
Abigail, come NOW!
Argh! Abigail growled a vicious growl in frustration and threw the broken bird as hard as she could. She heard it slam against the kitchen window, and her father’s heart skip two beats. She darted out of the garden toward her master, her body carrying her against her will.
End Of Part 3
Surprise, there’s gonna be a part 4! But oh how it’s come full circle. I wanted to give each of the involved characters their little story in the spotlight, and so far we’ve explored the events unfolding from Robert Tait, Officer Kilne, and now Abigail’s perspective. That only leaves dear old mummy for tomorrow, when we tie off the whole thing. What do you think of the story so far? And do you have any idea of a title? Because honestly I’m stumped. Right now I’m thinking ‘Little Red’ but I’m not 100% on that.
Anyway, shout your suggestions, your praise, your criticism, and whatever else in the comments below. I already know this one has much more work to be done before the E’zine is published, and I’m looking forward to refining it as I stitch all the parts together. But right now, I seriously can’t wait to close the story off tomorrow.
Speaking of the E’zine… here’s all the deets.
Whispers From The Dark ‘Supporters Edition’ Ezine
Whispers From The Dark is a 31 day flash fiction event, promising a horror based flash-fiction each day of the month in the build up to Halloween. All Posts will be pulled down on the 10th November, refined, edited, and placed into a full colour PDF Ezine for sale. This is a recurring yearly event.
So you’re interested in supporting this spooktastic project? Here’s the run down!
Your £10.00 payment not only supports this site and the creation of all its works throughout the year, but nets you the following rewards:
-All 31 flash fictions fully refined and edited in one beautiful E’zine upon release, direct to your email inbox!
-A custom artwork cover exclusive for those who purchase the Supporters Edition (offer ends 31st October)
-An exclusive ‘Whispers From the Dark’ Short story tucked inside the E’zine, for Supporters Edition only. (Offer ends 31st October)
-A special mention in the acknowledgements and a link of your choosing to your online presence.
-50% discount on limited edition print run, signed and delivered anywhere around the world.
-As a special thank you, I’ll throw in the Gold Member subscription for the entire month of November, absolutely FREE. (4 extra flash fictions, direct to your inbox)
-Guaranteed safety from the eternal forces of darkness… We have an understanding 😉
Whispers From The Dark ‘Supporters Edition’ E’zine
Simply make payment below and send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org from the email address you would like to receive the E’zine. Please provide the Name, Link and Bio Text (Max 50 words) in the body of the email to be placed directly at the beginning of the ‘Zine.
If purchasing more than one copy, please provide the list of emails in the body text of the email itself, alongside each of the names, links, and bio text you’d like featured in the acknowledgements. You will of course each receive the exclusive PDF ‘Zine and the 50% off voucher upon release of the title!
Estimated Delivery: 15th-30th November
Thank you so much for supporting this project! For now, enjoy all the horror stories in the event so far: Whispers From The Dark