Three Minute Fiction

Some people swore that the house was haunted. This was, of course, anything but the truth. At least, that was what I thought then, before I was forced to live confined in its walls. Creaky floorboards, broken doors, midnight drafts; these were the halls I soon would walk every day, morning and night.

My first night, my friends’ whispers filled my mind about this place. It’s haunted. Yeah, right. They say that a whole family was murdered here, and that you can hear the baby’s cry at night. Lonely and full of pain as its small, incomprehensive mind watched its family be slashed to pieces.

I’ve also heard that it used to be an old butcher’s shop, a butcher shop for humans. They say that they used the basement and divided it up into sections based on body part. Arms, in one room, legs, in another, and so on. The victims were forced to live through the slaughter, until they bled out or were given a death blow. Pre-used, uncleanly knives; covered in the blood of the previous prey, you could hear their screams as they were put to death.

Laying in bed, thinking about these stories gave me chills, as if hundreds of spiders were running up my spine, trying to escape a terrible fate. I rolled around, trying to smash all of the pests. After thinking through these stories over and over again, the darkness was penetrating. I didn’t feel alone anymore. I rolled toward the wall, trying to block everything out, hide myself from the unseen eyes, even if I was even more open to the world. A burning sensation teased the back of my head as if something was watching me. My breathing quickened, my muscles tensed, and then I heard it. A raspy whisper, my name, Hannah… A soft breeze hit my ear, almost in the same instant I flew up to flip the switch on my light. Dark shadows lingered in the newfound light of the room. I sat tense, staring at my now open door, trying to inspect the rest of my room without removing my eyes from the darkness creeping into my room. Each second that passed felt like an hour, my breathing had grown ragged, but my mind was at its height. In-taking loads of information, catching every shadow, every creak of the floorboards, and my ears aching as the tree branches skittered against the window, my mind was on overload.


Fed up, I threw up my sheets after checking around the rest of my room. I threw my legs over the edge of my bed, my toes testing the rock hard, ice cold, wood-grained floor. Tensely, I stood up, checked every corner of my room and took a step. Each step slow, and in increments. My breathing grew deep and ragged, hoarse. My heart thudded against my chest, loud and strong. The silence of the room was strangely deafening to my ears, to my mind, and to my sanity. I was three steps from the door now, the room had grown icy; my breath was visible in the midnight air. A draft hit me, leaving a feeling of confusion in my mind. I reached for the door handle, clutched the icy knob, and pulled the door open.

Hannah… A breeze hit my ear, a hand on my waist; crusted in blood. A bone-chilling scream, that of a baby. I heaved, choking on my bloodied vomit as I fell into the darkness.

Nothing was ever the same after that.





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