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The Mysterious Figure

The sound of a gunshot pierced her ears.  Genette, a seventeen-year-old girl,  jolted from her deep sleep.  Immediately, she forced herself from her bed.   “Mom, did you hear that?” she asked walking into her mother’s bedroom.  To her surprise, the room was empty.  “Mom,” Genette called, “Where did you go?”  Genette felt uneasy; her mother would never leave at a time like this.  Trying not to worry, Genette quickly dialed her mother’s phone number into her phone.  The familiar ringtone sounded from the bedside table.  “Where is she?” Genette thought outloud.  Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice rang inside her head.  “Your dear mother has come with me, Dearie.  She’s dead. And your brother will be next.”  Those last words-your brother will be next-brought Genette back to her feet, though she hadn’t realized that she’d fallen.  Her stomach turned over, and she stifled a scream.  In tears, Genette started towards her brother’s bedroom.  Was Thomas dead? Had he heard the voice too?

As she ran through the door to her brother’s bedroom, Genette noticed a dark, body-shaped figure hovering above his sleeping body.  The figure moved its hands and spoke in words unknown to Genette.  Thomas struggled for a few seconds while Genette screamed.  She watched as her brother’s body went limp.  The figure looked at her and she felt her knees give.  Its face was as pale as the moon, and the place where its eyes should be were vacant.   The figure turned away and vanished, leaving with him a sound that she, Genette, believed was its version of a laugh.  As she made her way over to her brother’s body, Thomas and the figure vanished.  Another gunshot went off.  Genette’s hair stood on end.  She remained still and silent.  Faintly, Genette heard her mother’s voice.  Her mother was shouting something.  Genette couldn’t understand.  She listened as the voice came closer and closer.  “Run,” she finally understood, “get out!”

Genette sped for the front door.  She didn’t know where to go, but she knew she had to run.  Her mother’s voice followed her closely screaming, “Run, Genette, run!”  Genette ran until she reached the front door of her rather large house and immediately opened the door.  She got into her car and rotated the key.  Once the engine finally turned over, Genette shifted into drive.  She sped out of her driveway and drove for what felt like hours.  After a while, Genette stopped hearing her mother.  All was quiet.  She had almost decided the whole thing had been her imagination, or maybe she was sleeping.  No.  This felt too real to be a dream.   Finally, when the silence was louder than thunder, Genette decided to turn on the radio thinking it may calm her.  This was not the case.  As soon as the button was pushed, a voice blared.  “Come to me, Genette!  Come to me like your mother and brother did!  Don’t you want to be with them?”

Genette felt exhausted.  Her eyes were so heavy.  She didn’t know what to do.  She had no chance of outrunning the voice that she was sure was the figure.  Genette did not know how long she had until it killed her too.  Her body told her to stop, to just give up.  She wanted so badly to listen and give in.  She was scared, but she had no other choice.  Without another thought, Genette pulled to the side of the road.  She so hoped death would be fast and painless.  Suddenly, a rush of adrenaline came through her as another voice from the back seat screamed, “Don’t stop Genette.  You have to listen to me. Go!”  Genette, with nothing to lose, immediately floored the gas with all she had, spinning tires in the process.  She turned her head to the side and said to the man, “Who are you?”  He replied, “I know you won’t believe me, but I am your father.”

“This man cannot be my father,” Genette thought to herself, “He died in a car wreck when I was six!”  “I know you do not believe me, but I am your best chance of getting out of here.  I’ve dealt with him before.  Please, you have to listen to me!”  Genette’s gut said not trust him, but she had no other option.  “Okay,” she replied, “What do I do?”  Genette’s father told her to drive to an abandoned motel two towns over-apparently where he’d been staying for the past eleven years.  Once they were there, she was to go inside and cover all openings with salt.  After that, she was to anoint the doors and write some illegible symbols on the walls. 

“Have you done everything?” Genette’s father asked after finishing his assignments.  “Yes, I have.  Could you please explain to me what all of this is?” she replied.  “Not right now, Dearie, it is almost over.”  Dearie?  Eleven years have gone by, but Genette knew her father never called her Dearie.  She may not remember his face or voice, but she knew this much.  She looked at him questioningly.  Suddenly, before she could think any further, Genette heard the voice again.  Where was it coming from?  It was coming from all around her-everywhere.  Genette heard a rapid tapping and screaming coming from a nearby window.  She turned her head and saw a man struggling from outside.  She listened as he screamed to her.  “Get out, Genette!  Run!  He is not your father!”  Genette turned to the man inside with her.  Many thoughts ran wild inside her head.  Dearie? My late father? Mom? Thomas?  WHAT IS ALL OF THIS?  Her father’s body slowly began to transform-his face dried, his eyes shrivelled, the pigment of his skin whitened.  Genette stifled a scream.  She didn’t know what to do.  Did she really just help the figure that killed her mother and brother and possibly even her father?  The figure spoke the unfamiliar words again.  Genette was stuck; she couldn’t move.  She struggled, but she could not move.  She screamed, but nobody was around to hear her.  The figure hovered toward Genette and said, “Ah children-always so quick to believe anything they’re told.  Well, did your parents ever teach you to never trust a dead man?”  He spoke some more words-the same he said to Thomas.  Genette felt limp.  She saw nothing but darkness.  She heard her mother and her brother screaming in pain.  The last sound Genette heard was a gunshot.  






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