The world is a scary place. Every day we’re forced to make choices, no matter how small, that may be leading us along a new path. Whether that path is heading towards something good, like a promotion or meeting some special, or towards something bad, like an accident, or even death, we can never know. In the end, that’s possibly the scariest thing of all.
That’s why I need your help to guide
a character, or characters, through the possible dangers that await them
in #YourHorror, an interactive horror story that
will be shaped by the choices you make. Even I don’t know what will
happen, and I’m the writer…
From Monday to Friday, at
roughly 8pm GMT each day, there will be a new Twitter poll. These polls will ask you to choose between a number of options, each
of which may take the story in a new direction. Sometimes a decision will give
a bit more insight into the character, setting, or backstory, while other times
the decision will solely focus on driving the narrative forward.
Week 7
As much as she was sure she’d suffer for it later,
she didn’t feel like she could go to sleep at that moment. The sun was rising
outside, and she would only lie in bed, the light creeping into her eyes,
mulling over everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.
She’d have loved the old cliché of everything
feeling normal at the light of a new day. Considering that her burned hand
stung every time she tried to forget about it, and there was a bruise growing
deep purple on her left buttock where she’d landed after being thrown from inside the mirror, it wasn’t likely.
Admitting what had happened felt crazy. Not
admitting it, at least to herself, seemed equally crazy, and maybe even a
little dangerous. She tried to find strength in the fact that she knew she was
a level-headed, rational, sane person that could not only be honest about the
unworldly events taking place in her life, but also think about them in an
objective way. Of course, there was another part of her, growing stronger by
the day, that just wanted strip off all her clothes, adopt hundreds of cats,
and walk around town pushing a trolley of felines with a wild look in her eyes;
ala, “Crazy cat lady.”
Before succumbing to that
life, which she felt was always where she’d end up, she decided to call a close
friend from home. Hearing a familiar voice would help. Even just for a few
minutes of small talk. There was nothing more normal, and boring, than small
talk.
She found her phone nestled
between sofa cushions, where it must have fallen from her pocket the night
before. 10% battery. Of course. Somewhere between centipedes crawling from
coffee, nightmares burning into the real world, and being forcibly dragged into
her bathroom mirror by a pale version of herself - for a warning she still didn’t
understand - she’d forgotten to charge her phone. Somehow, she thought she’d
forgive herself.
It would do the job. She
selected her friend from a list of contacts, most of whom she’d stopped
speaking to before she’d moved away. She hit ‘call.’
The phone rang for so long that she was sure it was
going to go unanswered. It was still pretty early. Far too early, in fact, for
her to answer a call if it had been the other way round. She was about to hang
up when the line cleared. The phone had been answered.
She started to apologise for the time of the
call when a voice spoke. Her mouth snapped shut, and she broke into a cold
sweat.
It wasn’t her friend.
There was no real reason to panic. Anyone could have
picked up the phone on behalf of her friend, but it felt wrong. The voice could
have been male, female, or anything in-between, so raspy was it that she hadn’t
even been able to pinpoint the gender, only the intent. With only a greeting,
the voice had told her that she wasn’t going to speak to her friend this morning,
or maybe ever again.
Without speaking it said:
“They can’t get to the phone right now. Maybe
they’re still asleep, maybe not - maybe they’re being tortured.” She gripped
the phone a little tighter. No matter the reason, she knew then that there had
never been any chance that this call would connect her with a comforting
reminder of home and friendship. Even the words themselves seemed far away.
Finally, she replied, and struggled to hold the
tremor in her voice as she asked, “What do you want?” Her phone beeped. 5%
battery remaining. Fine. She didn’t think this was a call she wanted to stay on
for long. Not at all.
When the voice replied, it had a sickly-sweet quality
to it. It was as if its words threatened to ooze through the phone and into her
ear. Whoever it was, whatever it was, she could tell they were smiling.
“Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all. We don’t
want anything from you. You’re already giving us so much…”, it paused, and she
was sure she heard it smacking its lips together, “entertainment.”
(Can they see me?)
She tiptoed to the window, not wanting the stranger
on the phone to know she was spooked, and peered through the blinds. Everything
outside was still. After the chaos of the stormy night before, it was as if the
town was trying to regain its strength. It wasn’t the only one.
“Silly girl. You won’t find us out there.”
The blinds shut with a rattle as she reeled
backwards, too quickly, and fell onto the sofa. She landed heavily, but didn’t
even notice the aching from her bruise.
(Shit. Can
they see me?! Surely not. They heard the blinds. They must have.)
A crackle ripped through the phone and she thought
the line was breaking up. Then she realised that the stranger was laughing. It
began as a chuckle, but grew and grew until they were bellowing laughter down
the phone, so loud that she had to hold it away from her ear.
Each time they laughed, a new wave of goosebumps
rolled across her skin and she started to think that she could actually see it
happening, like a distressing Mexican wave. She couldn’t take it anymore.
(Fuck you.)
She hung up.
“Fuck you…”
she spat at the phone.
Then she threw it to the other end of the sofa, not
even wanting the phone near her.
It landed face up. Bzz bzz. Someone had sent her a text.
The ever-growing ball of dread residing in her stomach
returned. There was nothing she could do but lean over and read it. Luckily,
she didn’t have to touch the phone, because the message was short and the
preview revealed everything. The message read:
“We’ll be watching.”
The screen faded to black, battery finally depleted
of life. So drained was she from the night before, and so shocked at the disconcerting
events of this new day, that she did something very similar herself. She left
the phone where it was, lay back onto the sofa, and shut her eyes. Sleep was
calling for her.
Since it was a call that she’d missed last night,
she decided to answer, and let herself drift away from her worries. They’d find
her again when she woke up, she knew, but that wasn’t of her concern now. She
slept, undisturbed, as madness wove its foul web in the shadows of her mind.
Enjoying my interactive horror? Get in touch with me on Twitter, leave a comment, or just share this story in every single place you can think of! Or all three. All three is good.
Thank you to everyone that has been voting and sharing in the weekly polls - without you, there would be no story to tell. If you haven't been, there's always next week!
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