#*rita

[lotuswhim]

the lead singer of your new favorite band

[mio-nika]

I'm gonna hold myself together, stop drinking on the weekends and depressingly sleeping all my free time. I swear on Ritochka the Cat

[skecter]

🪲 la srta. skeeter estaba teniendo una excelente racha en el profeta. las razones eran terribles, por supuesto, pero no dejaban de surgir cosas que reportar; sin mencionar que hace tiempo que no había tenido que utilizar su forma animaga con tal de conseguir algo. bastaba con estar en el lugar correcto en el tiempo correcto para escuchar lo suficiente de cualquiera que fuera indiscreto con el volumen de su voz. esa mañana, sus orejas habían estado alerta en el callejón diagon y habría conseguido algo jugoso que dictar a su pluma esmeralda de no ser porque estuvo a punto de ser descubierta. ante tal riesgo, la fémina comenzó a caminar lejos de allí, fingiendo que tan solo se encontraba de paso “ con permiso. ”

[capriswritingnartshenanigans]

It Calls Me

Horror. SFW. 3,700 words roughly.

Hi, I'm Rita Taylor. I... have something I really need to get off my chest. It's about when I went to my childhood home with my sister to get it ready for selling, and how the trip there went... horribly, horribly wrong.

[[MORE]]

“Sooo.”

“So?”

Eric sighs, kicking one of my carefully packed moving boxes with a Converse-clad foot. “You're really doing this, huh?” I tape another box’s flaps down, wipe the sweat off of my forehead, and stretch my back before answering him.

“Yep,” I say as I finish stretching, making my voice a little strained, “mom wants the house cleaned up and for me to check out any damages before we try to sell it. I'm…” I grimace, thinking back to some of the reasons why we left that hell house in the first place. Reasons Eric knows well; who better to tell your repeat nightmares and your dad’s odd accidental death to but your friendly neighborhood witch?

“I-I really don't think you should, Rita. From what you told me, I-” He shakes his head harshly, his lips pressing together and his brows furrowing worriedly. “I think somethin’ bad is there. Somethin’ that really liked you in a not-good-really-bad kinda way.” I force a smile, trying to brighten the mood.

“Hey, you're giving me a buncha your protective crystals and a couple of plants, right? They should help me long enough to clean the house up and get back here.” Ugh, God, I hope they do, anyway. I can tell he doesn't seem that reassured either.

“Yeah, but… they can only do so much. That house sounds like it needs a full-scale blessing,” he runs one of his hands through his dirty blonde hair before he continues, “and to be burned down to the ground.” I give a half-hearted laugh.

“Thanks, Eric. Really… really helpful.”

“Just… If you need anything or you need out, you can take my guest room. I'll pay the plane or bus ticket, whichever you take. You don't have to do this.” I sigh at his words, thinking on how much the house is worth, and on how I was a child when I had my nightmares.

“The house is worth too much to not try to fix it up, and besides, you said the nightmares aren’t necessarily malicious, right?” I dust my gloves off before heaving another cardboard box over to tape it down.

“Yeah, but… I don't think it's just a simple case of childhood night terrors, Rita.”

-----

I let out a pained groan as I bring in the final box to the house. There's not many, only four, but damned if they aren't heavy. I lean against the opposing wall from them, dabbing at the sweat rolling down my face with a bandana. I nearly let my fists fly when the door opens with a loud bang! Swiveling to look at it, my heart pounding in my chest, I relax when it's just my sister, Carina, carrying in her own last box as well. “You ever heard of just pushing a door open?” I snap at her.

“Well, sorry, but they're heavy!” She pants out as she struggles with the box. When she nears our pile, she drops it, then leans against the wall beside me.

“Yeah, true. Sorry. You just… spooked me.” Not hard to do when I'm so on edge, but I don't say that aloud.

“Nah, I shouldn't have slammed the door open.” She whines when she stretches, then takes a box knife out of her pocket and jabs it towards the boxes. “Let's crack a few of these open, then order some pizza or somethin’.” I grab my own as I nod to her, slide it open, and begin cutting open one of my boxes.

As I'm unpacking my clothes, I can't help but let my mind drift over how lucky I seem to be; Carina knows about the nightmares, and she spent plenty of nights while we lived here trying to comfort me. As the older sister, it's her job to do so, she always told me, and now’s no different; I told her I was coming back here, and she immediately dropped everything and got on her way here to help. We also decided to share mom and dad’s old bedroom, the master one that sits at the end of the hall on the second floor. At least I won't be alone here.

As I heft an armful of clothes in a box up the stairs, Carina calls out, “I call that old black dresser! The one with the seashell handles on it!”

I call back to her a grumbled “fine” as I make my way down the upstairs’ hallway. My stomach drops a little at the fine layers of dust covering everything and the darker end to the hall. It's just a hallway. And it's day time; nothing ever happened during the day time, I repeat to myself as I make my way down the hall, trying to fight my nerves.

Left foot. Right foot. Just one in front of the other.

Left foot. Right foot. Everything is fine.

I reach the door as I hear Carina clattering dishes onto the table. Hopefully… after dusting it. Hopefully. The thought cheers me up a little as I push my way into the room.

It's not too dimly lit as the blinds let in some beams of sunlight. Dusty, though. Really… dusty. I cough and hack as my movements towards the mahogany dresser, the one dad always used. It's one of the tall ones, like you see in most men’s bedrooms in the movies, only, y'know. Caked in dust.

I set the box down on the bed frame, thankfully clear of an old mattress or ratty bed sheets that would have likely swamped me in a cloud of… the gross stuff dust is made of. Also really glad I brought the box as a vessel of holding things, not just the clothes.

I start humming as I grab one of those really fluffy Swifters out of the top of the box and start goin’ ham on the dresser. I aggressively clean the outside of the dresser, trying to avoid big clumps of dust bunnies as I do so. As I'm finishing the exterior and starting to take out individual drawers for cleaning, I'm joined by Carina, who (thankfully) also thought to use a box to carry her clothes. She drops the box onto the bed frame, takes her own Swifter out, and then turns to me. “Dishes are all set up for when we clean the cabinets, Cap’n.”

“Did you dust the table off before setting the dishes on it?” I ask, raising one of my eyebrows. She gives me a droll look.

“Uh, duh. No, I just sat a bunch of clean dishes on a raggedy old table to keep the dust bunnies company.” She gives me a look like I'm a dumbass before attacking the long, black dresser she called earlier. I try not to grin as I return to my cleaning.

“I just asked because you tend to forget a step to things you're doing,” I say as I almost fancifully swipe at the drawer in my hand.

“And you look like a donkey’s arse, but I don't te-”

We stop into a dead stillness as a loud craaaaaakk interrupts her. My heart flutters in my chest as I snap my head up to look down the hallway, where the sound seemed to have came from. I see a door at the top of the stairs slowly opening, before stopping half-way.

I nearly drop the drawer in my hand when Carina gasps from beside me; she must have ran over while I wasn't paying attention. I swallow as I stare at the door, studying its chipped paint, but my throat is so dry. I see Carina move her arms from the corner of my eye, clearly trying to think of something to say. “It's probably just, uh, draft. From the doors not being opened in so long.” I look to her as she nods semi-confidently. “Just a… draft.”

“But…” I pull out the keys in my pocket, turning to the one meant for that door specifically, “mom told me she locked up all the doors when she visited last month. She was afraid all the air flow would help mold move in.” Carina’s normally coffee colored skin pales further, but I can tell she's trying to find some way to explain it.

“So she just forgot on-”

“Nuh-uh. She and Auntie Mali checked each door because it costs so damn much to kill mold. She was sure of it.” The words bring only a further dropping of my stomach, along with the feeling as though I'd swallowed something ice cold on an empty stomach.

“Then… then…” She throws her hands up, and stalks towards the door. “HEY, is anyone in here?” She calls out loudly, snapping me out of my frozen state. I sprint after her, feeling my blood buzz with adrenaline. Please, God, let nothing be there, let nothing be there.

As she rounds the door and slings it open, she shields her face and sneezes as more dust flies into her face, giving me time to fully catch up. I look inside… And find nothing there. Literally. Not a single piece of furniture, not a decoration, not a single thing. Just a coating of dust, a window covered by cracking blinds, and tatty, vintage wallpaper that's begun to peel down the wall. We both sigh in relief, and she claps me on the shoulder.

“Let's just get our clothes stuffed into our dressers, order food, take a shower, and then we'll deal with moving our mattress in afterwards. We've had enough excitement for one day,” she says tiredly, rubbing her forehead exasperatedly. I quickly agree, and things go well after I close the door. Food arrives on time, hot water works fine, the mattress doesn't give us much trouble and nor do the bed covers. All good.

Until after we went to sleep. That's when it really started.

-----

Carina and I had talked some before bed, played a round of Cards Against Humanity for a laugh, then finally settled in for the night at around 11 P.M. My dreams were fine, just filled with the memories of our old garden out back (which I need to see if it's still up and alive), and our old tire swing on the big oak that sits directly in the dead center of the yard. I slept soundly…

Until exactly 3 A.M.

I don't know why I wake up; from what I can tell in the first few moments of being awake, there's no sound in the house, not even the “settling” these old homes supposedly do. I reach over and turn my alarm clock towards myself, and groan loudly when I see it read “03:00 A.M.” in large, bold red text. I roll over and snuggle back down into the cooler side of my pillows, hoping I can drop off again.

“Riiiiiita…”

My eyes fly open as a blood-chilling voice faintly whispers in my ear. My heart pounds so loudly in my chest, so so loudly, I'm almost afraid it'll burst-

“Riiiiiita…”

Again, that voice whispers, almost like a low moan, but not from close by, it's somewhere else, maybe downstairs, Oh God. I shakily reach out and shake Carina as my throat threatens to close.

“Wha’… Wha’, Rita wha’ is-”

“Riiiiiiiiita… You came back.”

Carina’s hand stops mid-air from smacking at my hand and instead she swerves her head to look at the door, leaning up on her elbow. “You can hear it, too?” I whisper, so afraid it'll hear us that my voice is barely audible to even myself. But apparently she heard me, as her head turns to look over her shoulder and gives me a slow, shaky nod. Right then, I hear a soft rattling sound behind me.

Feeling fear course through my brain, my limbs, my entire body, it takes me a second to be able to roll over to look at my nightstand. The black onyx and tourmaline crystals Eric gave me are perched on it, and seem to be the cause of the rattling as I can see them faintly moving from the light of my phone charging. But I don't know what that means, and I don't get to ponder it before-

“Riiiiiiiita… Ooooh, Riiii-iiiiiita… You shouldn't have come back.”

The low moan has an almost demonic invocation on its second sentence, causing all the hairs on my body to stand up, causing cold chills to run down my spine. Oh, God, oh God, I shouldn't have come back, Sweet Mother Mary-

“Who the fuck are YOU?” Carina yells. It startles me, so much so I flinch and quickly strugglin into a propped up position, about to question why she wou-

Oh. Oh, apparently, it did not like that. No, not at all, because right after she said that it began to growl and roar. A sound like someone choking that steadily mixed with a tiger’s roar. The crystals shake and quake on my nightstand, becoming more violent as the roar grows louder, until I swear I hear one crack, right as-

Click. Before I can fully register the sound, I'm nearly blinded as Carina clicks on her bedside lamp. The roar immediately quiets, and then there's a far-off shuffling, and then no other noise. The crystals go quiet, the house goes quiet, all I can hear is our uneven breathing and my heart still pounding painfully in my chest.

“Holy Mother of God, what in the fuck was that?”

-----

Carina and I sat there, her lamp our only light, until the break of dawn at around 6 A.M. Not speaking, not moving, just listening. Waiting. Seeing if it'll come back.

It didn't.

When we finally moved, I finally saw that several of the beautiful crystals Eric had given me had damage done to them. “What…? Carina, look at this!” I shuffle to the side of my nightstand, jabbing my hands through the air towards the mess. She quickly hurries over, concern tightening her face.

“I… Can that even happen?” I look back to my once lovingly polished and cared for crystals to see the long, gouged cracks in them, especially the onyx. Only a couple were unaffected, but most looked as though they'd been chewed on by a blender.

“I'm… I'm gonna take some pictures, then we’ll call Eric. He's always up by now, he'll answer,” I say, my voice trembling. After taking the said pictures, throwing on some clothes and a bathroom break, we settle back into bed and dial up Eric. It barely gets to the second ring before his heavily freckled face pops into view, along with his bad case of bedhead making his blonde hair look like some kind of dirty mop on his head.

“Hey, Rita-beeta, hi Carina. What’s-” He looks at us for a moment, probably easily seeing the terror still on my face and our overall lack of sleep. “What happened? Did something happen?” I can only nod. The sight of my best friend nearly crushes me down into tears, knowing he's so far away to give me one of his big bear hugs that always make everything better. After a few moments of me just openly sobbing, Carina gently pulls me into her side and takes the phone, and all I can do is cling to her.

“It wasn't nightmares she was having. The damn thing is real. I fucking heard it myself.” Carina bites her lip, shaking her head violently before continuing. “I have pictures you need to see. Of what it did to your crystals.”

Eric stays silent as she scrolls through and sends them to him, and I watch his face as he opens them and looks at them. His face drops when he sees the damage. “I… I… I don't know what would cause so much… Holy shit.” He starts making spluttering noises, trying to think of something to say. “You-You have got to get out of there. This thing… This thing is-”

“One tough son of a bitch I take it?” Carina finishes. Eric nods immediately, looking completely horrified. “It couldn't come any closer from what I could tell. And when I turned on the light, it disappeared.”

“That doesn't- What’re you-” Eric looks absolutely enraged now. “What, you wanna keep her there with that thing?! Who the hell knows what'll do or if it was just playing with you!”

“I think your crystals and us not staying afraid in the dark kept it away,” she insists, “so tell us how to get more of the crystals. We'll try to clean up faster and get out of here as soon as possible.” Carina’s lips press into a hard line just as Eric’s does. They stare each other down through the phone, and…

Eric breaks first. He lets out a sigh, pinches the bridge of his nose, and then looks back into the camera. “Okay. Okay. Let me get a list of where you can find more, and put the holy sage plants in there with you.” He hangs up, and Carina tosses my phone down, and just rubs my arm with her hands.

“We'll try to get clean up done quicker, like a week. Hopefully… Hopefully the crystals will keep it away, and if not, we'll just stay at a motel during the night.” I nod to her, trying to keep my fear down. We'll buy the whole fucking crystal shop if we have to.

It only took us a few minutes to throw on more clothes; no point in getting too dressed up when we'll just be covered in grime later. I had to hold Carina’s hand the entire way down the hall; my legs barely wanted to carry me, and my body kept getting waves of chill bumps all over it. When we finally got down the stairs and into the front hallway, it didn't seem so bad. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was torn up, dust still covered the peeling wallpaper. Everything was fine and dandy.

Until I looked into the dining area attached to the kitchen. I could see something on the ground, something sticking up from the wooden paneling on the floor. As I rounded the corner and went through the kitchen doorway, I carefully scanned around the sliding door, Carina right at my heels.

There, leading in, I saw huge, muddy… handprints. When I got closer, It looked like something with four enormously sized hands walked in from the thoroughly muddy backyard and right around the dining table. I hazarded a peek at the sliding door lock and quickly saw that it was still double locked, with one muddy hand print on the glass. I could also see… fur trapped in the mud. White, crinkly fur, like from a dog.

Then, we followed the handprints through to the living room, anxiety gripping my chest the entire way. By the time I was at the door that opens to it, it felt like my childhood asthma had returned and that I was having a bad spell of it. I slowly, slowly open the door.

Creeeeak.

The old hinges let out noises of protest as I do so, but I keep going until I can look in.the muddy hand prints taper off on the once white carpeting, up to…

A large, picked-clean bone sitting on the carpet when the handprints end. On it is a tag with a string, tying it loosely to the bone. I step towards it, hands and arms beginning to shake as though I can't stop shivering.

Left foot. Right foot.

Just another few steps.

Left foot. Right foot.

I lean over, and carefully nudge the tag to flip it over with my shoe. I feel my breath leave my lungs in a long, loud whoosh.

NAME: THOMAS TAYLOR

D.O.B.: 02/12/73

D.O.D.: 04/23/09

C.O.D.: ACCIDENT

I scramble backwards, tripping over the couch as I do so, but not stopping until I hit the wall. Dad. The morgue tag we had to see when it came time to bury him in the little graveyard near here. After he died from his nail gun accidentally firing when he tried to fix its blockage and going through his heart while working late in his shed. Dad.

Dad’s toe tag on a bone picked clean.

I start to scream.

I didn't stop until my throat went so raw it started to bleed. All the while Carina dragged me out of the house, sobbing wildly herself. I dissolved into sobs when I couldn't scream anymore, while she called someone.

A few minutes later, I hear a police siren, then the sound of tires on gravel. I don't look up from my huddled position on the ground, holding my knees to my chest, not even when a man starts trying to speak to me, nor when a lady officer tried to soothe me.

I didn't really say anything, not even when we were at the police station, settled into one of the private rooms the reserve for clients needing alone time.

I didn't speak for a day or two after the police station visit, didn't even really pay attention to what they said or what Carina said. I just remember them escorting us to a motel nearby, offering to pay for our night. When I finally snapped out of it, I listened to Carina explain how the police said they'll try to track down who did this.

I don't think they'll find them. I don't think it's a person, just a thing. An evil thing that wants me. Wants me so bad that it tried to break me. Humans don't break and crack crystals meant to protect from bad things.

-----

Even now, I have trouble sleeping. Carina, Eric, and I moved in together after the house incident; none of us wanted to separate afterwards, in case… in case it ever comes back.

Mom told me something before she left to go back home, a week after everything, though. She said dad had the same nightmares I did, and that he told her he heard someone call him at night. She never believed him. She wishes she had now.

--------

I hope you enjoyed! This was my first ever horror story, and I'm very open to constructive criticism! I'm also okay with people reading this story on their podcast or YouTube channel, so long as I am fully credited and made aware!

[royalberries]

rita be like oh- OH!!!! :D and im like im already on one knee-

[desireearmfeldt]

Rita Hayworth in a publicity photo for You Were Never Lovelier, (1942)

[desireearmfeldt]

Rita Hayworth in Pal Joey (1957)