Rachel by Everyday_Im_Preaching
THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE KIND OF SPOOKY. AND THERE IS MILD DESCRIPTION OF GORE.
So you know. Be careful.
This is original fiction.
This was really hard to type on my phone broskis. I just can’t not write, you feel me?
—
The first thing Rachel noticed when she opened her eyes was the red. It was a garish, sickening colour that reminded her of a neon sign at three a.m., leaking onto the sidewalk as wobbly heels echoed with cracks and clacks, loud and unsteady, on the broken concrete.
The colour had settled over every inch of Rachel’s room; it had even stretched itself across the blue-white of the sleepy television screen. With shaky fingers and blurry vision she slipped from beneath her covers–her toes curled and stretched in scratchy pink carpet. It–this world–felt too solid, too real. Less like a dream and more like an altered reality that wasn’t kind to strangers.
Rachel felt the need to squint into the bathroom as she approached it, even though the light illuminated the room and each and every one of the gorey details that rested inside perfectly; perhaps it was the disbelief that made her want to have made up the crisp line of the man’s tie, and the unnatural angle of his neck as he lay slumped over, back rested against the edge of the toilet. His lips were still recognisable, though flecked with blood–as eyes trailed up across cheekbones, the flesh became bloodier and grey, resembling old hamburger. And his eyes. Or perhaps where his eyes had been.
Hollowed sockets stared at the carpet in front of Rachel’s bare toes, black and dark red. She stood mesmerised in abject horror, breath coming in quiet, sharp inhales. A quiet dripping broke her from her trance; terror never leaving her, Rachel tilted her face up towards the ceiling–she choked out a quiet gasp as tiny red drops dripped down from in a steady stream, dotting the carpet with crimson.
“I’m going crazy.” Rachel’s thoughts were loud in her mind; they echoed through her, forcing her legs to trudge forward towards her open bedroom door. “None of this is real. It’s all some twisted illusion my mind has cobbled together.” It wasn’t a reassurance.
Soft whispers hissed past her, unintelligible and spoken in a language that Rachel had never heard. She continued forward, blinking her eyes in hard, squeezing clicks that seemed to last days, but in reality lasted seconds at a time. Passing by the kitchen she let out a quiet, shriek that devolved into broken sobs that weighed down her chest and eyelids. Tears fueled by fear slipped down her cheeks, fingers blindly grasping at the door handle to the front door of her apartment.
Hands, blackened with soot or sin or both were pushing up through the sink drains. Their long fingers padded against the still-damp stainless steel searching for something to grasp on to. Similar fingers pushed in between the small opening of the dishwasher door, trying to pry it open from the inside.
With a confident turn the door was thrown open and Rachel stumbled into the hallway taking in laboured breaths. Immediately she screamed. She screamed like she was in pain, like she was in agony. Rachel screamed for help, listening for the sound of steps on the staircase or lack thereof.
Sure enough she was greeted with the concerned face of her upstairs neighbour; her name was Ms. Hatty. Her daughter followed along, looking just as distressed.
Questions spilled from their lips and Rachel couldn’t say much else than a warning not to go into her apartment; it was dangerous and the whispers and the fingers. They had been coming out of the dishwasher. The daughter simply blew Rachel off, walking with a confident air to the door. With a flick of her wrist she had the door opening, a quiet creak begging Rachel to oil it later.
On the other side was nothing but her apartment. Well-lit and a bit messy; but it was just her apartment. It was as if the nightmare she’d just seen hadn’t been there. Hadn’t been real.
It made Rachel wonder if it had been.
But that didn’t mean she was going to tempt fate by returning to her apartment.
