dahlia palmer (blindingly) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-01-15 23:57:00 |
|
|||
Dahlia watched the sun as it dipped behind the line of the horizon, turning the sky into a watercolor-esque canvas of brilliant yellows and deep, dusky purples. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear her mother calling for her to get back into the house before it got dark, but Dahlia wasn't quite ready to leave her spot just yet. The air was crisp, the salt in the air so thick she could taste it, and the waves that licked her bare toes would occasionally splash back onto the white cotton of her dress. It seemed odd that she was the only one on the beach today; there were usually couples walking the shoreline so they could see the sunset, or at the very least, there was some lone jogger with their dog. Not tonight. Tonight, it was just Dahlia.
As the sun continued its descent beyond the horizon, a growing sense of dread began to creep up in Dahlia's throat. She couldn't exactly say why she was suddenly frightened, but she couldn't seem to shake it. The water on her toes was no longer soothing. Rather, it had turned cold, certainly far too cold for it to be in the middle of the summer, and the sand she sat on felt as though it had begun moving beneath her. Yet, when she looked down to watch it, it was completely still.
And then, as the sun began to give its final yawn of light, Dahlia knew she had to run. It would be dark in just a few moments, and the thought of being stuck here without the light was so frightening that it could have paralyzed her if she let it.
Dahlia jumped to her feet and began to run toward the house. It was at least a fourth of a mile back, but she knew if she didn't make it, she would be stuck out here in the dark. With it, and that wasn't an option. So she ran harder, faster - pumped her arms desperately at her side and pounded her feet against the sand. The harder she ran, the more difficult it was to find traction. In the last ounce of light that was left, she watched her mother open the door to house and disappear inside.
"No! Mom, no! I'm still out here! Please!" But her legs were too tired, and the sand kept pulling her back. With a guttural sound -- sob or scream, not even Dahlia knew -- she collapsed down into the sand and began to crawl, desperate to get inside. It was too late though, and the last bit of light disappeared without ceremony, leaving her sprawled out on her belly in the sand. She should have listened to her mother; she should have gone inside when she told her to.
It was coming. She could feel it in every fiber of her being, in her bones and her soul. She tried to get back to her feet, but there was no light to guide herself by. There was no moon, no stars to guide her way. There was only the sound of breathing that was not hers and her heartbeat in her own ears. This was it. Without knowing where to run, Dahlia simply took off in any which direction. Staying still wasn't an option. If she stayed still, It would find her, and ...
"Oomph!"
Dahlia landed hard on her side. There was no time to fight It. Its hands were on her, using her dress to toss her onto her back. "No! God, please, no!" she screamed. Or, rather, she tried to scream. The only sound that made it past the barrier of her throat was a pathetic little sob that shattered when it reached the air, its pieces lost on the wind. She couldn't do anything, couldn't find the weight that was suddenly straddling her chest. She knew what was going to happen; it happened every time, every night.
When It ripped out the first eye, Dahlia could feel the blood pool from the now-empty orifice, and she had to fight the urge to vomit when the warm, iron taste flooded her mouth, bathing her taste buds and coating the back of her throat. There was so much blood. How could all of that come from one eye? She tried to scream for help again - tried to beg and to plead, but the words weren't forming the way she planned. They were breaking apart and coming together as sobs so violent and trembling that they turned to hiccups.
The opposite eye went next, and this time, she didn't even have the strength to scream. It leaned down, its breath foul and hot against her ear, and it breathed her name.
"Dahlia."
"Dahlia? Dahlia, wake up, honey. It's time to take your medicine."
Dahlia woke with the unbelievable urge to scream. She was still in the dark and for a split second, she wondered why someone hadn't turned on the lights. And then she remembered why, and she really wanted to scream. "Get out," she murmured, her voice rough and low from sleep. "I'm not taking any medicine right now." What was the point in all of their vitamins and supplements, anyway? At the end of the day, she would still be blind and miserable.
"Well, why don't you let me get you something to eat? Here, I brought you some water to sip on. It's right in front of your face, you just need to --" The poor nurse didn't even have time to finish her sentence before Dahlia's hand lashed out, knocking the cup of water across the room where it landed with a wet sound on the hospital floor. When she didn't hear the nurse begin to leave, even after her initial outburst, she swiped her left arm out, where she knew the phone and a large vase of flowers sat, and she sent everything on the table clattering to the floor. "I said get out!"
When she finally heard the sound of the nurse's shoes all but running out of the door, Dahlia breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed back onto the mattress.