In honor of Friday the 13th, and to help ya start getting ready for Halloween (seven weeks away!), I've decided to post some of my short horror stories. This one is posted on Wattpad and is my most popular story there by a wide margin. Enjoy!
Clay’s
Fire
Clay
appeared in the bedroom doorway clutching a stack of papers, a wide grin set
across his face.
“Turn
off the TV, Katie. I just finished my latest story. I want to read it to you.”
I
reached over the pillow and grabbed the remote from the nightstand. The
flickering glow from the television snapped off, leaving the room in almost
complete darkness. Clay walked over and turned on the small lamp clipped to the
edge of the desk against the far wall.
“Is
this the one you were working on the other day? When you wouldn’t let me in the
study?”
“Yeah,
that’s it. Now settle in. Close your eyes.” The chair creaked with the all-too
familiar sound of him leaning back.
“Just
this once can’t you sit by me?”
“Katie,
come on. I can’t read with you watching me.”
“I’ll
keep my eyes closed, I promise.”
Clay
laughed. “You’ll keep them closed anyway.” The chair creaked again. “Now be
quiet.”
I
pulled the sheets up to my shoulders and rested my head against the pillow. The
last thing I saw before closing my eyes was the silhouette of the footboard
that served as a wall between us.
“Ready?”
Clay said, his voice already deepening into the storyteller mode I fell in love
with.
“Yes.”
Clay’s
voice drifted through the room, deep and resonating. Smooth. His words caressed
me, soothing me, even when he read something terrifying. I never felt safer
than when he spoke in that mystical, storyteller voice…
Charles
entered the convenience store at exactly seven-thirty. The clang of the
bell ended abruptly when the door slammed shut behind him. The store was
crowded, and Charles felt heat climb up his neck.
Too
many people in this small space, with its narrow aisles stuffed full of junk.
Bags and boxes of chemical-laden snacks in their neat little rows along the
shelves.
I
knew that part of the story came from Clay’s own fear of small spaces.
Claustrophobia to the nth degree in his case. Our house had gobs of windows and
soaring high ceilings. I felt a pang of discomfort, knowing Clay had mentally
put himself in Charles’ shoes and experienced the heat and fear of the crowded
and confined store, the kind of place he’d never willingly enter in real life.
People
milled around, avoiding each other’s eyes, as if stopping in to buy a six-pack
and a bag of Fritos were some sort of conspiratorial act. Charles lowered his
eyes as well, tugging at the collar of his shirt.
Tight…so
tight.
I
pulled at the sheets. Hadn’t they only been up to my shoulders? Why were they
pushing against my chin?
His
neck was slick with perspiration, and as he stood in front of the newspaper
rack, beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. He swiped his hands through his
bangs, the heat from his forehead surging into his palms.
“I
must have a fever,” he whispered to himself.
The
sheets suddenly smothered me, sticking to my legs. I folded the edge over and
kicked myself free, trying to stay tuned in to Clay’s voice. Air, not quite
cool enough, hit my skin and I settled back into my pillow...
Continue reading on Wattpad. (No worries if you don't have an account--you don't need one to read it!)
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