Categories > Original > Horror > gjnhjfdhns

First Confrontation.

by noisee 0 reviews

We meet a new friend.

Category: Horror - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Horror - Published: 2007-03-27 - Updated: 2007-03-27 - 1070 words - Complete


gjnhjfdhns: Part FOUR: First Confrontation.

All of us moved to the corner farthest from the door, watching it anxiously, deathly afraid of what was clawing at the painted wood. I mean, I was surprised I was able to refrain from swearing- Buuut that didn't stop Brian. He let out a string of not-too-quiet curses, though by now, I suspect that most of us had started tuning him out.

"Okay... So... Anyone want to open the door?" I whispered.

"How 'bout you?" Angel said, clinging to Marina's arm like... Well, clinging like Marina.

"Yea, it's your house!" Andrew deduced.

"Wonderful logic, Andrew," I dryly replied, "you were always the smart one..." I bit my lip, knowing all too well that that door was not going to be opened anytime soon- At least, not from the inside. I crept toward it, Ale holding the flashlight in my direction (C'mon, you'd give the flashlight to /Brian/? Or /Andrew/?), and timidly tapped the doorbell-like button on the wall. The garage door started creeping open with a monotonous drone, filtering in-


Though I would have said darkness, I was still as confused as Marina. I mean, we hadn't been in the garage for more than ten minutes, and yet the sun had fully set? That was just way too weird. I pressed the button again, making the door stop rising. Not that I would've been able to tell- Ale had turned the flashlight back to the group, and so the door opening might as well have done nothing.

In silence, we all stepped toward the gap the door created, the light bobbing this way and that as Ale tried to illuminate everything. I noticed that, when the light was in the corner of the gap, it reflected off of nothing- Like there was something pitch black just standing there.

"What the hell...?"

Angel unclung herself from Marina's arm and switched to Ale's, manuvering the flashlight to the corner. Everyone looked at it, the inky darkness totally oblivious to the light, covering up what cement and gravel we should have seen.

Suddenly, an all too familiar quote flashed through my mind- "It's quiet... /Too quiet..."/- and my eyes widened.

The scratching had stopped.

Quickly, I rushed to the door and with only a moment's hesitation, flung it open. It hung pathetically on its hinges, long, dark red scratches covering the once white surface.

"What're you doing?"

I stuck my head out, only enough to see around the corner, and sure enough, there was a tall, human-shaped mass of shadow, standing at the edge of the garage door, inching closer to it.

The light flashed toward me.

"No!" I heard someone hiss, and then shove the light to the floor. It fell with a clunk! on the concrete, and went out.

Too late. The dark thing had seen it already, and I could feel its presence in the garage, like the feeling you get when someone's watching you; I could hear it, like someone had put something over my ears and every noise was muffled; I could smell it, a sickly, rotting smell, a nauseating scent; I could taste it, the dryness in my mouth as though I had swallowed a large amount of cotton; the only thing I couldn't do was see it, and that was almost more nerve-wracking than all the other senses combined.

I heard screams, muffled screams, so much that I couldn't distinguish where they were coming from. Some, I knew, were my own, but even those sounded distant. This was bad, very bad, and we had to get out of here. Knowing I was still near the door, and the others weren't, I decided it would be best to yell to direct them this way- I think that would be safer than trying to go past the- The thing.

Yelling some "Over here"/s with a few "Get out"/s, I stood in front of the door, making sure it was wide open. To my intense relief, I felt people rushing by me, some curses as people forgot to step over the doorframe.

One... Two... Three-four... Five...

The air was getting colder, sounds were becoming so far away, I felt like puking, and I realized that it was leave now or become smothered in the thing.

... And Hazel makes six...

I jumped out, slamming the door shut behind me, having the sense to remember to go over the frame and

Tripped over the people who had tripped earlier.

But, as I hit the ground, everything was jolted back. I could see, faintly, thanks to Marina's tiny keychain light, and I could clearly hear the groans, the sobs, and the mutters of /"Holy s--t"/, and could smell the fresh, crisp air you could only smell outside.

"Everyone okay?"

"As okay as you can get," Andrew darkly muttered from behind me. I guess I stepped on him by accident. Oops, much?

Dramatically, Angel cried, "I'm never going in there again...!"

"Tell me about it."

"That was scary, man."

"No f--king duh," Brian rolled his eyes.

I stood, squinting to be able to see my hands in the light. Yea, they were scratched, stung by the cold, hard ground, but I'd live. I looked 'round to where Marina was shining the flashlight, toward the garage door, mutilated by whatever the thing had been, trails of- Oh Gods, not /blood/- deeply embedded into the slab of wood. I looked toward the house, hoping that the outside light would be on, but... No. Not even the neighbours.

"Oh... Look at that..."

The tiny light pointed on the door to the neighbours' house, which was more like splinters of wood attached to the walls. And... Inside...


Now thoroughly worried, I made Marina point the light at my own door, and began to step forward into it, but I couldn't get farther than a few steps.

The doors were completely ravaged and thrown to the side, and from the little light of Marina's, I could see that the inside of the house was worse.

You remember those trails of blood in the scratches on the garage door? Well, think of a living room, and then add those scratches, except magnify them to splatters, crimson plasma contrasting against the light blue walls, dark marks of undeniable anguish and vain struggle.

Now think of feeling so numb that you can't remember when the tears started to fall.
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