Stories tell you a tale of an event, a time long ago or far away, a happening of great wonder, sadness or horrifying fear. My story is one of these that you can either believe or not. That, you see, is your role. You may choose to either believe my story or decide to class it as fiction, but never forget it.
The last thing I remember was the deafening sound of the shovels crashing against the lid of the coffin and seeing the lights, the dazzling lights, the sounds of the men calling my name and gently pulling me from my wooden prison, knowing I was safe. Saved.
I was on my way home, walking down the road that I had lived on for the last seven years. It was late in the night, no later than I would usually be walking home, but the light from the red-orange moon was the only thing that was keeping the detail of the streets visible to the human eye. I felt that If only someone or something had walked past then I wouldn't have felt so alone. My paranoia was causing me to repeatedly look back on the route I had walked as, for some reason, I feared the worst every time I heard the subtle whispering of the leaves in the wind. I cautiously approached the steps to my front door and felt a slight rush of relief as I opened the door and, with deep sigh, I was back in the safety of my own home.
I slammed the door shut and threw my keys on the hall table as I did every night when returning home from work; although the house was unusually cold and dark. It almost felt as if winter had taken its presence in the room. My eyes were suddenly drawn to the curtains floating in the breeze, this stimuli causing me to cross the room and close the opened window that had let the cold weather in. I tried to click the lights on but after several frustrated attempts I gave into impatience and found my way in the dark to the kitchen where I grabbed a torch.
I thumped down the stairs to the basement flashing the walls with light to find the fuse box; I was used to the odd bit of DIY having lived alone for almost a year, but found the dangling silver wire ends gleaming in the light of the torch.
They were cut.
I felt myself freeze to the spot feeling the Goose bumps creeping up my arm. In a split second I found myself sprinting up the stairs to the safety of my bedroom. If I could just get to the phone I could feel safe again. My eyes frantically followed the torchlight as it ran over various cupboards and sides in my room. It landed on the screen of my phone which was lying on the dresser, I was nearly safe - just one quick call would mean I could have someone to join me in the house and bring a warmth that seemed to have left the house on this gloomy night, but as I picked up the phone the torchlight landed on my wardrobe door. The door was ajar - but the light revealed the edge of a dress hanging there alone in the wardrobe. The rooms darkness enveloped me and a cold chill entered my body causing my hands to shake uncontrollably. I could make out the detail of an old red and white polka dot child's dress hung neatly in the cupboard. I remember the torchlight shaking when I realised that I recognised the dress from somewhere. My stomach knotted and I was suddenly aware of the sound of my breathing. The dress wasn't mine.
Then there were Footsteps. There were slow, deliberate footsteps in the living room, and then a voice, a man's voice, not unkind or aggressive, saying a girl's name. "Jessica?, Jessica, is that you?"
I couldn't think or speak. This man knew I, or Jessica, or someone, was here in the house.
"Jessica?" the man's voice was slowly becoming louder and clearer. He was at the bottom of the stairs.
I wanted to hide, but he would have all night to find me. I stared at my phone like it would have the answer - like it could help me as I heard the stairs creak and groaned under his weight. And then another, different sound caught my attention. Something heavy dropped.
"Jessica - are you ready for your party?"
I flashed the torch around my room desperately looking for something, anything, that could protect me, that's when I saw the photos stuck on my mirror; Photos of Mr Patterson's daughter, the young girl from my school that had gone missing all those years ago.
"Jessica, my love, answer me immediately!"
More photos on the wall, made the sickness hit my stomach, there was a beautiful young girl, who must have been twelve or thirteen at most, smiling in her new polka dot party dress. So sweet, so innocent.
There was a creak of the top step meant he was on the landing, he would be able to see the torchlight soon. The phone, I had to reach someone. Before I had the phone to my ear the torch revealed the missing battery.
"Jessica! What is keeping you so long? Your party guests are waiting!"
I saw the shadow of the candle move across the wall outside my bedroom. I heard the creaking of the landing as my door slowly opened. I saw the fingers around the edge of my door as I switched off the torch and froze. The candlelight aged him, showing every wrinkle on his face. Mr. Patterson could see me in the faint candle light. He tried to smile but his face had no love, only years of mourning and pain.
He was almost whispering. "Jessica - whatever is keeping you - get changed at once and come downstairs to your party".
I couldn't speak as he stepped further into my room. He was dressed in an old suit that was far too big for him now. He reached out his long wiry fingers and opened the wardrobe to take out the dress. "Jessica, this is your favourite..."
"I'm not Jessica" I said it without thinking.
Mr Patterson stopped talking. He was still trying to smile but his eyes were angry. "Jessica - you mustn't be naughty. I don't want to get angry. You know what happens when I get angry"
"This is my house, my name is not Jessica, it's not my birthday - please, please stop" I pleaded, "I've called the Police and they will be here any time now". I was trying to sound confident but my voice was shaking. I decided to push past Mr Patterson so I could get down the stairs and out of the house. He moved to one side but as I passed him he put his handkerchief over my mouth.
"You're safe now dear" were the last words I heard as my head started spinning.
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the headache, then the darkness, and then the silence. The stifling air and the wooden walls enclosed me and I knew, I was trapped in a coffin built for the lost girl eight years ago.
Buried alive.
The last thing I remember was the deafening sound of the shovels crashing against the lid of the coffin and seeing the lights, the dazzling lights, the sounds of the men calling my name and gently pulling me from my wooden prison, knowing I was safe. Saved.
I was on my way home, walking down the road that I had lived on for the last seven years. It was late in the night, no later than I would usually be walking home, but the light from the red-orange moon was the only thing that was keeping the detail of the streets visible to the human eye. I felt that If only someone or something had walked past then I wouldn't have felt so alone. My paranoia was causing me to repeatedly look back on the route I had walked as, for some reason, I feared the worst every time I heard the subtle whispering of the leaves in the wind. I cautiously approached the steps to my front door and felt a slight rush of relief as I opened the door and, with deep sigh, I was back in the safety of my own home.
I slammed the door shut and threw my keys on the hall table as I did every night when returning home from work; although the house was unusually cold and dark. It almost felt as if winter had taken its presence in the room. My eyes were suddenly drawn to the curtains floating in the breeze, this stimuli causing me to cross the room and close the opened window that had let the cold weather in. I tried to click the lights on but after several frustrated attempts I gave into impatience and found my way in the dark to the kitchen where I grabbed a torch.
I thumped down the stairs to the basement flashing the walls with light to find the fuse box; I was used to the odd bit of DIY having lived alone for almost a year, but found the dangling silver wire ends gleaming in the light of the torch.
They were cut.
I felt myself freeze to the spot feeling the Goose bumps creeping up my arm. In a split second I found myself sprinting up the stairs to the safety of my bedroom. If I could just get to the phone I could feel safe again. My eyes frantically followed the torchlight as it ran over various cupboards and sides in my room. It landed on the screen of my phone which was lying on the dresser, I was nearly safe - just one quick call would mean I could have someone to join me in the house and bring a warmth that seemed to have left the house on this gloomy night, but as I picked up the phone the torchlight landed on my wardrobe door. The door was ajar - but the light revealed the edge of a dress hanging there alone in the wardrobe. The rooms darkness enveloped me and a cold chill entered my body causing my hands to shake uncontrollably. I could make out the detail of an old red and white polka dot child's dress hung neatly in the cupboard. I remember the torchlight shaking when I realised that I recognised the dress from somewhere. My stomach knotted and I was suddenly aware of the sound of my breathing. The dress wasn't mine.
Then there were Footsteps. There were slow, deliberate footsteps in the living room, and then a voice, a man's voice, not unkind or aggressive, saying a girl's name. "Jessica?, Jessica, is that you?"
I couldn't think or speak. This man knew I, or Jessica, or someone, was here in the house.
"Jessica?" the man's voice was slowly becoming louder and clearer. He was at the bottom of the stairs.
I wanted to hide, but he would have all night to find me. I stared at my phone like it would have the answer - like it could help me as I heard the stairs creak and groaned under his weight. And then another, different sound caught my attention. Something heavy dropped.
"Jessica - are you ready for your party?"
I flashed the torch around my room desperately looking for something, anything, that could protect me, that's when I saw the photos stuck on my mirror; Photos of Mr Patterson's daughter, the young girl from my school that had gone missing all those years ago.
"Jessica, my love, answer me immediately!"
More photos on the wall, made the sickness hit my stomach, there was a beautiful young girl, who must have been twelve or thirteen at most, smiling in her new polka dot party dress. So sweet, so innocent.
There was a creak of the top step meant he was on the landing, he would be able to see the torchlight soon. The phone, I had to reach someone. Before I had the phone to my ear the torch revealed the missing battery.
"Jessica! What is keeping you so long? Your party guests are waiting!"
I saw the shadow of the candle move across the wall outside my bedroom. I heard the creaking of the landing as my door slowly opened. I saw the fingers around the edge of my door as I switched off the torch and froze. The candlelight aged him, showing every wrinkle on his face. Mr. Patterson could see me in the faint candle light. He tried to smile but his face had no love, only years of mourning and pain.
He was almost whispering. "Jessica - whatever is keeping you - get changed at once and come downstairs to your party".
I couldn't speak as he stepped further into my room. He was dressed in an old suit that was far too big for him now. He reached out his long wiry fingers and opened the wardrobe to take out the dress. "Jessica, this is your favourite..."
"I'm not Jessica" I said it without thinking.
Mr Patterson stopped talking. He was still trying to smile but his eyes were angry. "Jessica - you mustn't be naughty. I don't want to get angry. You know what happens when I get angry"
"This is my house, my name is not Jessica, it's not my birthday - please, please stop" I pleaded, "I've called the Police and they will be here any time now". I was trying to sound confident but my voice was shaking. I decided to push past Mr Patterson so I could get down the stairs and out of the house. He moved to one side but as I passed him he put his handkerchief over my mouth.
"You're safe now dear" were the last words I heard as my head started spinning.
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the headache, then the darkness, and then the silence. The stifling air and the wooden walls enclosed me and I knew, I was trapped in a coffin built for the lost girl eight years ago.
Buried alive.
