Your Imperfect Friend ~ A short horror story
Aug 23, 2016 23:29:27 GMT -5
John 3:16, prophet, and 3 more like this
Post by 🍁Searipple101🍁 on Aug 23, 2016 23:29:27 GMT -5
To enhance the effect of a good horror story, please, read this in a dark room, alone.
Hello, my friend. Do you know I'm here this time? I can see you, wasting your time in front of that screen. The light illuminates your figure so perfectly in this dark room. Do you feel my presence? I know you do. I can sense the tiny, prickling shivers under your skin. You know something is wrong, but you don't know what.
Your hair...it smells so nice. Can you hear my breathing so faintly by your head? Perhaps you can feel my warm breath caress your ear. You smell so good, I can hardly contain myself. I have to touch you, just once.
The shivers, they returned. My long fingers ever so gently graze the delicate skin of your neck and your body instinctively shivers? What an interesting reaction. I wonder, what happens when I tickle you?
Do you feel that? That tiny, little tickle on your leg, that small little itch? I know you do. Now, I'm going to tickle your arm. Do you feel that? How about on the back of your head now? That subtle, little prickly tickle on the back of your head itches now, doesn't it? Does it feel like a bug crawling in your hair, squirming and struggling in those amazing locks of yours? Heh, I bet it does.
Does it make you feel uncomfortable? I can feel your fear; it's steadily growing stronger. That sense of unease only moments ago is now becoming fear, isn't it? Just don't look behind you, okay?
I'm shy. I know your instincts tell you to look around, but don't look at me. You wouldn't like what you see. I'm not as beautiful a creature as you. I don't have shining eyes like you do. All I have are black, empty sockets with a dim red glow in a seemingly cavernous abyss. At least, that's what I see when I look in your bathroom mirror, after you leave from brushing those pretty, white teeth of yours. I wish mine were so white and perfect, but no. They have to be permanently stained yellow and so jagged and crooked.
I wish I had a face like yours, too, so flawless in my pits of black and ghostly red. Of course, I have to be cursed with this pale, wretched mask of a face. I wish I could take it off like a real mask, but I can't...
Perhaps I could borrow your face for a while? I could wear it like a little mask for a day, and then I swear I'll give it right back. I could borrow your hair, too; I don't have any of my own. Sadly, there's no fixing my long, gangling limbs. Why do they have to be so long with the skin stretched so tightly over bone? Why does my body have to be a sickly green-gray color? I look like a rotted corpse. But you, your skin so naturally colored, so flawless in every way to me... Please let me borrow your skin, let me borrow your looks.
Or, at least, let me touch you one more time. I know it feels like itchy little bugs crawling over your arm and leg hairs, your chest and head, but I can't help myself. I just can't. I wish you'd just make it easier for me and stop trying to scratch wherever my fingers touch you. I know they are long and bony and horribly disgusting, but you're the best thing in my life.
It's not like I get to see you often, either. I only come out when you're alone and in the dark. Remember, I'm shy. I don't want others to see me, either. It's so hard to hide when you look around, too. I think you catch a glimpse of me out of the corner of your eye sometimes, before I can duck to the safety of cover and wait for you to turn away again. I guess you feel me watching you; it's an instinctual thing for humans, I suppose. Still, please don't try to look at me, and don't try to have company. I love when it's just us two and you're too busy in front of that screen to notice me for a while.
Best of all, I love it when you go to sleep. Then, I can stand up as tall as I can, my head almost touching your ceiling if it wasn't for the little hunch I have - another flaw. But, I can watch you lie there with your eyes closed and sides rising and falling so softly with every, even breath. And I don't need to worry about you seeing me if you're asleep.
You sleep so well, too. I can run my gnarled fingers through your hair and mess it up all I like without your protest. I can smell it all I want, and tickle your feet so all you do is twitch. Of course, sometimes I get too excited and you're still awake for that. I'm sorry when that happens. Oh well, that won't be until tonight. I promise to make sure you're asleep tonight before I play with you. It'll be like the good nights when you sleep so soundly and wake up to find your hair ruffled up and maybe tangled a little - the only evidence you'll have to know I was there, but you won't connect the dots. You never do.
I can't wait until then, but that time isn't now. For now, I will simply loom behind you and watch you fiddle with this screen, wondering if tonight, after you fall asleep so warm and cozy in your bed, if I might play with you or borrow your perfect skin.
Hello, my friend. Do you know I'm here this time? I can see you, wasting your time in front of that screen. The light illuminates your figure so perfectly in this dark room. Do you feel my presence? I know you do. I can sense the tiny, prickling shivers under your skin. You know something is wrong, but you don't know what.
Your hair...it smells so nice. Can you hear my breathing so faintly by your head? Perhaps you can feel my warm breath caress your ear. You smell so good, I can hardly contain myself. I have to touch you, just once.
The shivers, they returned. My long fingers ever so gently graze the delicate skin of your neck and your body instinctively shivers? What an interesting reaction. I wonder, what happens when I tickle you?
Do you feel that? That tiny, little tickle on your leg, that small little itch? I know you do. Now, I'm going to tickle your arm. Do you feel that? How about on the back of your head now? That subtle, little prickly tickle on the back of your head itches now, doesn't it? Does it feel like a bug crawling in your hair, squirming and struggling in those amazing locks of yours? Heh, I bet it does.
Does it make you feel uncomfortable? I can feel your fear; it's steadily growing stronger. That sense of unease only moments ago is now becoming fear, isn't it? Just don't look behind you, okay?
I'm shy. I know your instincts tell you to look around, but don't look at me. You wouldn't like what you see. I'm not as beautiful a creature as you. I don't have shining eyes like you do. All I have are black, empty sockets with a dim red glow in a seemingly cavernous abyss. At least, that's what I see when I look in your bathroom mirror, after you leave from brushing those pretty, white teeth of yours. I wish mine were so white and perfect, but no. They have to be permanently stained yellow and so jagged and crooked.
I wish I had a face like yours, too, so flawless in my pits of black and ghostly red. Of course, I have to be cursed with this pale, wretched mask of a face. I wish I could take it off like a real mask, but I can't...
Perhaps I could borrow your face for a while? I could wear it like a little mask for a day, and then I swear I'll give it right back. I could borrow your hair, too; I don't have any of my own. Sadly, there's no fixing my long, gangling limbs. Why do they have to be so long with the skin stretched so tightly over bone? Why does my body have to be a sickly green-gray color? I look like a rotted corpse. But you, your skin so naturally colored, so flawless in every way to me... Please let me borrow your skin, let me borrow your looks.
Or, at least, let me touch you one more time. I know it feels like itchy little bugs crawling over your arm and leg hairs, your chest and head, but I can't help myself. I just can't. I wish you'd just make it easier for me and stop trying to scratch wherever my fingers touch you. I know they are long and bony and horribly disgusting, but you're the best thing in my life.
It's not like I get to see you often, either. I only come out when you're alone and in the dark. Remember, I'm shy. I don't want others to see me, either. It's so hard to hide when you look around, too. I think you catch a glimpse of me out of the corner of your eye sometimes, before I can duck to the safety of cover and wait for you to turn away again. I guess you feel me watching you; it's an instinctual thing for humans, I suppose. Still, please don't try to look at me, and don't try to have company. I love when it's just us two and you're too busy in front of that screen to notice me for a while.
Best of all, I love it when you go to sleep. Then, I can stand up as tall as I can, my head almost touching your ceiling if it wasn't for the little hunch I have - another flaw. But, I can watch you lie there with your eyes closed and sides rising and falling so softly with every, even breath. And I don't need to worry about you seeing me if you're asleep.
You sleep so well, too. I can run my gnarled fingers through your hair and mess it up all I like without your protest. I can smell it all I want, and tickle your feet so all you do is twitch. Of course, sometimes I get too excited and you're still awake for that. I'm sorry when that happens. Oh well, that won't be until tonight. I promise to make sure you're asleep tonight before I play with you. It'll be like the good nights when you sleep so soundly and wake up to find your hair ruffled up and maybe tangled a little - the only evidence you'll have to know I was there, but you won't connect the dots. You never do.
I can't wait until then, but that time isn't now. For now, I will simply loom behind you and watch you fiddle with this screen, wondering if tonight, after you fall asleep so warm and cozy in your bed, if I might play with you or borrow your perfect skin.