Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26027963-20150211201227

"IT'S STILL FRICKEN' THERE," it had been five days since that that thing had last moved, and STILL it had not moved, and it was just sitting right on the top of MY bookshelf, yet no has said that they had moved it there. I was still too terrified to move it. It was just much too creepy, the "Elf On The Shelf," as my mom called that thing, she used it as a pincushion. So I tried to ignore it and go to sleep, and ended up just getting a good sleep, until I was rudely awakened by the dog barking, at sometime around, two in the morning. I waited until I heard my mother scold her for barking, and I tried to go back to bed, and then I felt something else on my bed. I look on my pillow to see the demented-elf thing staring at me, and I screamed, but it just came out as an inaudible croak. Muffled by tightly closed lips, sewn shut with the thread coming from the doll's hand. I still was yet to see it all. When It stood, it looked like a marionette, slowly stand like it was controlled by strings, I was immobilized by fear. "Do you now how I can do this?" His voice like a demonic rumble, "do you know how we are powered? Do you even know how we are made?" He took a needle out of stomach, and began to sew my eyes shut. It came to my ear and said in that demonic tone, "from the souls of dead children" and I blacked out from the pain. So now I'm here, writing my story in my little elf body. Waiting for my next victim to come home from school. Apparently I'm a gift, and ohh, I'll give him a gift alright, so he'll never feel a thing, and don't worry, sooner or later I give you that gift too!

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