Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-37041992-20181004223948

'''Authors note: I wrote this pasta called Jesse. People liked the idea. I revised it to a point where I loved it even more. It got deleted, so please give me advice so I can make this better.'''

My parents went away for a week to celebrate their anniversary. On the first night, I was watching the news when the power went out. I sat there, telling myself that it'd come back on eventually. A minute went by. Five minutes. Ten.

I sat entirely still, rarely blinking. I never liked the dark. When I was little, I'd be scared of any noise I heard, and I heard a lot.

I knew this was bad. I couldn't possibly go up to my bed in this circumstance.

I heard a noise. It came from the upstairs hallway. My head immediately jerked toward the staircase. I should explain my staircase: there's a ninety degree turn in the middle, so I could only see half of it. I heard another noise. I slowly scootched out off the couch and crouched down in between the end of the couch and the wall.

I heard another noise. It sounded like it was on the staircase. I thought I saw a shadow creep in front of the window on the landing where the staircase turns. I heard more footsteps. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could start to see the figure.

He was male, but his hair was long like a woman. Black hair, like mine. Skinny. He was wearing a dark turtleneck. His skin was white like mine, but very pale. He was wearing black pants and black shoes. He blended in very well to the darkness, other than his skin. That unnervingly pale skin.

He walked over to the mirror next to the staircase. He rolled up a sleeves and grabbed something from his pocket. My heart skipped when I saw him pull out a knife. He held it in his left hand, stuck out his right arm, and did something horrifying.

He began to shave the skin off of his arm, making it skinnier and skinnier. Almost like he was sculpting it. Eventually, he did the other arm. I felt sick and just willed with all my might for him to leave.

He "flexed" in the mirror and nodded, smiling crazily. He pulled up his shirt and started sculpting his torso. I saw flaps of skin fall to the floor. I felt light-headed, but I couldn't look away for my own safety.

He sculpted every part of his body. His legs, his cheeks, even his neck. The whole time, I didn't see a single drop of blood.

After what seemed like ages, he put the knife back into his pocket. I prayed like crazy for him to get out. He checked every body part he sculpted. He got on one knee and began to pick up the flaps of skin that he had got off his body. He wadded it up until it was about the size of a golf ball.

I watched in horror and he shoved the ball of skin into his mouth. I heard a horrible chewing noise and my mind couldn't take it. My eyes went limp and I felt my head smack against the hardwood floor with a loud thump.

I woke up in the hospital, trying to retrace my memory. When I remembered my whole experience, I screamed. A nurse came running in.

"What's wrong?" she asked frantically.

"Wh-what happened??" I whimpered with more anguish than I'd ever heard in my voice.

"Well..." she said, looking sad. "You might want to see for yourself."

She pulled back my sheet and I saw my body. Cut, bleeding, sculpted into something uncanny. I screamed and she tried calmed me down.

"This was the only piece of your skin we found in your house," she said picking something up from a nearby table. "It was lying next to you."

It was a piece of my own skin. Written with my blood, it said:

"You're welcome. Now you're pretty.

-Jesse" 