Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28477697-20160517221705

I’ve always had an overly potent fear of one specific thing; creepy little girls, cliché I know, and I’ve always dismissed it as some uncanny valley nonsense, something that the film industry had drilled into my brain with various horror movies - Ring, Grudge and the like; but I could never shake the feeling that there was more to it than that, something instinctual, something primal…

Then one dreary fall, I found myself occupying a new house, on the rural North Carolina coastline, far away from the fast-moving city dwellers and gossipy suburbanites that I didn't care to associate with. The house itself was built a few decades before the Civil War, an old tobacco farmstead, but had been renovated with all the modern functionalities and had been suspiciously under-priced, thinking back on it. I had only finished moving in that morning and it would be my first night spent sleeping there.

At least it would have been, had I not awoken to what sounded like a furious cat outside my bedroom door. I retrieved my Maglite and went to silence what I figured was a stray that had broken in or been hiding in the house somewhere as I moved in. The door swung open to reveal a young girl of around twelve years draped in a long, silken summer dress; my initial shock gradually sunk into deep-seated uneasiness as I began to recognise the wrongness of what stood before me. Her skin was a grotesquely grey hue; long, listless black hair fell about her shoulders and across her face. I couldn’t see her eyes through the hair or make out any expression on her face at all, but I could feel the malevolent intent emanating from every fibre of her being, it crashed over me in waves as I stood paralysed.

We glared at each other for what felt like several hours.

Thoughts of violence briefly flashed through my mind, to lash out and strike the strange intruder with all the force I could muster, but as daunting as her visage was, it was still the form of a child and in the moment I could not bring myself to assault her. Brushing away my initial violent instincts, I searched for a more rational option; immediately I dismissed retreating behind the safety of the door, it could provoke the child's wrath and I had no idea who, or what, I was dealing with. At the very back of my mind I found the only logical option that remained to me; I tried to speak.

"H-hello? Who are y-"

I choked on my next words as a horrifying display unfolded before me. Her mouth opened slowly, spreading further and further apart; where her lips ended the opening did not. The newly revealed maw was easily two to three times as wide as any normal human mouth. Where I expected teeth, or perhaps even fangs, there were dozens and dozens of razor sharp needles, glinting silver in the moonlight. She let out a long, chilling howl. Where the cat had once been upset, it was now being mutilated.

I had only time to utter a fear-garbled shriek... and she was gone.

If anything else happened that night, I have no memory of it. All I know is that I woke up on the floor the next morning with an almighty migraine and a serious crick in my neck, I must have fainted.

I spent the next six hours at a library in a town several miles from the house; I had to figure out what the hell that thing was, why it showed up and why it disappeared without harming me even though I could feel murder in its stare. I’ve never really done any research on anything paranormal before, I don’t think I know much more than anyone else about anything occult, I’m not even much of a horror movie buff. I asked the librarians for everything they had on ghosts, demons, monsters, anything; I also got a hold of some local histories to check if anything particularly horrible or strange had happened at the farmstead. The only mildly relevant things I could find were that ghosts can be warded off with rock salt and that the legendary Roanoke Island, where loads of English colonists went missing, was nearby; but I’m not even sure that the thing was a ghost and I doubt that the Roanoke incident has anything to do with this.

Regardless, I was determined, rather foolishly, to sort this out on my own; I mean who was going to believe me, let alone help? Luckily, winter was nearing so I was able to arm myself with some industrial road salts and my bolt-action Winchester just to be safe. Since I couldn’t find any official records of any foul play or occult activity at the house, I decided to search it myself; I never noticed anything when I was moving in, but I wasn’t looking for anything either. I wasn’t entirely insane though; it was already dusk and getting caught wandering that house at night was not on my bucket list. I stayed the night at a hotel in the same town as the library, nothing happened that night, but the hair on my neck stiffened every time I caught the door in my peripheral.

Come morning, I was ready and raring to go. The first thing I did was check all the bedrooms and bathrooms for any sign of hidden nooks or doorways… there was nothing. Then I stood for a moment and mentally prepared myself to check the attic; as I ascended the pull-down staircase my eyes darted back and forth to every dusty shadow in every dank corner of the small room… there was nothing. Finally, and this is the one I was dreading most, I stood before the staircase leading to the basement. As mentioned earlier, I’m not a horror movie buff, but I have seen some of them and as I also mentioned – I am not entirely insane; I brought all the light with me to this venture. Between a head-mounted spelunker’s light and one of those big hand-held searchlights, nothing was sneaking up on me. There were lights built into the room as well but they were rather dim. Most of the basement was empty space; I had planned on turning it into a wine cellar but never got around to it for obvious reasons. There was, however, a stack of old barrels in one corner, presumably for storing tobacco harvests. I shifted the barrels and checked the corner… there was nothing.

Confused and frustrated I went and sat in the den for a while; had it been a nightmare all along? Had I simply sleep walked over to the door and fallen over where I did in the dream? Was this simply a product of my phobia? No, I wouldn’t accept that. If I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with this place, I would simply defend my territory. That night I stayed at the house, I lay propped up in my room with a line of salt across the door and window ledge, my rifle in my hands. I stared at the door for two hours. Just as my eyelids are getting too heavy to keep open much longer, I hear that hideous noise again, like a cat being cornered by a coyote… but it’s not coming from behind my door… it’s coming from inside the room… it’s coming from above me…

My neck wrenches upwards, her nails are imbedded in the plaster of the ceiling, her body is facing the ceiling but her head is turned towards me; with her hair dangling downwards I can see her face fully now… and it will haunt me to my grave.

My torso had retreated from her presence so that I was now lying flat; by some miracle I was able to snap out of my mesmerised state, I tried to swing the rifle’s barrel to aim at her. That was the movement that finally provoked her, she fell upon me. This time, it was the pain that made me black out.

When I woke up this time it wasn’t my head that hurt, it was my chest...

<p class="MsoNormal">I lifted my shirt slowly, partly because it hurt and partly because I was afraid to see what was there…

<p class="MsoNormal">Right in the centre, there was an almost perfect ring of tiny holes...

<p class="MsoNormal">I felt dizzy, both from fear and loss of blood; I had to get out of here...

<p class="MsoNormal">I looked around frantically, my vision blurred, eyes spinning in my head; I prayed to anyone who might listen that she was gone for good.

<p class="MsoNormal">I rose slowly, glancing around for a few more moments and, seeing nothing of her, I fled...

<p class="MsoNormal">It's been eight years now; I had some blood work done under the guise of a normal check-up, I never showed the doctors the marks, they would never believe my story and the last thing I needed was to be sectioned for “hallucinations resulting in self-harm”. I know I didn't do this to myself; I went back and checked the area for any sign of needles or syringes and there was nothing. The blood work came back clear, no hallucinogens or narcotics and no sign of abnormal hormone distribution.

<p class="MsoNormal">After staying with some family for a while I feel completely fine most of the time now; though I haven't been able to sleep for more than 5 hours consecutively since that night, any longer than that and I awaken violently with a searing pain around the scars; it only lasts for a second, not even long enough to be sure that it's real. I see her in my mind's eye right before it happens; I haven't encountered her again since that night, but from what I understand, several parties have looked into buying the house in hopes of finding a quiet place to live, away from the city and suburbia, but none of them ever stay past the first night...

<p class="MsoNormal">Of course the biggest thing that has nagged at the back of my mind since then is this – what does ‘CROATOAN’ mean, and why was it carved into the support beam of the attic? <ac_metadata title="The Girl at My Door (Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>