Here is one of the winners of the 2013 Scary Story Contest organized by Coquitlam and Port Moody public libraries and sponsored by The Tri-City News.
3RD PLACE, 15-18 years
Untitled
By Miranda Wallace, 16, Coquitlam
It's been seven hours. Seven hours since I got home from school, seven hours since I found my mom and dad dead on the floor of my bedroom. Seven hours I've pretended to be asleep. Because I saw it, the thing that killed them. I don't know what it was, but I don't think it knew I noticed it. So I've just kept very, very still, shut my eyes, and hoped that it'll go away.
It hasn't, and the only thing I can think about is its fathomless eyes. Pure black, like something from a horror movie. The silence of the room is unnerving, and I can't stand it. Maybe if I just look around quickly, I can figure out what to do next. But I'm too scared to open my eyes. I saw what it did to my mom and dad, and it wasI can't let that happen to me too. I can't. I have a test tomorrow, and homework, and things I need to worry about. Things I'm supposed to be worried about. Not some monster.
I've been counting in my head to see how long it's been. But I've lost count. Eight hours? Nine? Ten? I'm starving and thirsty, and tired. But I can't sleep, not now. I can't let it realize I've been faking this whole time. I have to stay awake. Someone will notice the signs soon enough, right? They'll come and help me? They have to. I have to believe that.
I can hear it moving now. The room that was so quiet is now filled with a sepulchral, wet sound. I can hear it doing something to the walls. Writing something, or maybe painting something. I don't know anymore. I don't know anything. I'm tempted to open my eyes to find out, but I have to continue the guise of sleep.
How long has it been now? Twelve hours? More? I've lost track of time completely. Everything is gone except for the sound of my heart hammering in my chest. The thing has gone quiet again, has been for some time. I don't want to think about what this means, or what's happened. But maybe this means I could risk taking a peek at what's on the wall? Maybe it won't notice.
If I'm going to die, which is becoming a more and more likely option, then I have to at least try to escape. I'll die fighting. I stay motionless for another few minutes, coming up with a plan. The front door is unlocked. If I can just get to there, it'll work. I can get out and call for help.
I move. I throw the covers off the bed, stumbling out and heading towards my bedroom door. I trip on a body, though, falling to the floor hard. I can hear it moving behind me, creeping closer. As I feel something cold wrap around my ankle, my eyes catch the wall, the message written in blood.
I know you're awake.
