SCARY STORY CONTEST
15-18 YEARS CATEGORY
FIRST PLACE
The Dark
Emma Hoffard, 17, Coquitlam
I'm not scared of the dark until I'm alone with my imagination; then it's the most sinister, nightmarish monster imaginable. The dark is every snarling, snapping werewolf; every scheming, hungry vampire; every crazed, savage murderer. It's a curtain that shrouds my logic and drags me helplessly into a state of miserable panic. In the dark, every beast, demon and killer leaps from the deep cracks of my imagination and lurks in shadowy corners. Thuds, creaks and taps on my window are suddenly hellishly evil creatures slinking out from underneath my bed and creeping towards me.
I lie in bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. I wish I could fall asleep. Right now, I doubt I've ever wished for anything more. All I need to do is fall asleep; I'll wake up and the sun will have chased away all the malevolent creatures that terrorize me in the darkness.
I close my eyes. From an ominous sea of black, a ghoulish, bony face emerges. It's not real, I tell myself, but I'm quivering. The face moves closer. It's not real, it's not real; it's just your imagination. Its cracked, red lips curl back over its teeth, revealing a fanged, wicked smile.
With a jolt, I open my eyes. I sit upright and flip the light switch. My room is empty. Immediately I'm furious with myself. I'm being silly and childish. I turn off the light and roll over onto my shoulder, as if repositioning will put my rampant imagination at ease, and indignantly I shut my eyes again.
All at once a flood of nightmarish images flash through my uncontrollable, overwrought imagination. A witchy, shrieking banshee swoops over my head, her sunken-in, pupil-less eyes sending shivers down my spine; a pale, grey hand slowly reaches out from under my bed, its elongated, spider-like fingers clutching at my back; a ghostly young boy stands over my bed, reaching out at me with scratched, dead hands. A thousand blood-sucking bats descend from the ceiling; a lake of putrid maggots carpets the floor; the closet bursts open and a bloodthirsty killer lurches out, swinging an axe into my chest -
ENOUGH. I open my eyes. I'm coated in a cold sweat, shivering uncontrollably. I know they don't exist. I know that creepy, evil creatures don't lurch under my bed and in my closet and in the shady corners of my room. But that doesn't mean I'm not terrified. Defeated, I fumble for the light switch again, my quivering fingers groping the wall.
I flip the switch, eager for the relieving light to steady my trembling heart; the light doesn't turn on. I flip the switch again. The light bulb above me stays off.
I hear a thud outside - or was it from under the bed? My stomach churns and twists sickeningly.
And then my heart nearly stops altogether. For a clammy, cold, spindly hand is moving up my stomach.
