"Nightmares": The first chapter of a book that doesn't exist yet
**Quick heads-up: this is definitely my writing at its darkest, and it might not be appropriate for Smol People a.k.a children, so if you're younger than about 11 you might want to give this one a miss**
Darkness. Darkness all around.
She sat up sharply, fast enough to make her head feel like it was spinning. She looked around, or rather, she tried to; she was surrounded by a thick, impenetrable darkness, not a sliver of light to be seen.
She felt her pulse speed up in fear, but she forced herself to stay calm. Had she gone blind? No, there simply wasn’t any light. She waved a hand in front of her face, but the darkness was so intense she couldn’t even see that far. How had she gotten here? There had to be a logical explanation for it, she knew. She should move, try and find answers.
She began to crawl forwards on her hands and knees, keeping her eyes wide open for any sign of anything. Her hands kept brushing against soft objects on the floor, but she didn’t have a clue what they were; possibly pieces of fabric? Her heart was hammering in her chest, her throat was completely dry, and she felt the claustrophobia begin to creep up on her; she hated being in complete darkness, always had, always would.
When she’d been crawling for what felt like hours, just when she was starting to give in to despair, she saw a glimmer of light up ahead. Relieved beyond description, she moved as fast as she could towards it.
As she got closer, she saw that the dim light was coming from an unknown source, and was shining directly onto a little boy. He looked to be about four or five, with wild golden curls, like a painting of an angel. He was wearing tattered, raggedy clothes, and was crouched on the floor, his face buried into his chubby hands, shoulders shaking. The sound of his quiet, whimpering sobs reached her ears as she moved closer to him.
“Hello,” she said, hesitantly. The little boy’s head snapped up, and he turned a tear-streaked little face towards her. The look in his large blue eyes made her catch her breath; it was a look that should never be on a child’s face, a look of complete and utter terror.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying to make her voice soft and comforting, which was difficult considering how afraid she was herself. “I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
He didn’t reply, just kept staring at her with those huge, petrified eyes.
“My name’s…” she began, then broke off with a frown as it registered with her that she couldn’t remember her own name. Her pulse sped up even more. She cleared her throat. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
The boy stayed silent. When she thought he wasn’t going to reply, and she started to ask something else, he finally spoke.
“Because I’m going to die,” he said, in a tiny, pathetic, terrified whisper. “Because we’re all going to die.”
She felt a shiver tear up her spine. Just what was going on here? “What do you mean?” she asked, but he’d buried his face in his hands again and resumed his quiet crying, and didn’t seem to hear her.
The light around him was starting to spread, beginning to illuminate their surroundings. The blackness was starting to lighten to grey, and through the gloom she could just about make out the outlines of bundles lying on the floor around her.
She turned back to the boy – and felt her heart stop for a second. He was no longer crying, no longer crouching on the floor; he was lying on his side, perfectly still, blue eyes wide open, his face still damp from his tears.
There was no doubt that he was dead.
She felt her throat constrict in horror, and straightened to her feet, hit by the sudden overwhelming desire to run.
But the light had gotten brighter, bright enough that she could almost see clearly, and what she saw made her feel like she’d turned into an ice statue.
The bundles that she’d seen lying about, the soft objects she’d touched as she crawled; they weren’t objects, they were people. Children, more specifically, some as young as the little blond boy, others already in their teens, like her. They were all lying completely still, not a stir of movement among them, and there were so many that they completely covered the floor with their bodies.
They were all dead.
She was standing in a field of dead children.
A scream rose in her throat, but it died before it could escape her. She wanted to run, to escape from this terrible place, but her feet were frozen in place, and anyway, where could she run to? The field of bodies stretched as far as she could see, stretched out into eternity…
Her heart was racing at a thousand miles an hour, her breathing was ragged and panicked, she couldn’t think properly, she couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating –
She shot forwards, hands clawing in front of her, lashing out with her feet, her only conscious thought being that she had to escape…
She sat up in bed, gasping for air, on the verge of screaming out loud. She looked around her, panicked. She was in her room, on her bed, tangled up in her sheets, early-morning sunlight slipping in through her curtains.
She was home. She was safe. There were no dead people. She could remember her name now; it was Helen. It had all been a nightmare. Everything was fine now. Everything had been fine all along.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let herself drop back onto her pillow. Relief that it had all been a dream flooded through her, though a deep sense of uneasiness was still left over from that horrible nightmare. She could feel sweat trickling down her forehead, and she felt hot and sweaty all over. She let a breath out, feeling her pounding heartbeat steadily slow down to a normal rhythm as she relaxed.
She hadn’t had a nightmare like this in a long time. Once upon a time they’d come almost every night; these horrifying nightmares that made her feel like she was suffocating from terror. But lately they’d been leaving her alone; the last one she’d had was over a year ago.
What really got her was the fact that it wasn’t a single, recurring nightmare, like some people had. Sure, there were similarities between the dreams; in all of them she woke up somewhere and didn’t remember how she’d gotten there, and she could never remember her name. But apart from that, and the fact that they were all equally terrifying, each nightmare unfolded in a completely different way. She couldn’t understand where they came from or what caused them; she suspected she never would.
Still feeling deeply agitated, she kicked off her covers and swung herself out of bed, and padded over to the window. She pulled the curtains aside and leaned on the windowsill, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Outside it was a brilliant, sunny summer’s day, the view out onto the back garden drenched in sunlight. Birds were singing, a soft breeze was rustling the trees’ leaves, she could see the neighbours’ children playing and laughing out in their garden. From the room next to hers she could hear the sound of her younger brothers, Kyle and Daniel, arguing about something; probably over whose turn it was to use the Xbox.
Everything was normal. Everything was perfect. But Helen still couldn’t shake off that feeling of unease that had been left over from the dream. It would stay with her all morning, she knew, possibly even all day. But she was used to it. She’d be able to act normally all day; she had enough experience in hiding that underlying feeling of edginess.
But every time she’d close her eyes, she’d see the motionless bodies of the dead children.
Supressing a shiver, she pulled on a jacket and left her room.
Darkness. Darkness all around.
She sat up sharply, fast enough to make her head feel like it was spinning. She looked around, or rather, she tried to; she was surrounded by a thick, impenetrable darkness, not a sliver of light to be seen.
She felt her pulse speed up in fear, but she forced herself to stay calm. Had she gone blind? No, there simply wasn’t any light. She waved a hand in front of her face, but the darkness was so intense she couldn’t even see that far. How had she gotten here? There had to be a logical explanation for it, she knew. She should move, try and find answers.
She began to crawl forwards on her hands and knees, keeping her eyes wide open for any sign of anything. Her hands kept brushing against soft objects on the floor, but she didn’t have a clue what they were; possibly pieces of fabric? Her heart was hammering in her chest, her throat was completely dry, and she felt the claustrophobia begin to creep up on her; she hated being in complete darkness, always had, always would.
When she’d been crawling for what felt like hours, just when she was starting to give in to despair, she saw a glimmer of light up ahead. Relieved beyond description, she moved as fast as she could towards it.
As she got closer, she saw that the dim light was coming from an unknown source, and was shining directly onto a little boy. He looked to be about four or five, with wild golden curls, like a painting of an angel. He was wearing tattered, raggedy clothes, and was crouched on the floor, his face buried into his chubby hands, shoulders shaking. The sound of his quiet, whimpering sobs reached her ears as she moved closer to him.
“Hello,” she said, hesitantly. The little boy’s head snapped up, and he turned a tear-streaked little face towards her. The look in his large blue eyes made her catch her breath; it was a look that should never be on a child’s face, a look of complete and utter terror.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying to make her voice soft and comforting, which was difficult considering how afraid she was herself. “I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
He didn’t reply, just kept staring at her with those huge, petrified eyes.
“My name’s…” she began, then broke off with a frown as it registered with her that she couldn’t remember her own name. Her pulse sped up even more. She cleared her throat. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
The boy stayed silent. When she thought he wasn’t going to reply, and she started to ask something else, he finally spoke.
“Because I’m going to die,” he said, in a tiny, pathetic, terrified whisper. “Because we’re all going to die.”
She felt a shiver tear up her spine. Just what was going on here? “What do you mean?” she asked, but he’d buried his face in his hands again and resumed his quiet crying, and didn’t seem to hear her.
The light around him was starting to spread, beginning to illuminate their surroundings. The blackness was starting to lighten to grey, and through the gloom she could just about make out the outlines of bundles lying on the floor around her.
She turned back to the boy – and felt her heart stop for a second. He was no longer crying, no longer crouching on the floor; he was lying on his side, perfectly still, blue eyes wide open, his face still damp from his tears.
There was no doubt that he was dead.
She felt her throat constrict in horror, and straightened to her feet, hit by the sudden overwhelming desire to run.
But the light had gotten brighter, bright enough that she could almost see clearly, and what she saw made her feel like she’d turned into an ice statue.
The bundles that she’d seen lying about, the soft objects she’d touched as she crawled; they weren’t objects, they were people. Children, more specifically, some as young as the little blond boy, others already in their teens, like her. They were all lying completely still, not a stir of movement among them, and there were so many that they completely covered the floor with their bodies.
They were all dead.
She was standing in a field of dead children.
A scream rose in her throat, but it died before it could escape her. She wanted to run, to escape from this terrible place, but her feet were frozen in place, and anyway, where could she run to? The field of bodies stretched as far as she could see, stretched out into eternity…
Her heart was racing at a thousand miles an hour, her breathing was ragged and panicked, she couldn’t think properly, she couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating –
She shot forwards, hands clawing in front of her, lashing out with her feet, her only conscious thought being that she had to escape…
She sat up in bed, gasping for air, on the verge of screaming out loud. She looked around her, panicked. She was in her room, on her bed, tangled up in her sheets, early-morning sunlight slipping in through her curtains.
She was home. She was safe. There were no dead people. She could remember her name now; it was Helen. It had all been a nightmare. Everything was fine now. Everything had been fine all along.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let herself drop back onto her pillow. Relief that it had all been a dream flooded through her, though a deep sense of uneasiness was still left over from that horrible nightmare. She could feel sweat trickling down her forehead, and she felt hot and sweaty all over. She let a breath out, feeling her pounding heartbeat steadily slow down to a normal rhythm as she relaxed.
She hadn’t had a nightmare like this in a long time. Once upon a time they’d come almost every night; these horrifying nightmares that made her feel like she was suffocating from terror. But lately they’d been leaving her alone; the last one she’d had was over a year ago.
What really got her was the fact that it wasn’t a single, recurring nightmare, like some people had. Sure, there were similarities between the dreams; in all of them she woke up somewhere and didn’t remember how she’d gotten there, and she could never remember her name. But apart from that, and the fact that they were all equally terrifying, each nightmare unfolded in a completely different way. She couldn’t understand where they came from or what caused them; she suspected she never would.
Still feeling deeply agitated, she kicked off her covers and swung herself out of bed, and padded over to the window. She pulled the curtains aside and leaned on the windowsill, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Outside it was a brilliant, sunny summer’s day, the view out onto the back garden drenched in sunlight. Birds were singing, a soft breeze was rustling the trees’ leaves, she could see the neighbours’ children playing and laughing out in their garden. From the room next to hers she could hear the sound of her younger brothers, Kyle and Daniel, arguing about something; probably over whose turn it was to use the Xbox.
Everything was normal. Everything was perfect. But Helen still couldn’t shake off that feeling of unease that had been left over from the dream. It would stay with her all morning, she knew, possibly even all day. But she was used to it. She’d be able to act normally all day; she had enough experience in hiding that underlying feeling of edginess.
But every time she’d close her eyes, she’d see the motionless bodies of the dead children.
Supressing a shiver, she pulled on a jacket and left her room.
Before you ask me what happens next, don't, because I don't know. I came up with this first chapter but I have no idea what the hell could happen next. The dreams are meaningful in some way, but don't ask me why or how.
But I thought I'd write it down, because maybe at some point in the future I'll be able to use it as the first chapter of a novel. And if I don't write it down I'll just forget it, and enough ideas of mine have already gone to waste because I couldn't be bothered to write it the heck down.
(Also I really wanted to write something frightening because writing scary stuff is just the absolute freaking best, who's with me?? )
So if in ten years' time you pick up a book and this is the first chapter, you'll know that Indigo finally became a published author. Yay. And you'll go "hey I followed this writer's blog when she was a kid! OMG!!!" and you'll think back to the good old days when you were a teenager yourself and followed other teens' blogs. Good times.
'Kay I'm just going to finish this off now or I'll be rambling until tomorrow.
Tell me what you thought of this!
-Indigo
As always, this was brilliant! I especially loved how you started it, short sentences really build suspense when put at the beginning of a story!!! :D
ReplyDeleteThank you very much!! :)
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