Okay, so quite a while ago (about a year now? Not sure exactly) we had to write a story for my English class, just so my teacher could "assess our current author abilities" or something, so I wrote this. It's called Door 13, it's vaguely creepy, and I'm quite proud of it, considering I wrote it in about 50 minutes in some boring English lesson with my annoying teacher staring over my shoulder the whole fucking time. But yeah, I'm bored, so I'm posting it here... Please have a look and tell me what you think! I love writing, so...yeah :)
Ignore changes of tense - I was really tired when I wrote it, in the start of Year Seven. Hope you like it!
People say when sinners die, they go to hell.
So why am I already here?
I had to stay for after school detention with Mr Grim; I had been chatting too much in English. Obviously, I thought what i had been doing was fine - after all, why should you to go school if you can't have some fun?
I should introduce myself: my name is Raven Darkwater, and I am the class clown. Fortunately, this has gained me the popularity I never experienced at my primary school.
But now, I am stuck in my least favourite place.
The school's top floor.
I can see the sky growing ever darker; I can feel the damp atmosphere clinging to my pale skin; I can hear creaking and clattering noises coming from around the corner.
Wait. What?
I double take, and listen carefully. Yet again, the sound of hollow pots and pans being repeatedly dropped onto a cold, metal surface reaches my ears. Curious and confused, I edge slowly to the corner of the claustrophobic corridor.
Drawing nearer, I sense the noises getting gradually louder. Nervously, I chew on a few strands of my jet-black hair - something I have done to deal with fear ever since I was a young child. Breathing heavily, I cautiously poke my head round the corner. Through the dingy gloomy and shadow, I can just make out the hazy outline of a door. A door that was never there before. There were only twelve doors on the top floor, yet this one had a clearly painted signed (that I saw as I drew closer) that read "Door 13".
Subconsciously reaching into my jacket pocket, I cursed our new headmaster: he confiscated my mobile phone! If only I had some way of communicating with the rest of the world; I was completely isolated.
My heart is shuddering unevenly; I have the horrible sensation of someone invisible watching me; nerves send a child down my spine. I reached my trembling hand out, and just before I close my eyes in fear I notice white light flashing from under the door.
I open it.
Did I mention I have always been clumsy? It is a terrible attribute that has plagued me my whole life. So, typically of me, I tripped over my rushed-done-up shoelaces.
However, instead of landing on a hard floor as I expected, my outstretched arms lurched down into...
Nothing.
Opening my eyes in pure shock, I see the black-painted door I feel through slam shut. Engraved roughly into its wooden panels is the strangely scary words "Door 13".
Turning to face what I assumed was the sky, I immediately covered my eyes with one hand - the lightning was blinding. I tried my best to open my eyes, then resorted to squinting. Although this meant I could see everything around me (which was only lightning and shadows, to be honest) it also resulted in horrible coruscations of pain in the back of my ice-grey eyes.
Suddenly, I felt drops of rain falling onto me. Shivering, I felt the back of my hand to make sure I was not imagining it - it was wet, so I was sane.
Then, when the next gleam of white light slashed through the air, the rain lit up as well.
Except it was not, and it was deep red.
My hand was spattered with blood.
In utter revulsion, I put the back of my hand against my lips, then realised that was covered in the vile liquid as well. Nauseous and mortified, I felt my wet hair whip painfully against my face.
CRACK!
Yelping in excruciating pain, I looked down at the ground I had landed on in panic.
It was dark red dust, sprinkled with the blood that rained from the veins of unfortunate prey of Satan. See, I am not religious, but I knew this was it.
This was Hell.
Amber flames shot up from the ground, sending the terrible screams of whoever was burnt through my skull. Miserable cages fenced with barbed wire held men, women and children alike, and they all looked at me with such despair and sadness that I began to cry.
I was taking in all this horror when I saw him.
A tall, dark figure was advancing slowly towards me, his face covered with a hood the colour of midnight. Over one bony shoulder, he carried an evil, glinting scythe, shining bright silver in the light of the flames. Backing away in horror, I realised who this was.
Death.
But, it also dawned on me that I was not backing away at all, because I could not for the life of me move.
So, as the Grim Reaper glided menacingly towards me, I was frozen on the spot, defenceless, all hope lost.
I was all that happened.
I was him swing the scythe down.
I saw the bones of his hand clicking with the movement.
And I finally saw everything go dark...
I awoke in an oddly comfortable chair, with my damp hair strewn messily across my face. Flicking it off in disgust, I noticed with relief that I could move again.
But...
Looking in the mirror before me, I knew nothing was ever going to be the same again.
My skin was deathly white, stretched across the skeletal frame of my face as if there was no flesh there. The scarlet smears of blood still covered my body, contrasting horrifically with my pale skin. My lips were twisted and dark, seemingly in a permanent eerie smile. Worst of all though, was my eyes. They were deep, dark, black holes, disappearing into the back of my skull. Staring at my reflection still frightens me, even though I have been this way for an eternity.
Now, these many lives later, I look into the mirror again.
A lone drop of blood drips from the socket where my right eye should me.
The mirror cracks.
I smile.
