Short stories or something...

"Poor Little Boy"

Written in April 2020, spiffied in June 2020 a lil bit

Prompt: "I heard you scream. Nightmares again?" (Once again, found on Pinterest)

Warnings: Mention of traumatic experiences and a brief mention of murder

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Click.

The sound of the door briskly locking was the best comfort this kid could ask for.

When its steps didn't follow, the boy felt as if he could breathe a sigh of relief. A smile even broke through on his face. But only briefly.

Echoes of the banging on the mahogany door rang like the wicked cackle of a villain to the little boy, replenishing his previously ebbing fright.

The house was nearly pitch dark, but the twilight coming through the window was enough for the little boy to see the stairs and sprint up them. He ran faster upon hearing the splintering shatter of the door; the only barrier between him and it. His predator was breaking into the house.

On the last step before the second floor, the boy landed on his ankle, hearing the gut-wrenching crack of bones breaking and further jeopardizing his safety. He pushed through the agonizing pain and ran for his parent's room.

The phone was sitting on the bed, previously held by the boy's mother before her mad dash in an attempt to escape it. He grabbed the phone just as he heard the monster howl words of warning.

"You'd better make yourself visible by the count of three, boy." Sneered the voice, every vowel dripping with insanity. "Or you'll face the same fate as your mother."

The adolescent began to tear up at the memory of the last sight of his mom but didn't let his location be known. He ran to the closet and hid within the clothes. Quickly dialing 911, he heard,

"One."

By the time the operators picked up, the boy was trembling in the closet, fear completely taking over. His body spurred in uncontrollable trembling, feeling as if he were an earthquake. The tears he fought back came in full speed, but he managed to choke back the sobs he felt coming. It could mean his life if he didn't.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Before he could answer, "Two," had already been called out.

"Th-the monster, it-it attacked my mom-" he fought harder to choke back the memories and panic attack he was having as he heard the footsteps downstairs. "I-I think she's d-dead."

"Can you tell me your location?"

The boy was just barely able to mumble his address out before the operator told him help was on the way, to both the forest where his mom was and the house he was cornered in.

"Please stay on the phone with me. We'll get through this together. Just take some deep breaths." The operator said, no sign of panic in her voice.

The boy was hyperventilating, trying to get air to his lungs, but the anxiety crushed it out, leaving him hopelessly desperate for air.

After a few minutes, slow, steady steps stomped up the stairs, counting down the seconds to his prey's death.

It was upstairs now. The boy knew he had to stay silent if he wanted to make it out alive. He practiced the breathing exercises his mother taught him whenever she told him to stay in the closet while she confronted the monster that was currently after him.