It was 9 o'clock at night in a most depressing December, the stars glowering down on humanity like flaming overlords. You unlock the front door and grapple with the wind as it attempts to blow it open. Cursing under your breath, you click on your flashlight and watch the snowflakes come to life in the small space in front of the flashlight. The snow on the ground was a crisp white in comparison to the deep and leering skies above. As you approach your car, your boots crunch beneath you.
Crunch
Crunch
Crunch
A familiar, icy sound. It takes you back to the days with your parents, going to sled down a nearby hill on a bin lid. But the happy thoughts pause there.
The crunching wasn't coming from beneath your feet.
You don't bother with those thoughts for too long, as it's only nine and you desperately need to arrive for happy hour. But the crunches are getting louder and louder, thrumming in your head. You pause once more, and the crunching stopped. You figure it's just paranoia and that you have to take your medicine more consistently. Unlocking the icy car door with a bit of a struggle, you crawl in and let out a deep breath. The old cloth seats and smell of aged fabric is a more than welcoming fragrance.
THONK
Losing your breath, your head shoots up and your eyes meet a creature's.
A creature? No.
A child.
Thoughts are running rapidly through your head. This isn't one of the neighbor's kids. And if it was, it would be far past his bedtime. His eyes, unblinking and threatening, are leering down at your own. His mouth, foaming.
Slowly, he begins to bang. Gently, at first, and then rapidly. His tiny fists are unrelenting. You slip your keys into the keyhole and attempt to start the car, only to be greeted with the screeching of some shit in the hood of the car. His fists are unimaginably loud and terrifying, even for a tiny gargoyle like himself.
Crack
The glass of the windshield, terrifyingly enough, cracks at his fists. This is not a child to be reckoned with. his tiny fists dig inward. He pushes the cracked glass inside, grabbing on to the windshield with his fists. Blood rains down from his tiny hands, his eyes soulless as ever. You reach for your phone to call the police, only to be greeted with No Service.
"Whose fucking kid is this?" You think. His little fists grab at your windshield, trying to damage it further.
Crack
To your shock, he manages to remove a large sheet of glass. Snowflakes fly in, obscuring your vision and freezing your knuckles. You attempt to start the car again, only to be greeted with a puff of black smoke.
"It's him or me." You think, as you pull out your tiny monogrammed pocket knife.
Author's Note
lol this is shit
YOU ARE READING
he's coming || a horror story
HorrorA young lad, the windshield of your broken-down car, and screams of anguish. you can't escape. he is coming.
