Words

Red

I sit at the wooden desk in the corner of my brightly painted bedroom, a pen clenched tightly between my shaking fingers. I can hear the soft tick-tocking of my mother's grandfather clock, the sound now pounding in my head and stealing my thoughts from the blank paper laid before me.

Exactly forty-four minutes ago I sat down here after a long day of marching rehearsals with full intent to write a horror story that's soon due for my English class, but still my only thoughts are of a strange man who I passed on my walk home from school. His stubbly face was dark and sunken in as if he had been smoking cigarettes for fifty years. This man, however, appeared no older than thirty. His clothes were neat, but undoubtedly old, as they had dark stains and loose threads from one end to the next. These features weren't anything unusual - I did live in the shadier part of town. Though one thing about this man did catch my attention, and it's no question why.

His eyes were red.
Blood red.

As freaky and utterly unnerving as they might have been, I found myself staring, somehow captivated by their vibrant glow. Nearly a minute passed before I realized that he, too, had his fiery eyes fastened directly on me. I turned away quickly, feeling the embarrassment rise up inside of me, and continued down the sidewalk, but something - an uncomfortable feeling in my chest that I couldn't quite distinguish, like a whisper in my ear telling me that there's more to be seen - pulled me back. I stopped on the pavement and turned towards the gas station, not knowing what to expect.

I guess I didn't need to expect much, for the red eyed man was no longer there, only a furry golden retriever attempting to follow a squirrel up a bare oak tree. I shrugged and returned to where I now sit, unable to think properly, to write my story. I throw the pen down in defeat and slowly make my way down the stairs, the hard wood creaking beneath my feet with every wobbly step I take.

I'm dizzy. Why am I dizzy?

I finally make it to the bathroom where I decide to splash my face with a bit of cold water, in hopes that it will calm my raging nerves. It does for a quick second before I am taken aback by my reflection in the wide mirror above the sink. My curly, brown hair sloppily tucked behind my ears, my skin pale, my lips dry and cracked, my eyes... Red.

I want to scream. I want to shatter the mirror. I want to pull my hair out. I want the fright of this day to end.

My mother always told me that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck. But when the air suddenly turns icy cold and the lights of my house begin to flicker, I know that this is certainly not one of those times.

My ears still ring with the sound of my mother's grandfather clock, which seems to blend with the deafening beat of my racing heart. Through the blinking of the lights, I take one last glance in the mirror, but regret my action the moment I see the same crimson eyes that have brought all of the fear of this day upon me just over my left shoulder. I want to turn, to see if his body is actually there next to mine, but am countered by the thought of what I would do if he is. I couldn't fight him. I'm anything but strong and unless you're creative enough to consider a toothbrush a weapon, I'm completely defenseless. I hesitate for a moment, but soon enough curiosity wins out fear. I twist my body and a spirit of relief falls sweetly over me as I see there is no red eyed man to be seen... Except for in the mirror, I remind myself.

I jump as I hear his voice loud in my head. "Come." His icy voice is deep and thunderous.

I do the only thing I can think to do: run. Out of the bathroom, through the long hallway, up the stairs, and finally to the front door. I reach a furiously shaking hand to open the door and be free of this mad man, but the moment the tip of one finger touches it his menacing face appears once more in the glass of the rounded window of the door. I jerk my hand away quickly, afraid of what to come.

"Do you not hear my calling?" He snarls. My entire body shakes with every syllable he speaks, though I think this may be a result of my own trepidation.

I open my suddenly dry mouth to speak, but no words make it out. I take a moment to attempt to compose myself, only helping slightly. "Wh-who are y-you?" I manage to stutter.

"DO YOU NOT HEAR MY CALLING?" The man's voice now raised. I can feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Once again I find myself running, trying to find an escape, but it is now that I realize there is no way around this evil, hell-sent demon of a man. There is no escape.

No escape... No escape...

I stop running, feeling lightheaded and weak. I take a moment and recognize the room I ran to as the cedar closet that my mother's glass collection inhabits. I slam the door shut and turn the lock.

"I'm... safe." I whisper to the silence through pants.

"Don't speak too soon, sweetheart." The man's voice fills my ears once more as his ragged figure appears in every surface of glass in the closet. I stumble back, slamming my body into a tall shelf against the wall and knocking a glass crucifixion cross and a few smooth plates onto the floor, shattering at my feet along with whatever hope I had.

The flickering lights shut off, inactive entirely, leaving me standing in complete darkness. Out of nowhere a sharp, piercing pain meets my side. The agony quickly becomes too much to bare and I fall to the floor, dozens of tiny shards of glass cutting my knees open. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears down my cheeks.

"The Dark Lord will return again..." are the last words I am able to make out as my aching body grows colder and colder and colder...