Collection of the best stories

Spooky short stories

This is a part of the first story by TheGreatTombola.

Overwhelming silence. From loud, back and forth yelling, like a pendulum. To silence. The smoke- filled aroma still lingering in the air, telling me that mother was still there, but where?
Then I worried about my sister, alone and scared in her own room. I had asked more times than I could count for my sister and I to share a room. She almost always cries during the night, not this night however, even her had gone silent. As obvious as it was my father said no, in his most polite tone possible.
Finally getting used to the silence, it stopped as suddenly as it started.

SCREAAAK! SCRRRACTH!

The sound of something, sharp scraped on something downstairs forcing me to jump and and throw open the door. I was tired of the way my father acted and it was time to put a stop to it.

Breathing in to protrude my chest I shakily stumble across the hall and turn to face the stairs. Never before have 12 steps seemed so daunting in all my life. My breathing quickened, causing my chest to drop and reveal my skinny statue. "I can do this," I mutter through pants. This has been going on far too long. With enough self-confidence to clime Everest I begin my trek downstairs, taking my first two steps.

"You can do this,"

Three, four, five...

"For your mother and sister,"

Six, seven, eight...

"This is long coming,"

Nine, ten, eleven and finally twelve steps.

I hop down the last step and scan the area. To the left is the living room, no lights on in there and to the right is the kitchen, with no lights on. In front of me is the front door, where on the mat, is a piece of paper folded up several times on the doormat. Filled with fear and even more so curiosity I carefully unfold the paper. It reads,

I'm taking him with me.

It was pretty obvious who it meant. Gaping in awe at the note I hurry back up the steps into my sisters room. She's in her little princess bed, hugging her favourite plush sound asleep. A dog that uncannily resembled our dog that had died hours earlier; I won for her during a carnival when she was a baby, she's held onto it since. I sigh in relief and make my way to my parents room, expecting the worst.

Continues