This story is about a young boy who lived with his divorced mother in an old house. He used to lead a ordinary life until one day; the young boy heard a creaking sound. What he did not know was that that sound would change his life
it was around 12:15 am when he heard that creaking sound, a dawdling poignant profound tread. His body was quivering as he ran with fright to shut his window. The wind blaring against his body, as if attempting to push his back, blew up his sleeve making the hair on his hand elevate as if they had seen a ghost and gravity was no longer effective on his.
Unnerved, he jumped back into his bed, snuggling up as hard as possible persistently looking around trying to see if he could conceive anything, or anyone. He began falling into a daze, feeling sleepier by the second. As the complete silence conquered the whole house, the only sound he could hear was the loud tick-tock of his clock echoing around his room. As time went forth the sound grew stronger, until he heard a footstep, which automatically pulled his back into reality from the hypnotising sound of his clock. The sound was a footstep. His heartbeat intensified as he began to panic ascetically, imagining his fate with this thing and what it had in intrigue for his.
He came to yell, yet before he yelled, he realised that that wasn’t the malicious tread that he had been keeping an eye out for but another kind of footstep, a lighter, more familiar stride. It was his mothers. Instantaneously, he leapt out of his bed like a lion hiding beneath straw and hay adapting to his camouflage about to attack his prey. Yet when he got to the corridor all he saw was a small shadow going into the bathroom and as he went one-step closer, the bathroom
door slammed shut.
Eager to know who it was that had entered his bathroom; he managed to gather enough courage to step up to the door and knock. What was behind this door was either his mother or his regrettable doom. Awaiting a reply he knocked again. Suddenly, the door handle began to shake. Some one was going to come out of that bathroom. Petrified, yet too shook up from the intensity, he was motionless. As he felt his heart fall into the pocket of his nightgown, the door suddenly opened. Yet a monster wasn’t this to fulfil his evil scheme, but an innocent mother’s shimmering, bright, angelic face saying: “Are you alright honey?” In her peaceful, comforting, calm rhythm.
“Yes I’m fine mum” The boy replied with a sigh as his mother strode away out the bathroom and back to his room. Before he got into his room he said, “You’d better get some sleep, you do have school tomorrow you know!” The boy replied with a yawn and decided that he had had enough a thrill for one day. As he gazed at his clock, he saw that he had been up for two hours and that he really did need some sleep for tomorrow. So, he bravely put his fears under his pillow for that night for the nightingale had begun its merry chirping.
“Honey, I’m going now. Don’t be late to school” were the words that would have normally woken the boy up, but not today and not ever again. For today he lay by his mother’s corpse as the tears trickled down his heart-breaking, shining, diamond-like eyes. His eyes began leaking and before he knew it, his iris was afloat a lost boat chasing reality, twirling from side to side with his confusion. Whilst the tears rolled down his cheeks, he replayed the depressing moment when, his mother was killed. He remembered it clearly and what hurt his most was that he could have done nothing against this vile, sickening monstrosity.
He remembered how his mother was screaming for him to run away and save him self. How he didn’t listen to his mother. How he declined his mother’s final demand. How the voice of the monster brought terror to his heart, when it said, “I cannot be killed”. How he repeatedly stabbed the monster with the kitchen knife with no effect. How the monster crushed his mother in front of his very eyes. How the monster came to kill and torment his. How, instead of killing his he threw the knife right above his head as he stood there with his eyes closed. How he could almost taste death: a bitter, resentful flavour stirring in his mouth.
He remembered it all perfectly. Suddenly a flashback of all the good memories he had with his mother when he was a young boy; how every time he was sad his mother made his smile. How every time he was scared his mother comforted his. How every time he had a problem he could talk to his mother about it and his mother would always find a solution to that problem. How on the first day of school he held his mothers hand tightly because he was scared he wouldn’t fit in.
But what hurt his most was that he remembered his father who he had also lost; he remembered in particular when he used to call his mother a Glamazon and he would ask his father over and over again what a Glamazon meant. Yet he would never tell his. But now he knew. It meant ‘strong lady’. Yet he found that his father wasn’t lying. His mother really was strong. But now, now he has lost both his father and mother. And all that night he drowned in his sorrow, wishing there was something that he could have done to save his mother.
Unable to believe the events that happened he felt he could not live without the mother he was overly attached to. He couldn’t accept that she had gone. All that day, he cried on his mother’s chest calling her name until his voice disappeared. He still silently called for his mother and forever will. Later that night he made a decision. He was going to reunite with his beloved mother. As he took the same kitchen knife he incessantly stabbed his mother’s assassin with he cried:
“Oh dagger! Show me no mercy! Rip through my heart and liberate my soul to reunite with my mother…”
And so, he lay motionless on his mother’s yieldingly curvaceous body; blood staining his white night gown. Once again, silence conquered their home with a nightingale chirping merrily as mother and son lay in a pool of united blood.
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