Hollywoodland

kkaushal

Canada

Human mystery machine and recovering tea addict.

Message from Writer

Flower power to the people!

The Inescapable Visit

March 14, 2019

FREE WRITING

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    The mortuary was as dead as the people inside it, yet for some reason I decide to come. Perhaps it was peer pressure that led me here, wanting to be seen as exciting and not as some wet rag by my brother and his friends. Regardless, I knew I shouldn’t have been here.
    I let out a sob as I took another turn and ended up in the cimmerian living room of the funeral home for the fifth time, where I last saw my brother and his friends. Where did they go? Enough time had passed for me to know that this was not a joke. “This is it,” I whispered to myself, “I have to get out of here.”
The front door was still open, just how I left it, but as I got closer to it, it slammed shut on it’s own with such force, the walls began to shake and the several portraits that hung on them shivered against the griddled wallpaper. My chapped lips quivered at the sight of what stood before me. Baleful scratches behind the door, looking so sinister, it was as if the devil himself had done it. “Enjoying your stay?” they spelled out.
    My heart sank into my stomach and my paranoia took the form of stiff, bony fingers gripping onto my spine, keeping me on edge. I stumbled back in shock and toppled into the rocking chair behind me. Immediately it spun me around to face the T.V. and I saw my harrowed reflection on the screen disappear into the static that manifested itself. My hands gripped onto the rotting, wooden arm rests of the chair so tightly, my knuckles turned as white as my pale face. My voice coward in the depths of my throat. I could feel my nerves vibrating under my skin and my legs played copycat, keeping me from getting up.
Suddenly, a familiar face appeared on the screen. It was the local news anchor that came on every Saturday morning to give a run down on all the past week’s events. “Wait a second,” I thought to myself, “Today’s Wednesday. What’s he doing on T.V.?”
I could barely hear his voice over the ripping sound of static. “Good mor...Salem. Today is...Nov...ber 4th, 2019 and…”
My heart jumped once I heard that last part. I’ve been stuck here for four days.
 

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  • March 14, 2019 - 10:35pm (Now Viewing)

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