This is my new iWrite Co. Story so please enjoy. (*Note* I'm not responsible for any nightmares you may or may not have.) And I can't stress this enough, but DO NOT POST HERE. There is a feedback thread for that. Anyways here's my story. Chapter 1 Ilkar 5 in the morning, Friday. My dreams are terrorized with screeching creatures that can deafen you if you’re close enough to their mouths. The creatures have blood red eyes and have only one task in their tiny brains, to kill me. I run as fast as I can, my feet thudding against a cave floor. The ears of the creatures can pick anything though, so I run even faster. Bats. Bats are the creatures that are chasing me. They begin to swarm me like a dark storm cloud. I scream, trying to swat them away like flies but I know it’s futile. My last act of defense is to curl up into a tight ball, which I do, and I let the bats consume me, drawing me away from everything I hold dear… I sit up in bed the second my eyes open. My alarm clock is emitting a loud, high-pitched beep, much like the bats in my dream, or should I say nightmare. I fumble for the switch on my clock; my hands shaking terribly as I finally reach the snooze button. Dead silence is followed. I breathe in slowly through my mouth and reach up to touch my forehead. It’s beaded with sweat. I slowly climb out of bed and stumble into my bathroom. The frog slippers I’m wearing don’t help much. Kicking off the fuzzy slippers I let the coolness of the tile beneath my feet calm me and I turn on the faucet to splash my face. As I lift my face up to the mirror to see my reflection I’m disappointed by the sight of my face. Dark purple circles form rings under my eyes and the water on my face doesn’t hide the fact that I’ve been crying and sweating. I force a smile onto my face and begin to laugh at myself, which is what I do best. “It’s just a stupid dream,” I muse. Then something catches my eye. A bat in the corner of my restroom hangs there like a silent killer and stares at me with beady eyes. I let a terrified shriek escape my lips and run out back to my room, slamming the door behind me. The squeals of shock and surprise of the bat echo around the restroom. I curl up into a tight ball on my bed. Sleep will not come easily tonight.
Chapter 2 Scarlette, 7:30 in the morning, Friday. Eating breakfast is a formidable task even when your favorite breakfast is laid before you. “I’m just going to check out front for the newspaper, ok Scarlette?” my mother says, her hand already turning the door knob. “No don’t!” I yell, my arm reaching out for her, spilling a glass of orange juice as it went. The glass crashes to the floor leaving behind a puddle of juice and broken shards of glass. My mother looks from the glass to my disheveled face and suddenly loses it. She grasps both of my shoulders and suddenly starts to shake me, hard. “Snap out of it Scarlette!” she yells at me, tears streaming down her face. She abruptly stops and wipes away a tear messily with her hand. She walks out of the room leaving me alone. Sounds from outside my house echo around me, and my brain interprets them into much more. A strangled scream, a moan from the dead, or a blood curdling scream that leaves me paralyzed with fear. After about ten minutes of the thought of someone watching me in an empty room and the noises of the street becoming unbearable, I finally decide to just lay me head on the table and hope another nightmare won’t haunt my mind. Another nightmare befalls my three minute nap and I wake up startled and run to a room that has people in it.
Chapter 3 Miana, 5 minutes before school, Friday I quickly bite off a piece from a burned waffle, brush my teeth, and look for my favorite hat. “Mom!” I yell loudly. “Where’s my hat?” A muffled reply comes from the stairs and I stomp my feet as I crawl under my bed, digging through the pile of debris that has built up in there. “Have you tried your closet?” she asks at my doorway. I jump a good two inches in the air, knocking my head against my bed frame. “Owww,” I moan, rubbing my head where a lump formed. “Just try your closet,” she says, walking away with a dish in her hand. I stomp off my hand an inch away from opening it when something hit me like a wrecking ball. I recall the dream I had last night. It was dark and dreary, cobwebs hanging here and there. Then I came to a closet. A moaning came from the inside, like a man who was on the verge of dying. The door rattled and shook as if someone were trying to escape its clutches. I opened the door quickly and it flung me to one side. A horrible monster stepped out, moaning and in the distance screaming could be heard. The face of the monster was horribly distorted and blood, mucus, and insects of all sorts was oozing out of its pores. That was when I woke up. I drop my hand and run into my bed, shivering and wiping tears from my eyes. Who cares if I’m late for school?
Chapter 4 Rachel, 8:30 in the morning at doctors, Friday“No!” I yell at the top of my lungs, “You can’t make me!” My hands grip the side of the doorway and I refuse to let go as my dad tries to pull me out of the house. “Rachel let go!” my dad yells giving a tug on my torso, “The chicken pox are acting up again and you need a vaccination.” “I’m not getting a dang shot!” I yell, gritting my teeth as my dad lifts up my legs and I’m left dangling with only my hands to support me. “What did you say?” my dad asks coolly. “You heard me,” I say, keeping my ground with my hands still clung onto the doorway. His hands abruptly drop both of my legs and he holds his hands up as if he were being arrested. “That’s it,” he says, “I give up.” He walks to the car and slams the car door behind him as loudly as he could and stares at me with eyes like daggers, or should I say needles. I shudder as I remember my nightmare from last week as all these different needles slowly puncture my skin, entering my skin and as a drop of blood slowly oozes out… My dad honks the car horn in a loud continuous beep and it’s all I can do not to curl up into a tight ball. I stand up, brushing myself off as I do and walk slowly over to the car, rubbing my forearm ferociously where the needle would enter its venom into my bloodstream.
Chapter 5 Jason, 10:15 AM at school: Recess, Friday I lean against a crooked tree, the overhanging branches providing me shade from the sun overhead. I watch as other students from my school kick a ball back and forth to each other. I sink into the soft gra$$, my head on the tree as I close my eyes, slowly, carefully, sorting out my scattered thoughts. The rustling of the leaves relaxes me and the chirping of a bird overhead gives me music to my ears. Through my closed eyelids I see the vivid images of my dream that are still fresh in my memory from last month. An evil looking snake stares back at me with black beady eyes. Its crimson took flicks in and out of its mouth. It smiles a sinister, twisted smile and when it opens its mouth, the snake’s fangs are dripping wet with venom and saliva… “Yo Jason!” a voice calls waking me from my dementia. “Pa$$ the ball!” I look down at my feet and find the white and black patterned sphere staring at me. Gradually, the soccer ball turns into a severed snake head, and even then it smiles at me. “Forget it,” a husky male voice says. A pair of hands makes a grab for the snake head and as they make contact with it, the head evaporates into a fine smoke leaving only a soccer ball in its presence. I sink to the ground, grasping my head in my hands trying to solve my problems in one sitting. A hiss suddenly rings in my ears, and I open my eyes expecting the sound to evaporate like the snake head, but it only grows louder. I swing my head left and right and finally my eyes land on a red, black, and yellow colored snake. I scramble away, but not fast enough as the snake lunges and impales its fangs into my ankle.
Chapter 6 Rika, 10:20 AM at school: Recess, Friday I walk around the school campus, my glasses just above the tip of my nose and my eyes devouring every word in my book. I carefully weave my way through groups of friends and occasionally take a glance at my feet to make sure I don’t trip over anything. “Give it back!” a toddler yells. I glance up from my book and look at the scenario forming before my eyes. Two boys, no older than the age of five, are grasping a juice box and staring each other down. “No!” the other boy yells in response. He gives a mighty tug on the box and juice sprays everywhere, leaving everyone in a sticky, wet residue in a five feet radius. “Imbeciles,” I mutter quietly as to not bring any attention to myself. I walk briskly past the argument which is now turning into a fight. A loud, ear piercing wail suddenly sounds behind me. I will myself to go on but I resist the force and take a quick glance from my previous direction. One of the boys, the one who sprayed all the juice, is wailing on the ground, tears streaming down his face, his features distorted with pure agony. I’m confused for a second until I realize what’s making him cry. I look at his knee, and see the red sticky residue that has stained his clothes. A nauseous feeling makes my stomach churn and my head spin; I drop the book and run as quickly as I can away from the scene. Anywhere is better than here.