ALIANOR’S POV

I walk along the sidewalk, window shopping. There are all sorts of things in the shop windows, like books, dresses, shirts, skirts, toys, candy, cakes, cupcakes, and even tablecloths. I put my hands in my hoodie pocket, my naturally straight brown hair waving in the wind. I shiver, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of my clothes. 

‘Is someone watching me?’ I think, feeling quite peculiar, the sensation of knowing eyes are watching me foreign.

I continue walking, getting to a pier. The waves crash against the wall. 

I lean against the railing, looking out into the horizon. Suddenly, my surroundings fade to black, and I see a room. A room covered in what seems like red paint.

‘Blood?’ I think, before focusing on the more important mystery on hand. Panic sets in.

I frantically look around. There’s a canopy bed, a window seat, a dollhouse, an armchair, a vanity, and a nightstand. 

But the scariest thing was the eyes. The glowing yellow eyes peeking out of the shadows. The eyes move forward, until black translucent arms and legs become visible. A feminine like figure, black like shadows, like the figure is a shadow. It moves toward me swiftly.

 I run out of the room, through a gaping hole in the wall that could have been a door, along the edge of a forest, looking behind my shoulder constantly. The shadow-like figure is now walking slowly behind me, as if it knows it’s going to catch me, and is taking its time. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the figure lunges, long black fingers outstretched, inches from touching my face.

“Alianor,” It hisses, “Alianor!” 

Then it reaches me. 

I wake up, gasping for air, cold sweat dripping down my back and adrenaline pumping through my veins, making me feel unusually warm.

“It’s okay, it was just a dream, Alianor,” I whisper.

I look at the clock on my nightstand. 8:04 it reads. I look up at the ceiling. Then I snap my head down, eyes wide. 

‘Wait, it’s Monday! School!’ I think, panicking.

I throw my covers aside and go to my closet. I pull out some jeans and a hoodie, then stop. I look at the hoodie and think of my dream. I shake my head, close my eyes for a moment, and put the hoodie back into the closet. 

My mind flashes to the outstretched fingers inches away from my face…I push the remains of the dream away and grab a plain white t-shirt instead of the hoodie. I put on socks and my beat up red Converse. Then I grab my backpack from the chair next to my door.

 I turn off the lights in my room and close the door as I exit. I walk straight to the front door, ignoring my father, who sits at the kitchen bar with a mug of some liquid-probably coffee. He ignores me too, like he had for the past six years. 

Dad split his time between his seat at the kitchen bar and the darkened room dedicated to my mother, un-officially called her room, complete with a framed picture of her smiling her signature bright smile, a stark contrast to the dark and normally gloomy candle-lit atmosphere of the family-deemed sacred room.

Ever since Mom had disappeared, Dad had retreated into a shell, coming out of his room every morning, and sitting at the kitchen bar, staring out the window, as if watching for something–or someone. When I was younger, I told myself that the reason he kept staring out the window was because he was waiting, and hoping, that my mom would appear. Maybe a part of me still believes that. 

After I exited the house, I  shut the door behind me and locked it. Feeling a single raindrop hit my head, I looked up. The sky was gray and gloomy, matching my mood. 

“Have a good day, Dad,” I whisper to myself as I walk to the school. I hesitate before leaving, my hand lingering a moment longer on the door handle than necessary. 

‘Should I go back in and say good morning?’ I ask myself in my mind, before shaking my head and leaving.

I walk in the building and head to my locker, putting my books in, leaving only my laptop, reading book, science notebook, and wallet. 

 I didn’t have a phone like most kids my age because my mother had always told me that I didn’t need one. That I could get one after I turned eighteen, which was weird. Especially how she would get this faraway weird look in her eyes, something like fear.

‘But what would Mom have to be scared of?’ I am pulled out of my thoughts and I begin walking to my class, eyes on the floor, my hands on the straps of my backpack.

I bumped into something and fell onto the floor. I looked up and saw a boy. I was about to say sorry, when the boy said his piece first.

“Watch it!” He snaps, glaring down on me.

“Sorry,” I say, taken aback by his attitude.

The boy scoffs. 

“You better be,” he says. 

“Hey! I said sorry. It was an accident! You don’t need to be so snappy,” I say. 

“Whatever.” The boy walks away. 

I get up, dust myself off, and continue walking to my class, huffing annoyedly. I roll my eyes.

“Who does he think he is?” I growl under my breath. 

I walk into my classroom and sit. Just afterwards, the bell rings. The teacher stops writing on the whiteboard and starts teaching. Like every day, I tune it out and tap my pencil lightly on my desk, waiting for the bell to ring.

A bell does ring, but not the expected one. 

Brinnnnngggg! The fire alarm rings loudly throughout the classroom. 

“Alright everybody,” Mr. Robert, the first period science teacher says, “quietly get in line please.” 

Everybody gets into line, but not quietly. There’s girls chatting about boys, and boys chatting about girls. It’s weird and annoying. 

“Everyone, Mr. Robert said to get into line quietly!” 

It takes me a moment to realize that the person who had spoken wasn’t me. It was the same boy who had bumped into me earlier. I rolled my eyes again. 

“Alright Cole, thank you. That’s enough,” Mr. Robert says. 

He says ‘alright’ a lot. 

“I was just helping,” Cole holds his hands up in mock surrender. Emphasis on mock.

“Alright Cole,” Mr. Robert says.

After I get out of the building with my class, (finally), I sense a chill in the air. My skin tingles uncomfortably. I feel the familiar eerie sensation as if someone was watching me.

‘Like my dream,’ I think before shaking off the feeling but not quite letting it go.

 I look around for only a moment. All I see are other classes and faculty. Then, only for a moment, there’s a sliver of black shadow that slips through the crowd. 

Like the one from my dream.

Okay just for an explanation, my English teacher last year made my class do this game where we wrote a short story in the span of 5 minutes. I liked the game so much I started doing it for fun. I’m starting with the suspense genre. My next suspense tool is phobias:

The Stranger’s sly smile greets me as I exit my room. “Today’s going to be a fun one, Ali.”

My stomach drops as he leads me back to the testing room. The Stranger holds the door for me, but I stop in the middle of the doorway, shocked. A white, pouch-like contraption stands in the middle of the room. It is held by multiple cords and pipes that jut out in various directions.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” The Stranger says, “Jervis worked on it all night. It looks just like my designs.”

Jervis is his assistant. He has a high-pitched, stuttering voice as if he wants to say everything all at once. His pale skin is bright in the hospital like lights as he limps up to me.

“S-so this is j-just like any other t-test,” Jervis says to me “We’ll p-put y-you in that rubbery bag th-thingy,” he has such a way with words, “And it will just weigh you and stuff. Then we’ll start the test.” He leads me to the opening of the bag and I step in, using my shaking hands to hold it open. Jervis closes it and a few seconds later, I hear a switch flip.

The first thing that happens is that all the air leaves my lungs. I let out a yell, but my scream dies in my throat as I suffocate.

Oh god, I think to myself, he’s pulling all the air out. I claw at the rubber quickly encasing me. This isn’t like the other tests. The sweat gathering on my body fills it. I slip and fall. Hard. I try to stand. Bam. I crash onto the floor. Again, I try to get up. Slowly but surely I manage to stand. Black dots cloud my vision. My lungs burn. I try to breathe in, but fail and make a choking noise. My whole body has a pulse. I suck in air but fail. I’m drowning. I’m going to die, I realize. Just as I start to feel my life fading, I hear The Stranger’s voice calmly say, “Shut it off, Jervis. Her vitals are getting low”

It opens and I collapse. I pant and lay there for a minute. “Only five seconds? I expected more from you. We’ll try again tomorrow, Ali dear,” The Stranger says. I hate it when he calls me dear.

Unfortunately my ten minutes ended here and so does Ali’s story.

Okay just for an explanation, my English teacher last year made my class do this game where we wrote a short story in the span of 5 minutes. I liked the game so much I started doing it for fun. I’m starting with the suspense genre. My second suspense tool is a time constraint:

He cursed under his breath as the screen flashed red again. He was down to 3 tries left on the passcode. The ticking seemed to get louder as he hurriedly made another calculation as if it would help him. He typed in another code. The screen flashed red. 

“Callen, we have three minutes.” Alice said nervously behind him. 

“I know, I know, I know.” He muttered. 

“Cal do you know what’s a stake here. You need to speed it up.” Noah said, his voice rising. 

“I know what’s at stake! It’s a literal bomb! Now shut up and let me focus.” He type in the new code. Red. “Shoot,” Callen muttered. 

There was a minute left. He tried to remember anything the stranger had said that could be a code. “30 seconds Callen,” Alice said nervously. 

The words “simple,” echo through his head. It was the last thing the stranger had said to them after he had locked them in.

Quickly he types in the final code, 1234. The count down stops. His heart starts racing, he gets read for the explosion. The screen goes green. He laughs out a breath. “That felt too easy,” Noah whispers.

Okay just for an explanation, my English teacher last year made my class do this game where we wrote a short story in the span of 5 minutes. I liked the game so much I started doing it for fun. I’m starting with the suspense genre. My first suspense tool that I’m using is isolated setting:

It was well past midnight and Chris was sitting in his apartment living room.

The images scattered across the floor still made no sense to him. His eyelids struggled to stay up as he stared at the seemingly impossible to solve puzzle. It was eerily quiet, which scared Chris more than he would like to admit.

Then a faint ticking noise started coming from his dining room. Adrenaline pumped through as he began to imagine all the things that could’ve created the noise. His heart pounded in his chest. Chris’s parents always swore that it got easier but, with his nerves, living alone would always seem to be scary, especially at night. He knew better than to say anything. Whenever he had watched horror movies with his friends he always thought it was funny when the main character said, “Hello?” as if the thing that is trying to kill them would answer.

He slowly stood up, heart racing, and took small, quiet steps until he reached the kitchen. The noise grew louder and louder with each step he took. He reached his shaking hand to the light switch and pressed it as silently as he could. The ticking noise seemed to grow louder than a car horn. The lights filled the dining room and there was… nothing. Nothing except a small envelope that was tucked away into a cupboard, the corner peeking out. He crossed the room, looking around with paranoia. He picked the opened the envelope and read it quickly. It said, “Can you find me?” with a small cartoonish picture of a clock at the bottom corner. The ticking noise filled the whole room and Chris covered his ears.

Although I wanted to continue the time did run out and this is where Chris’s story ends.