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The White Room
P J Francis
Just an aspiring horror writer from the UK
|AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (15)
A Marriage Made In Heaven (Short Stories) A tale of revenge. [936 words] [Horror]
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Emotion (Poetry) - [39 words]
Ghostly Figures (Poetry) - [89 words] [Horror]
Gold (Short Stories) Lost hopes... [243 words] [Horror]
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Insignificance (Poetry) Life's meanings and hardships. [71 words]
Life's Essence (Short Stories) - [123 words]
Miranda And Her Doll (Short Stories) A sweet little girl...or is she? [1,187 words] [Horror]
Ode To A Tramp (Poetry) We forget about people that we don't see. [220 words]
The Daemonae-The First (Novels) This is a part of a dark fantasy/horror that I am writing. [4,721 words]
The Dog (Short Stories) - [258 words]
The Eye (Short Stories) - [138 words]
The Holly Tree (Short Stories) A dark fantasy tale. [1,399 words] [Horror]
The Tower (Short Stories) A man wrestles with his actions. [226 words] [Thriller]
The White Room
P J Francis
Here I am again. Staring at four white walls. They don’t believe me, not at all. I have tried to warn them, but they wont listen. Instead they shut me in the white room, with nothing but my fevered imaginings to keep me company.
Can you hear it?
The sounds like a million little nails rasping against the other side of the wall?
I struggle against my tight bindings, knowing that it is futile, but struggling nonetheless. Sweat runs down the side of my nose, and I twist my head sharply sideways to dislodge the saline beads. I watch as they spatter to the white floor.
White. Don’t they know that it is all futile? They will come anyway, regardless of the time that they shutter me away. Fools.
I have lost all sense of time. The white room does that to you…wait, here it comes again. Rasp, rasp, rasp. Its useless, they will come for me.
I am sitting with my back against the wall, my arms wrapped tightly around my body. The padded thickness I lean against offers cold comfort to my distress. Crazy. That’s not a word that I associate with myself. It’s a word that those fools in their brightly lit rooms, dreams of coffee and doughnuts and their fat little bellies utter. They are the crazy ones, they that do not know what is right beneath their feet and around them.
Rasp, rasp… God, I’ve had enough.
I stagger to my feet, shouting at the little door. Why wont they listen to me? I am trying to save their pitiful lives, but they don’t care. All they think about is how the universe revolves around them…well it’s wake up time, idiots. They, will come, and when they do…
“Cool down, Michelle. Keep the noise down!”
I throw myself against the door, my hair hanging limply in my face. Again I hurl myself at the door shouting “They are coming! They are coming!”
An arc of bright light pierces the gloom. Somebody shoves me carelessly with their foot. I look up at the man’s harsh face, “Believe me…” I gasp, knowing that he wont.
Another man steps into the room, bearing a callous looking syringe. “You have earned yourself another week in here, lady” He bends down and injects the contents into my butt. I stiffen at the feel of the needle sliding into my flesh. “Fool!” I gasp…then the lights go out.
I wake up with a banging intense headache. I am laying on the cool floor, still bound, unable to move. They must have given me a stronger dose than before, it takes me longer to gather my bearings.
I slowly open my eyes. Oh my God…they are here, in the white room. One of them is scant two inches from my face. I look into its small amber eyes, and I know that my soul is lost. It balefully stares at me, its tiny face broken apart by the rows of small gleaming teeth. Sharp. Curved. Capable of untold misery and torment.
I raise my head gingerly, looking around my prone body. There they are, milling around like solemn monks. Hooded tiny faces, with small wrinkled hands….hands, or claws? I wonder in fear. There must be around sixty of the little creatures, all watching me intently with lust in their eyes.
One scampers up my leg, and I feel the strength in its tiny jaws as it bites through my trousers. I wince as I feel my skin tear. It looks up, and chitters to the others, and I fearfully watch as they near me in eagerness. The one near my head tentavily brushes my cheek with its clawed hand. It gazes at me, and I know that there is no way out for me. Not this time. The only exit I will face will be in a body bag…if there’s anything left that is.
The fleshy lobe of my ear is torn off, and I scream against the pain of a dozen more bites. Soon, my body will be covered with these tiny minions of hell.
I raise my eyes to the white ceiling, the scream on my lips dying as I watch dozens more of the little creatures scamper down the walls, through small cracks where the ceiling meets the wall. Its impossible to see how they can manage it, but they do, and they do it all the more eagerly, knowing that there is a ready meal trussed up on the floor.
My eyes glaze over red. They are in my hair, biting at my scalp, tearing, and I see as if through a hazy dream, tufts of my brown hair slowly float to the white floor. Crimson beads run down my cheeks like bloodied tears, and the ambiguous vision of a crying Holy Mother in a temple of love stings me with irony. She never had it like this.
I scream again, this time a little more feebly, and to my mounting horror, one of the creatures squirms into my open mouth, razor teeth champing on to my tongue.
“Cool it Michelle! When will you ever learn?” A mans voice yells angrily at me.
Saviours that wait the other side of the door. Fools. Will I ever learn?
I look down with my ever diminishing vision at the creatures tearing through my clothes, their biting and chittering filling my entire fragile mind.
Will I ever learn? I guess not.
|READER'S REVIEWS (2)
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"Yee-ha what a ride. Its great getting into the subcontious mind of a maniac. Sorry if my spelling is bed and on my cell phone. Great work. Very sensitive visuals, great stuff. Keep it up." -- ryan severud.
"Hey, PJ! This was quite good. You have a wonderful visual style that I lack in spades, something that I lack in spades. I, too, am an aspiring horror author. It would be interesting to me to see what you thought of my work. Well then, until your next submission, keep up the magnificence." -- Michael Harris, Detroit.
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© 2004 P J Francis
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