Writing prompt: Write a dark narrative that starts with a nursery rhyme.
'Twinkle, twinkle, little star…'
An eerie whisper grits against her ears, the sound like that of nails upon a chalkboard. Juliet Summers lay in her bed, unmoving, her controlled breaths in the deafening silence seemed like the loud pants of a marathon racer. Then suddenly, she stilled. Her eyes were sealed shut; her body, motionless. Yet this did not seem to discourage the feather-like touches that smoothed down the long wispy brunette locks. Cold. Deathly cold touches; yet there seemed no tangible body beside her.
Gasping, her eyes shoot open- bloodshot and watery. The deafening silence and utter loneliness shroud her aggrieved form; her mind a void. A sense of being watched prickles her neck, her eyes twitching, the only tell-tale sign of her burning curiosity. Wishing to turn, but far too petrified to, Juliet tries to glance back from the corner of her eyes. Her heart raced in a frenzied pandemonium, and sweat seemed to collect at her back, the silk nightgown clinging to her drenched back.
The wooden floors creaked.
Another sound, but no movement. Darting from side to side, her eyes miss the dark silhouette that materialised beside her, a sinister smile growing on its lips, the wide opals creasing into sadistic pleasure.
Fear. He could smell it. Or it could have just been the perspiration that clung to her pale neck, gleaming in the dim light. ‘Humans,’ he thought. His steely heart clenching, he strung the next line of words, pure malice wracking his body with unuttered laughter; smirking proudly at his clever contortion.
‘...How you wonder what I am?’
The woman had lived oblivious to his gruesome presence. Reaching out, his frosty fingers he twirls a strand of her soft, smooth mahogany locks. ‘Vanilla,’ he thought, ‘and perhaps a hint of cinnamon.’ Gazing at her innocent moon-like face that shone in the overwhelming darkness, he wondered about the extent of the darkness’ power. It had tainted her. A sweet, sweet soul like hers. Juliet had killed and so, she would be killed. He would not enjoy it. He was not a monster, no. She had trampled his heart. Literally.
‘Arthus,’ she whispers frantically, chanting the name over and over, wishing the name cloaked her in an undefiable blanket of serenity and security, as much as the person did. With shivering arms, she reaches for the cold metallic device that lay under her pillow. Sudden comfort envelops her with a chance to interact with the outside world. The blaring light of the phone lights up every crevice and bridge of her dainty features, her worry and unveiled panic creasing her forehead, as long slender fingers scrawl through the names. Tapping, furiously she pulls the phone to her ears, eyes darting to and fro; anticipating the deep voice to soothe her worries permanently.
‘Arthur, please pick up.’ a desperate meek mutter escapes her. A startled cry of sheer terror, makes her jump, dropping the phone, as she runs to her daughter's room. Arabella’s toy had been cranked, the key spinning furiously, along with its flashing lights of terror, her doll moving at a pace, unimaginable, as it paced the room, back and forth, singing a hauntingly beautiful melody. Arabella’s shrieks became more urgent, waving her feet and arms frantically, as the doll stilled right before Juliet’s feet, eyes rolled back, a blackness looming over her usually pleasant features, blood running down her cheeks, pooling beneath the mother's feet.
The tune had been familiar; Juliet recognised that sound. She would recognise it anywhere. It featured in her nightmares ever since that day. The day it had all crashed and burned. She knew him.
‘Grey.’ she croaked, a broken voice echoing through the room. It was as if time had stilled for a moment. Only a moment. Until it all fell apart. Uncontained rage roared through the empty walls, as all hell broke loose. A breeze. Howling wind. A hurricane. Fire. Ice.
A barrage of abnormality stormed through her house. Their house. Arabella would not quieten, quite like her father’s fury. Tears ran down Juliet’s cheeks, reminiscing memories of her first ‘love’. ‘Grey, please. Please, stop,’ she begged, trembling, ‘you wouldn’t hurt Arabella.’
A sudden rush of adrenaline and foolishness courses through her, as she admits in pure and undiluted fear, ‘She is your daughter! Grey, stop!’
Distraught, she falls to her knees, and looks through the emptiness with glassy eyes, a meek phantom of a whisper escaping her, ‘I promise.’
It was a barely breathed word, but she knew he had heard.
‘Bella, baby… honey, hush my love. It’s okay honey, Mommy is here,’ she coos, taking small, cautious steps towards Bella's crib. A sudden calm fills the room. Piercing, intense grey eyes stare back at her, making her heart halt to a screeching stop. Recoiling towards the nearest wall she collapses in fright, eyes wide open.
Arabella had had brown eyes.
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