20 Feb

By Kayla Ro
8th Grade

Snow drifted down, making the awful landscape a beauty. I drifted closer to the fire, my eyes scanning the room. It was simple: a table with some chairs, a fireplace, a chest, a sofa, and two doors. One out, one to my bed. And then three was that trapdoor, below the false bottom of the chest.

“That thing we must not think about,” I whispered, locking up those memories.

Scritch, the noise came from the chest, but I was imagining it. There it was again, louder, more demanding. I must be making it up, but my body was inching backwards. A third time it came and my memory was opening the chest.

It was a few years ago and I couldn’t find my parents. As I looked through the chest, my fingers lifted the fake bottom. Excitement coursed through my veins. After pulling up the fake bottom, I discovered and opened the trapdoor.

It was pitch black, but my curiosity pushed me down the steps. I stumbled down the steps, running into a door. Opening it a sliver, a horrifying scene met my eyes, but I was so terrified I couldn’t scream. A monster tearing apart their bodies. I slammed the door, ran up the stairs and locked the chest.

The next week I went back down, seeing a few bloodstains, but I couldn’t see the monster.

The next day, the scene was the same, but with that scratching noise. It penetrates my nightmare and that spot in my memory I want to forget. Lost in memory. I didn’t notice until the chest was halfway open. Why couldn’t I scream? The last thing I saw was my mother’s broken body.

And the snow drifted down, a beauty mere inches from horrors.


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