Drug Induced Horror

OK, so I may have been a tad melodramatic with my title. Still, I’m guessing it got your attention, right?

Those of you who regularly follow my blog will know that I have been somewhat quiet for the past six weeks or so. The truth of the matter is that I have had some health issues, the treatment of which have left me feeling sleepy to the point of being unable to stay awake, as well as mild depression which, let’s face it, does little for your energy and motivation levels. The other side effect of the treatment was to induce some rather bizarre dreams, not to mention firing the darker side of my imagination. Fortunately, I am now on the road to recovery and am extremely glad that I had the foresight to write down my dreams and imaginings, no matter how tired or low I happened to be feeling. Given the overwhelmingly positive comments to my previous short horror stories, I thought I would take the liberty in indulging in a couple more, not least to give you all an idea of the dark turns my road to recovery took.

This first one is along similar lines to Sweet Child Of Mine.

Charlotte was an only child. She was solitary, but bright and intelligent, and although you couldn’t say she was manipulative, she did know how to get the most attention from the adults around her. 

One night, she ran screaming down the hallway to her parents’ room. She had been awoken by a strange sound coming either from under the bed or in the closet, she wasn’t sure which. 

“Mummy! Daddy!” she screamed.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” said her Dad, scooping her up onto his knee. 

“I heard a monster” she sobbed. 

Immediately, her Mum and Dad jumped up and raced to her bedroom. Once there, they checked under the bed, opened the closet, threw back the bedsheets, made sure the window was firmly locked. They inspected and searched every inch of the room. Naturally, they found nothing and tucked their little girl back up in her bed. 

The next night, the same thing happened. Charlotte heard a noise and ran crying to her parents, who immediately began a thorough search of the room. Nothing was ever found, but that didn’t stop Charlotte liking the attention, nor did it stop her liking how seriously her parents took her cries. Eventually, she began running to them whether she had heard a noise or not, and would hide her smile behind her tears as night after night, she would wake her parents and watch as they raced to her room and performed their thorough search. 

On one such night, her Dad fell over while inspecting the top of the curtain rail, and Charlotte was unable to hide her laughter. As if a monster could fit up there anyway, she thought. 

“What’s so funny?” her Dad asked. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy, but I’ve been making it up. The first night I did hear something, but after that, I just kept making it up. I kept expecting you not to believe me but you always did.”

Strangely, her Dad wasn’t angry. He just looked at her Mum with an overwhelming sense of remorse filling his eyes and then said, “And we’ll always believe you, sweetie. You see, once … just once … we didn’t believe your brother.”

The second story is altogether different.

Have you ever walked into a room and found a vampire? 

I’m not talking about the sexy kind – there’s no schmaltzy Twilight saga here. I’m talking about a foul creature, with limbs like skin-covered bone and a complexion like death. Have you ever walked into a room and seen it snarl like a beast, ready to pounce? Has it rooted you to the spot with sunken, but hypnotic eyes, leaving you frozen and petrified as it uncoils itself from the shadows? Have you felt time grind by impossibly slowly as the creature crosses the room to you in the time it takes you to blink? 

Have you remained motionless through fear as the creature placed a hand, its nails like talons, on top of your head, while the other hand slid under your chin, tilting your head upwards and backwards, exposing your neck? Have you felt its hot breath keenly against your skin, as its rough, grey tongue slides down across your cheek and over your jaw, before resting on your throat? Has its tongue lingered there, as if savouring the moment? Have you experienced the sinking, all-consuming darkness as you realise that this vampire does not feed on blood … but on memories?

Well? Have you? I’m guessing that you answered “no”. So let me rephrase the question.

Have you ever found yourself standing in a room, unable to remember why you came in?