Its not exactly like the shadow hearts doll house part. i had to write a piece of original writing for my english coursework. its more descriptive rather than a story exactly.
Silenced was the room: and silent it had been for many a years. A nursery it had once been, a small girls nursery, now overwhelmed by the natures of darkness. The atmosphere in the room was unwelcoming as the faint creaking of a rocking horse proceeded. The unnerving, fear binding idea of the paranormal was in effect. The nursery was perfect, a small four poster bed towards the end of the room, to its left…a bedside table, clattered with photographs of a small girl: they had began to curl at the edges and were now slightly discoloured. Dabs of a reddish liquid had been absorbed into the pictures, shapes of a small child's hand imprinted in the scarlet areas. On the beds right, was a small toy trunk, encrusted with small emerald gems. Pretty it was, but its contents deceived its beautiful structure. It had been padlocked to contain its stench of the bodies inside. It was a mystery to this day forward how they had been murdered . The girl kept quiet and was abandoned amongst her play-room. The chill of death soaring into the room: rustling the crisp bed covers of a deep…crimson?
The walls, four walls enclosing around the darkness of the room. Once a colour of romantic pink, now overcome with decay and sorrow. But the walls were now swarmed with cries of desperation, pleas for help: all written in the same substance…blood. The morbid atmosphere led to a new message, it read 'I don't want to play anymore, please help me! I want to leave this hell!', the message still dripping droplets of the rich scarlet liquid. A trail of blood led towards a pair of curtains: tattered and holed, blood splattered everywhere. The tapered light revealed the child's small hands imprinted on these too.
She hid in the corner: behind the blood strewn and torn curtain. Her fears enclosed around her cold and fragile body. She was like thin ice on a winters lake: Her forlorn life almost on the brink of destruction. The small girl peered down at her hands with her watery grey/blue eyes: once so full of excitement, joy and freedom: now so dull, alienated of all sources of happiness, the 'thing' they said kept young girls happy had imprisoned her soul. Her hands so deprived of life, yellowing due to the lack of daylight. Scars overlapping scars, blood still dripping from the newly cut finger.
Pain.
Fear.
Silence.
She lifted her slightly shaking hand to her ice-cold face, so pale, so terrified of what could be round the other side of that curtain. A fear of stepping out of the darkness, a fear of seeing that 'thing' she was supposed to nurture and love as if it was her own. She could always hear the rocking of the horse, the chiming of her grandfather clock: each chime a year of her small life tragically lost to the natures of evil. But…new to the ears was a deathly whisper, a chant of someone humming a faint tune. Not soothing, disturbing. The girl began to rock back and forth: as if in some sort of trance she stood up: her eyes out of focus and dazed. Reaching out her skeletal arm to pull away the curtain. Her weak grimacing face beginning to strain. Pulling away that curtain was like pulling away a thousand sheets of iron.
"n-no! I don't want to play anymore! Leave me alone!! No!!" the girl screamed as she began to realise what she was doing. But she could no-longer control her body, her movements. She fell to the floor with a faint thump. Her scream was silenced by the chiming of the clock. She grabbed onto the corner of the wall with her nail-less bleeding fingers. That 'thing' she had been hiding from had found her. It had come to tear the flesh away from her fragile bones. To torment her until death took her. The curtain flew open as she tried to crawl away. The 'thing' still clutching onto her legs. She turned around to face the torment: the bastardised demon stood before her. It would never let her go. Never let her be free. She was bound in this 'perfect' playroom. She cried in agony as the knives sunk into her scarred skin. Emotions swirled in her mind. Colours of Black and red. The colours of death and blood. The rotten blooded knives hacking at her. The face of her 'friend' laughing menacingly. "no!!!" she piercingly screamed again.
'Ding!'
Forever.
'Ding!'
Pain.
No-one to help her as she screamed in pure agony. The murderer of her dead parents, abusing her in the sickened mind of a play- doll.
heh, if you like plz review, much appreciated.