I don't own any of the characters in this story accept for the obvious ones
like Henry Clay and Rachel. I know that this story is a bit zany but I
wrote it because my friend wrote one like it and it was really cool. Please
don't tell me how horrible it is, I've received enough of that information.
The deal is, if you like it and want me to add on to it review it, just
don't be hating!
"Something is in there." Henry Clay whispered nervously.
"Are you sure?" I teased, knowing nothing was going on.
"Pretty sure." He said as he turned to look at me. I looked away from him and at the faded door.
Henry Clay and I were standing in front of the closet. I was a scrawny ten- year-old girl named Rachel. My short and scruffy brown hair was hanging over my face, covering my gray-blue eyes and getting in the way. Standing at my side was my next-door-neighbor, Henry Clay. I think Henry Clay was about twelve years old. I'm not quite sure because he never told me his exact age. I always thought he was handsome and sweet. His dark brown hair framed the sparkling blue eyes, long curly eyelashes and dimples on his face. I guess you might have called him tan, but that was compared to my skin color and I know that I was as white as snow.
We were standing timidly in front of this extremely creepy closet's aging door. Henry Clay was holding my limp hand, his fear portrayed by the great pressure he gave my cold fingers as he held them tensely in his strong grasp. He had never physically hurt me in the past and he wasn't the kind of person who would harm anyone, so I knew that something about the door was scaring my friend. At that point in time, I wasn't sure what it was.
I looked up at him with a very puzzled expression, hoping that eventually he would look down at me and explain everything that was going on. I stared up at him with a puzzled expression until the muscles in my face got so tired that they sort of melted. He still had not looked at me, not even out of the corner of his eye. How was he supposed to? They were both glued to the door.
I looked down at the hardwood floor; I'd given up on getting Henry Clay to look at me. He was too hypnotized by the door. What was with the door anyways? It was just an old wooden closet door, there was a rusty knob with a blocked up keyhole beneath it and breaking hinges on the edge. Henry Clay said he'd heard something loud coming from behind it. He'd described it as the sound of drums, pounding. pounding. I hadn't heard anything so I'd told him he was crazy. I'd thought to myself that he was just trying to scare me with some Jumanji story of some sort. But later, since he had started acting weird, I wasn't quite sure he was making that stuff up.
"Henry." I mumbled quietly.
"What?" He whispered in reply.
"Tell me again what it sounded like, please."
"Alright, it was like a drum, a drum that was coming closer at a stronger and stronger beat. It sounded like the drummer boy from hell Rachel, like." Henry Clay's words faded away like music from a harp. His eyes were focused on the closet door and he started shaking. I did too, that time I'd heard it, exactly like what he'd described. It was like the drummer boy from hell. The sound echoed strongly through my head, it was fearsome, strong and soft at the same time. I backed away from the door with slow steps as the sound came closer and closer. Those minutes were like an eternity and the drumming wouldn't stop. Before long, the door started to shake. It vibrated like there was something beating against it on the other side. Trying to get out, trying to get us. I hid behind Henry Clay, wondering why he wasn't moving or trying to get away. After looking at his face I realized that he couldn't, he was frozen in place. I didn't want to leave him so I tried to get him to move. I slapped his face and pulled his arms and shook his shoulders. It wasn't affective he just stood there staring at the door. Speaking of which, it kept shaking and I knew that it was going to break open at some point in time. I was right. I heard a horrible shrieking noise, like millions of monkeys were screaming. It pierced my ears and pounded through my head worse than the drum. I also heard the skittering of feet as if many creatures were rushing toward the door so fast that only their toes were touching the ground. The drum was beating really loud and the door shook, there was one last rush against the door and I watched it as it fell on top of us before I could think to move away. The door was heavy and the weight increased. It was as if something or someone was on top of it pressuring us and holding us down. I felt heavy footsteps crush me from above; it was like bricks were being piled on top of me. I couldn't see anything, the door was over my face and all I could smell was the musty wood. I protected my head with my hands and screamed Henry's name. He didn't reply. For a moment the thought of him being dead flashed through my mind, I panicked and tried to squirm out from underneath the door. For a moment the weight above me was released and I managed to get my head and shoulders free. I looked up and the cruel glare of a creature I had only seen in my nightmares met my stare. It was standing on top of the door, on top of me. The creature, or monster rather, wasn't very large. It was about the size of an orangutan, it had four limbs, two arms and two legs. It stood crouched like a spider, with spindly legs and arms and dark saliva dripping from its mouth. It was like a mutated elf or Santa's little helper turned road kill. Its face was deformed, stretched against its skull like grayish leather being dried. Its eyes were set deep within its head and they were alike to those of an angry cat. A chain hung from its pointed ear and pierced its nose. The monster held a stiff wooden club in it's left hand and swung it back and forth as it glared at me and showed it's fangs. It had fangs like a dog and its long wiry hair was scarce atop its knobby head. I screamed once more and watched in horror as it lifted the wooden club in its hand and hit me across the head. From there I remembered nothing, I had been knocked out cold.
"Something is in there." Henry Clay whispered nervously.
"Are you sure?" I teased, knowing nothing was going on.
"Pretty sure." He said as he turned to look at me. I looked away from him and at the faded door.
Henry Clay and I were standing in front of the closet. I was a scrawny ten- year-old girl named Rachel. My short and scruffy brown hair was hanging over my face, covering my gray-blue eyes and getting in the way. Standing at my side was my next-door-neighbor, Henry Clay. I think Henry Clay was about twelve years old. I'm not quite sure because he never told me his exact age. I always thought he was handsome and sweet. His dark brown hair framed the sparkling blue eyes, long curly eyelashes and dimples on his face. I guess you might have called him tan, but that was compared to my skin color and I know that I was as white as snow.
We were standing timidly in front of this extremely creepy closet's aging door. Henry Clay was holding my limp hand, his fear portrayed by the great pressure he gave my cold fingers as he held them tensely in his strong grasp. He had never physically hurt me in the past and he wasn't the kind of person who would harm anyone, so I knew that something about the door was scaring my friend. At that point in time, I wasn't sure what it was.
I looked up at him with a very puzzled expression, hoping that eventually he would look down at me and explain everything that was going on. I stared up at him with a puzzled expression until the muscles in my face got so tired that they sort of melted. He still had not looked at me, not even out of the corner of his eye. How was he supposed to? They were both glued to the door.
I looked down at the hardwood floor; I'd given up on getting Henry Clay to look at me. He was too hypnotized by the door. What was with the door anyways? It was just an old wooden closet door, there was a rusty knob with a blocked up keyhole beneath it and breaking hinges on the edge. Henry Clay said he'd heard something loud coming from behind it. He'd described it as the sound of drums, pounding. pounding. I hadn't heard anything so I'd told him he was crazy. I'd thought to myself that he was just trying to scare me with some Jumanji story of some sort. But later, since he had started acting weird, I wasn't quite sure he was making that stuff up.
"Henry." I mumbled quietly.
"What?" He whispered in reply.
"Tell me again what it sounded like, please."
"Alright, it was like a drum, a drum that was coming closer at a stronger and stronger beat. It sounded like the drummer boy from hell Rachel, like." Henry Clay's words faded away like music from a harp. His eyes were focused on the closet door and he started shaking. I did too, that time I'd heard it, exactly like what he'd described. It was like the drummer boy from hell. The sound echoed strongly through my head, it was fearsome, strong and soft at the same time. I backed away from the door with slow steps as the sound came closer and closer. Those minutes were like an eternity and the drumming wouldn't stop. Before long, the door started to shake. It vibrated like there was something beating against it on the other side. Trying to get out, trying to get us. I hid behind Henry Clay, wondering why he wasn't moving or trying to get away. After looking at his face I realized that he couldn't, he was frozen in place. I didn't want to leave him so I tried to get him to move. I slapped his face and pulled his arms and shook his shoulders. It wasn't affective he just stood there staring at the door. Speaking of which, it kept shaking and I knew that it was going to break open at some point in time. I was right. I heard a horrible shrieking noise, like millions of monkeys were screaming. It pierced my ears and pounded through my head worse than the drum. I also heard the skittering of feet as if many creatures were rushing toward the door so fast that only their toes were touching the ground. The drum was beating really loud and the door shook, there was one last rush against the door and I watched it as it fell on top of us before I could think to move away. The door was heavy and the weight increased. It was as if something or someone was on top of it pressuring us and holding us down. I felt heavy footsteps crush me from above; it was like bricks were being piled on top of me. I couldn't see anything, the door was over my face and all I could smell was the musty wood. I protected my head with my hands and screamed Henry's name. He didn't reply. For a moment the thought of him being dead flashed through my mind, I panicked and tried to squirm out from underneath the door. For a moment the weight above me was released and I managed to get my head and shoulders free. I looked up and the cruel glare of a creature I had only seen in my nightmares met my stare. It was standing on top of the door, on top of me. The creature, or monster rather, wasn't very large. It was about the size of an orangutan, it had four limbs, two arms and two legs. It stood crouched like a spider, with spindly legs and arms and dark saliva dripping from its mouth. It was like a mutated elf or Santa's little helper turned road kill. Its face was deformed, stretched against its skull like grayish leather being dried. Its eyes were set deep within its head and they were alike to those of an angry cat. A chain hung from its pointed ear and pierced its nose. The monster held a stiff wooden club in it's left hand and swung it back and forth as it glared at me and showed it's fangs. It had fangs like a dog and its long wiry hair was scarce atop its knobby head. I screamed once more and watched in horror as it lifted the wooden club in its hand and hit me across the head. From there I remembered nothing, I had been knocked out cold.