Prompt: Halloween
Any time period/pairing/era
Word count: 500-5000
Note: The following story is a submission to the facebook group Platform 9 3/4. All stories on this profile are works submitted by multiple authors through means of the group. Contestants will remain anonymous until voting is completed. Only the author and moderators of the challenge are aware of identities.
Disclaimer: the author of this story did not create these characters and will in no way claim ownership therein. All things Harry Potter related belong to JK Rolling.
Title: I'm Only Just a Knock Away
Rating: PG
Genre: Supernatural, horror
Name: -Undisclosed at this time-
OCs: yes
Pairing: none
Summary: Sometimes parents get desperate when it comes to getting their children to mind. This is when the call on me: Omul.
I'm Only Just a Knock Away
A knock sounds in my head, awakening me from my slumber. It is something that I am not unfamiliar to, but alas, this one is quite different. It is quick. It is harsh. It is frantic.
Someone is desperate for me to make an appearance. Someone has had enough. Someone needs me.
My job is not a grand one. In fact, I actually quite hate it, but I am hideous, and no one is willing to hire me for anything else. My teeth, they are sharp and pointy, highly unusual compared to those like me. I have black eyes that I can make glow any colour on my own command- red is my favourite.
My nails are long- no matter how often I trim them, they seem to have a mind of their own, growing immediately to two-and-a-half inches after each clipping; I've learned to leave them be.
I have short hair that sticks out everywhere as if I have been hit with some high voltage shock curse, but I like it that way, so I don't even try taming its wild behavior.
On the job, I wear a black cloak that covers almost my entire body, an article of clothing that vampires often are seen wearing- though I'm no vampire, I just like the look. It makes me appear more frightening.
That's my job, to look as scary as I can; to act as scary as I can, but it's not hard to do with my physical abnormalities.
Now don't you fret though, I'm not really a horrific being, I only pretend to be, for it's what I do to pay the bills.
"It's coming!" I hear a woman gasp dramatically, trying to fool her little child. Her voice sounds far off in the distance- I'm able to hear such desperate calls telepathically. "It'll get you!"
The child laughs, obviously doubting that I'll even come.
I sigh, disappointed with the young lad, and rise up from my comfortable bed to get dressed.
After I am ready, I crouch down low on the floor just at the side of the bed and slip under it, head first. Thinking hard on the voice who has summoned me, I am sucked into a portal and pulled into a new location, under a different bed.
I see two pairs of feet. One pair is tiny and bare, belonging to a male of maybe six-years-old. The other is in blue slippers and is much bigger(obviously this is the woman's), one foot is impatiently tapping the floor at the disobedient, little snot.
I reach out my leathery skinned hand, slowly creeping my fingers along the way for added effect and snatch the ankle of the boy, making him hurl out a scream.
He instantly starts pulling away, but naturally, I am stronger, and I yank him my way, toward the bed and under it, his body beneath mine.
He's now crying, truly afraid of what I will do with him. He pleads me to let him go.
"Listen to your mother, son," I whisper to him in the most eerily hiss I can muster. "Else I'll come back and eat you!" I then release the boy and allow him to scramble into his bed where he should have been to begin with.
*/*
"Thank you, Omul," Pansy Parkinson says to me a week later when she sees me in a local shop. "Junior has been so well behaved since your visit."
I grunted, semi-disgusted with her giddiness, but her parenting tactics are not my problem. "Just doing my job, Parkinson. I would dearly appreciate if you pass my card around to any other parent who suffers misbehaving children and would like to try something new," I request.
She nods, smiling. "It's positively the least I can do for our local bogeyman."
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