Ron Harris
01-06-04, 12:53 AM
Well thought I would write a little tonight. I had played around with the image below for a bit and then the writing bug attacked me. Please note, I realize that I used the name of my daughter in the story. This story is pure fiction in all shapes and forms other than using her name. I usually use the first name of people I love and care for in my stories in some shape or fashion. That way I never forget anyone. Not that I would forget my daughter...lol....anyways...This is a horror story of sorts so if you are easily grossed out or offended easily by violence etc...please just look at the pic and don't read the story....(I stayed PC and warned the public...gasp..I must be slipping ) Someone recently told me btw, that Halloween was over.....everyday is Halloween at the Harris Manor here.... :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: Thnx for reading my dribble and commenting...I would love to hear some feedback, negative and or positive...it's all good in the end.
http://www2.zbrushcentral.com/uploaded_from_zbc/200401/user_image-1073379141frg.jpg
Night Light
By
Ron Harris
Jourdan stirred slightly when the window slowly crept open. The cool night’s air past over her exposed shoulders as the window opened further. Instinctively she pulled the covers up over her small, slumber, preteen body, protecting her delicate skin.
The nightlight, located under the now open window, illuminated the room just enough to allow safe passage to the bedroom door in the case of an emergency, which normally amounted to no more than a quick trip to the bathroom. Such trips were common. Momma always told her not to drink anything before going to bed. Jourdan, being the preteen going on 40 that she was, never paid attention to the bedtime drinking rule. “Momma doesn’t know diddly,” she would mutter under her breath back to her mother when being reminded of the rules. Momma, obviously never heard Jourdan’s rebuttals. “Yes Ma’am!” she would reply with the sweetness and plastic kindness in her sarcastic youthful voice, that momma had come to live with and most of the time ignore.
Tonight was different for a change. Jourdan had eaten a late supper and had plenty of time to relieve herself before slumbering. Momma had worked all day at the convenience store and had worked a couple of hours extra overtime. Jourdan’s birthday was coming up soon and the money would help to buy a few extra goodies that would not be expected by her loving daughter.
People always ask about Daddy. “Where’s your father, Jourdan? We never see him,” friend and neighbors would ask. Unemployed and down on his luck was the truth of the matter, not to mention the fact that he constantly nursed a bottle of rot gut sipping whiskey. The brand didn’t matter just as long as it was something on sale or just cheap. Momma didn’t leave him much money to blow on his own drinks, because there was none really to leave. Still, he would mooch off of his ex co-workers and friends when Momma didn’t have the funding for his constant thirst. .
Tonight you could hear his thunderous snoring echoing throughout the house. It especially resonated down the hallway into the bedrooms. The whispers of the television set were barely noticeable with all the racket Daddy made, while dreaming of better times.
The curtains in Jourdan’s room fluttered softly in the breeze of the open window. The wave action of the silky material rolled itself back and forth across the nightlight, plugged in below the window sill. It caused the illusion of motion as the curtains shadows danced about the walls of the small room. Jourdan’s cat shared her pillow. The young tabby, worn out from a hard day’s playing , never noticed the opaque shadow that began filling the room. It snuggled closer to the sleeping girl’s head in hopes of getting a bit warmer.
Unable to shake the chill from the open window, Jourdan scrunched into a tight fetal position with her little bony knees drawn almost to her chin. The tabby did not like all this moving around and readjusting. It just wouldn’t do. The tabby stretched it’s furry little legs out and then did a complete body stretch with a matching yawn. It’s sleepy little eyes opened and then were immediately shut. There was no yelp, meow or last breath. The shadow moved swiftly and silently. The little tabby had no time to cry out as the invading specter separated head from torso in one practiced move. A quick snap and crunch was all that followed the fatal move. The shadow licked the fur and gore from it’s gnarled fingers. Jourdan did not stir any further. The sound of celery being broken and rubber bands snapping filled the room. (grossness break/edit)
The visitor cleaned itself from all the festivities of the evening and reached down to unplug the nighlight from the wall. The blood soaked bed disappeared in the darkness as did Jourdan’s last visitor disappear as well into the brisk night air in search of another nightlight to feed by.
:eek:
http://www2.zbrushcentral.com/uploaded_from_zbc/200401/user_image-1073379141frg.jpg
Night Light
By
Ron Harris
Jourdan stirred slightly when the window slowly crept open. The cool night’s air past over her exposed shoulders as the window opened further. Instinctively she pulled the covers up over her small, slumber, preteen body, protecting her delicate skin.
The nightlight, located under the now open window, illuminated the room just enough to allow safe passage to the bedroom door in the case of an emergency, which normally amounted to no more than a quick trip to the bathroom. Such trips were common. Momma always told her not to drink anything before going to bed. Jourdan, being the preteen going on 40 that she was, never paid attention to the bedtime drinking rule. “Momma doesn’t know diddly,” she would mutter under her breath back to her mother when being reminded of the rules. Momma, obviously never heard Jourdan’s rebuttals. “Yes Ma’am!” she would reply with the sweetness and plastic kindness in her sarcastic youthful voice, that momma had come to live with and most of the time ignore.
Tonight was different for a change. Jourdan had eaten a late supper and had plenty of time to relieve herself before slumbering. Momma had worked all day at the convenience store and had worked a couple of hours extra overtime. Jourdan’s birthday was coming up soon and the money would help to buy a few extra goodies that would not be expected by her loving daughter.
People always ask about Daddy. “Where’s your father, Jourdan? We never see him,” friend and neighbors would ask. Unemployed and down on his luck was the truth of the matter, not to mention the fact that he constantly nursed a bottle of rot gut sipping whiskey. The brand didn’t matter just as long as it was something on sale or just cheap. Momma didn’t leave him much money to blow on his own drinks, because there was none really to leave. Still, he would mooch off of his ex co-workers and friends when Momma didn’t have the funding for his constant thirst. .
Tonight you could hear his thunderous snoring echoing throughout the house. It especially resonated down the hallway into the bedrooms. The whispers of the television set were barely noticeable with all the racket Daddy made, while dreaming of better times.
The curtains in Jourdan’s room fluttered softly in the breeze of the open window. The wave action of the silky material rolled itself back and forth across the nightlight, plugged in below the window sill. It caused the illusion of motion as the curtains shadows danced about the walls of the small room. Jourdan’s cat shared her pillow. The young tabby, worn out from a hard day’s playing , never noticed the opaque shadow that began filling the room. It snuggled closer to the sleeping girl’s head in hopes of getting a bit warmer.
Unable to shake the chill from the open window, Jourdan scrunched into a tight fetal position with her little bony knees drawn almost to her chin. The tabby did not like all this moving around and readjusting. It just wouldn’t do. The tabby stretched it’s furry little legs out and then did a complete body stretch with a matching yawn. It’s sleepy little eyes opened and then were immediately shut. There was no yelp, meow or last breath. The shadow moved swiftly and silently. The little tabby had no time to cry out as the invading specter separated head from torso in one practiced move. A quick snap and crunch was all that followed the fatal move. The shadow licked the fur and gore from it’s gnarled fingers. Jourdan did not stir any further. The sound of celery being broken and rubber bands snapping filled the room. (grossness break/edit)
The visitor cleaned itself from all the festivities of the evening and reached down to unplug the nighlight from the wall. The blood soaked bed disappeared in the darkness as did Jourdan’s last visitor disappear as well into the brisk night air in search of another nightlight to feed by.
:eek: