Lasting Memories
By Milla, Year 9
Cold air wasn’t uncommon in the wrecked and underground subway. It was known for its frigid, unwelcome feel, but that was precisely the reason I was drawn to it so. People rarely ventured down there. The closed off and rundown path beside the railway posed too much of a risk for those who valued their life over the thrill of danger that my work presented.
This time, however, and for the first time in a while, this place didn’t settle right with me.
The cold seeped into my skin and unease snaked its way into my usual sense of indifference. I jumped from the tattered and broken barbed wire fence and down into the barely closed off area beside the railway. Dust exploded where my boots collided with the cracked concrete floor.
A violent, sudden shiver echoed over my skin, causing goosebumps to arise along my arms like an unwelcome outbreak of hives.
Something’s wrong.
I’d experienced something like a cold sweat before, but this, this, was a sharp contrast between unbridled fear from a presence so intimidating I could almost taste it, to a simple cold fever that left me in the sweats for days.
A sudden breeze whispered over my sun-starved skin, unnatural and heavy as it passed along my numbing arms. Some noise reaches my ears, warped, making me jump out of my skin before I realise the spray can I had previously been holding was no longer encompassed in my weakening grip.
Laughter whispers, breezing past my ear with a depth that leaves me feeling the noise echo through my hollow mind. I spin, opening my mouth to question the presence, but my lips prevail, my eyes blur in protest and I wonder, when did I get so scared?
Run away, run away, run away!
Something inside me, arising from this new feeling I’d never experienced before, screamed in anguish. Get away from there!
I can’t. I cried back, feeling as though I’d let someone down. As if someone important was calling out my name. I can’t.
I leaned my back against the wall from where I sat on the grimy subway floor. I felt as though my heart was trying to shove its way up my throat, dragging the rest of my insides with it as if to rebel from doing their allocated jobs.
My fingers curled, arms too frozen by my side to claw air into my lungs. The unknown force rumbled, a laughter so chilling it made my teeth rattle in my skull. The earth shook beneath my crippled self, shocking my crusty vocal cords into submission.
My scream was drowned out beneath the roar of a heavily graffitied train passing through the tunnel. Tears ran down my face and dripping crimson droplets on my white undershirt.
A crippling sense of hunger, desire, and yearning shook over my body as scenes of my life flashed before me. I coughed, feeling a warm, wet substance run from my nose and down my face.
I could feel my body eroding, feel those pressing fingers over the soft part of my throat, sucking the life, the memories, the feelings, from my weak being.
The exhausting tension lining my body sagged, releasing it from its rigid hold and relaxing into a pile of aching muscles and broken bones. I felt the last drops of my memories trickling from my mind as my head lolled to the side, smearing blood over my cheek.
My conscience lingered in the corner of my eye, a swirling blackness threatening to tilt over the edge of an unconscious abyss at any sign of misalignment.
The hands over my throat relaxed slightly, drowsily.
My eyes blurred, the pain subsiding as my conscience slipped and slid over my bleeding mind, blinking shakily. My vision faltered, but before I succumbed to the dark, a train sped past once again, spreading light on the being above me.
Large eyes met my own, red irises rolled into its skull and head thrown back in undeniable delight as it fed from my dreams and memories that make up the being that I am.
Through half-lidded eyes I watched it acknowledge me. Watched it fix its glowing, crimson gaze upon my crippled self. The darkness closed in and as the being’s face drew closer, I watched its lips slide over whitened fangs, and felt its devilish smile chase me into the dark.
Ghost Stories
This piece, Lasting Memories, by Milla, was written as part of Ghost Stories. In this workshop series students are inspired by spooky texts from around the world. They use their imagination to create their own take on ghost fiction. Over eight workshops students learn about the conventions of ghost fiction. They engage in character and world building, and create poems and pieces of short fiction that evoke a pleasing terror in their readers.