Two Sentence Horror | XV

I tremble when I feel him climb onto the bed to whisper his goodnight. It’s been a year since he passed.

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Two Sentence Horror | I – V | Archives

Archive I

Every year on my deceased daughters birthday, I would hear ten light footsteps on the stairs and no more. She reminds me every year of the place I dropped her.

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Archive II

As a child they told me, ‘You’re worth more than them’ – but back then I only slit the throats of animals. When they told me I was worth more than my family, I questioned it for a second before we plunged the knife.

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Archive III

The old saying tells us ‘home is where the heart is’. My love for her tells me my home is six feet under.

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Archive IV

She still plays games if I forget to bring her flowers, like hiding my pens or switching the lights off when I enter a room. It’s hard though – I’ve lost my job and her grave is at the other side of town.

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Archive V

Eyes stared from every shadow of the room while invisible hands pinned me to the bed. I fell asleep in tears of terror and silent screams that night.