Stockholm

A story that I really, really liked, but couldn't just seem to write. It makes me sad that it died so suddenly, but this was written back when my plots sucked and I didn't know how to lay stuff out. =(

The night was dull, lifeless, as the boy touched the doorknob. With a nervous excitement and sweaty hands, he turned the knob of the mystery door, eager to see what treasures lied within the depths of his home.

A veil resided behind the door, hanging from the top of the ceiling until it gently brushed the floor. It should have been nothing extraordinary, but Daniel couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Around it was a mist, glowing a soft green, lighting the whole closet-sized room. It swayed gently, and soft whispers could be heard, floating up and down the boys skin.

With a tentative step, the boy entered the room, and the hushed voices grew louder. His eyes darted about the room, searching for a mirror to explain the dancing and signing of the veil, but none were there.

As if in a trance, the boy began to move towards the veil, fingers out stretched, hoping to grasp onto the swirling mist. The voices were becoming louder with each step, until they began to take on tones; joy, anger, despair, deviant. So loud did the voices grow that the boy didn’t even notice the door slamming behind him, trapping him within the mysterious room.

The boy smiled, waggling the tips of his fingers through the haze. Amused for only a few seconds, the boy let out a shriek when the mist changed, turning into a rotting hand, grasping the boys fingers.

More hands appeared out of the mist, forming into arms that sprouted from the veil, until the boy was screaming and crying, being dragged through the mystifying haze and into the veil. Through the veil he went, and all became black.

Daniel woke up, choking back a scream.

Surrounded by sweat, his breath coming out in sharp pants, Daniel stared down at his bedspread, trying to gather his thoughts. His mind was in a frenzy, trying to place what had happened, fully aware that it was nothing but a dream, but still it made Daniel check himself. Looking at his wrists to see if bruises appeared, putting his trembling fingers to his cheeks, making sure that he was alive and awake, Daniel couldn’t shake the dream.

It was too real for his taste. The scent of the hands still lingered, the scent of death. Those same hands still crawled up his skin, haunting his skin, making it prickle and stand on end. He shook, letting out a low moan. He got up, shakily running a hand sweat-laden

__________________
Stockholm syndrome
–noun Psychiatry. an emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as a result of continuous stress, dependence, and a need to cooperate for survival.

Cornish Maid

I like it - a lot. I wouldn't abandon it yet. Go over it a few times to get yourself back in again and then perhaps carry on with it. You're already half way there otherwise you wouldn't have thought about it and posted it.

I like your descriptions of the veil and the hands. I also love the way you've built up the suspense. Go girl!

__________________
Proof read carefully to see if you any words out. unknown.

Stockholm

Mmm, you're right. I'm rather fond of this piece, and I have a vague idea of how and where I went to go with the story. I guess I do just have to re-read it, re-research (it always makes me wanna write), and then plan it a bit more carefully.

Thank you. I loathe writing in third person, so my descriptions always make me nervous.

__________________
Stockholm syndrome
–noun Psychiatry. an emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as a result of continuous stress, dependence, and a need to cooperate for survival.