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Chapter 3:- 3
People say your life flashes before your eyes when you are teetering on the edge of death. I wondered how my thirteen years on this planet would be remembered.
Would they talk about the bad perm I had in fifth grade? Or the time my braces got entangled with my gym bag zipper and had to be surgically removed?
The cruel ones would gossip how I never kissed a boy. It's not that I didn't like boys. But for the most part they generally smelled odd. Like they had rolled around in mud and then toweled off with dirty gym socks.
I hoped the mortician would have makeup that could make me look tan, even in death. I inherited the pasty white gene from my mother. I looked like a zombie ninety percent of the time.
In the five seconds I had taken to reflect on life, the dark figure managed to creep up on me and was standing inches away from my face.
“Galll Hilssss,” it hissed. Its icy breath escaped in a cloud.
The burst of white lighting gave me a good look at the creature. It was a woman, and her skin was bumpy and cracked like rotted oak. Small leafy branches sprouted from her head and draped down her shoulders like Spanish moss. The floor groaned as her foot slid across it. But it wasn’t a foot at all. It was a gangly tree-trunk-leg with roots for toes that writhed like hungry snakes.
“Nautonnier,” she wheezed. Her milky white eyes stared at me, void of life.
She wrapped her twisted branch fingers around my neck and lifted me off the ground. My screams were choked into aching gasps.
A growl from down the hall distracted the she beast. She turned and glared at the gray cat. It arched its back and barred its razor fangs. The cat spat and charged at the creature. She screeched, backed away, and dropped me to my feet.
My body trembled and my legs turned to pudding. A strange prickly feeling spread through my face. I crumbled to the floor and blacked out.
People say your life flashes before your eyes when you are teetering on the edge of death. I wondered how my thirteen years on this planet would be remembered.
Would they talk about the bad perm I had in fifth grade? Or the time my braces got entangled with my gym bag zipper and had to be surgically removed?
The cruel ones would gossip how I never kissed a boy. It's not that I didn't like boys. But for the most part they generally smelled odd. Like they had rolled around in mud and then toweled off with dirty gym socks.
I hoped the mortician would have makeup that could make me look tan, even in death. I inherited the pasty white gene from my mother. I looked like a zombie ninety percent of the time.
In the five seconds I had taken to reflect on life, the dark figure managed to creep up on me and was standing inches away from my face.
“Galll Hilssss,” it hissed. Its icy breath escaped in a cloud.
The burst of white lighting gave me a good look at the creature. It was a woman, and her skin was bumpy and cracked like rotted oak. Small leafy branches sprouted from her head and draped down her shoulders like Spanish moss. The floor groaned as her foot slid across it. But it wasn’t a foot at all. It was a gangly tree-trunk-leg with roots for toes that writhed like hungry snakes.
“Nautonnier,” she wheezed. Her milky white eyes stared at me, void of life.
She wrapped her twisted branch fingers around my neck and lifted me off the ground. My screams were choked into aching gasps.
A growl from down the hall distracted the she beast. She turned and glared at the gray cat. It arched its back and barred its razor fangs. The cat spat and charged at the creature. She screeched, backed away, and dropped me to my feet.
My body trembled and my legs turned to pudding. A strange prickly feeling spread through my face. I crumbled to the floor and blacked out.
