Within a Dream, part three

Fiction By Hannah W. // 5/2/2011

 **Note to self: no more writing creepy stories while alone in a strange house late at night. Even if it does turn out to give good inspiration.** 

I laid there for what felt like a long time, unable to fall alseep. The candle burned steadfastly on the humble bedside table, a brave yellow beacon against the grey that permeated everything. At last I sat up, staring at the rapidly darkening window, the quilt pulled up around my shoulders. 
As I sat, I began to notice the sounds that had faded to the background, become lost among the noise of speech and thought and movement.
Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
Steady. Insistent.
Like the ticking of a clock that one hears while sitting solitary beneath it, wondering how something so loud could have gone unnoticed all day.
Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
I was surprised I hadn’t gone mad from the sound of it yet, because as I sat there listening to it, felt it drive deeper and deeper into my skull, I wanted to scream.
Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
I clenched my teeth. There was no chance of being able to sleep while it went on. I stood up from the bed and crept over to the door, placed my hand on the tarnished knob. A rush of fear went through me, and I almost let go. But something pushed me on, made me turn the knob and open the door a crack.
The hallway was dimly lit by candles along the walls. Shadows brooded in every corner, only wavering at the edges whenever one of the candles would flicker. Heart thudding, I stepped out.
Immediately, the thrumming seemed louder.
“Only imagining it,” I murmured to myself. Not very convincingly, but at least I could listen to the sound of my voice instead of the thrum. “Only because you’re paying it any attention. Just find Molly, and she’ll tell you how silly you’re being.” But where was she? The only place I knew besides her room in this great house was the ballroom and adjoined kitchen. “Down this hall, and then left at the corner,” I decided, and broke into a run.
It seemed like I was going the right way—but then, everything looked the same in the hallways. There were no portraits, no distinguishing ornaments on the walls. Only iron doors, glaring in the candlelight.
Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
I ran faster and faster, even as each breath felt like it was tearing my throat. Around another corner, and another, following the hall where it led, hoping desperately that I would run across some bright room, somewhere I could take shelter. I felt like I was being chased, by ghost or spirit or simply a bad feeling.   Suddenly, the hall became a dead end. I slammed into it with both hands before I could stop myself.
All at once, each candle that lined the hall was extinguished, as if a wind had blown across them. Tiny threads of smoke curled upward in the darkness.
The dead end I now leaned against was not a wall, I realized. It was a door, the iron cold under my palms.
 The darkness was pressing in on me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to Molly’s room now. There was only one possible escape.
I felt for the doorknob, grasped it tight. Twisted my wrist until—click.
I pushed, its weight against mine, and it swung wide.
There wasn’t a room at all. Instead, I was staring down a steep staircase, all but the first three steps obscured in impenetrable blackness.
“You! Get away from there!”
I spun around. Someone was running toward me, a tall, skinny figure, a candle clutched in one hand and held aloft. The flame streamed behind the wick like a flag.
“Step away!” He leapt past me and slammed the door shut.
“Sergio,” I said, seeing his face.
“What were you doing?” He lowered the candle and the single tongue of light reflected in his eyes, making him look like he was burning from within. I shrank back.
“Nothing, I got lost—”
“So you decided to sneak around, prying into a house that doesn’t belong to you?”
“No! I was just looking for Molly—”
“She won’t always be able to protect you. Soon enough, you’ll have to answer for yourself.” His gaze rested on me for a second, the slightest hesitation before he turned and started walking away.
I followed him, unwilling to let him leave with the only lit candle. I kept my distance, wondering what I should be more afraid of: the darkness, or the fire I’d seen burning in his eyes.


How long was this

How long was this dream? LOL.
Very good, though. It's a very dreamlike dream! I want to know what's going on! Hurry and write/post more!

Laura Elizabeth | Mon, 05/02/2011

The best stories are those that are focused, unassuming, and self-confident enough to trust the reader to figure things out. --


Haha, it was definitely not

Haha, it was definitely not this in-depth! As with White Funeral, I take the main idea from my dream, but I let the story run with it, and I follow where it leads. 
Glad you're enjoying it!

Hannah W. | Mon, 05/02/2011

Thrum, thrum, thrum...

...goes my mind, as I read! So creepy, can't wait to see where its going! I have also scared myself whilst writing at night, so you're not alone, Hannah! 

  Say, why is it that the heroine always goes out and tries to find out just what is wrong? I mean, I know the story wouldn't be good if they didn't, but I would just lock the door and stay put. *shivers* 

Marlene E. Schuler | Mon, 05/02/2011

Visit yon blob of literary adventureness!

Yes, but then it would just

Yes, but then it would just be sitting out there forever.  Or maybe it might even come in.  You might as well go out and satisfy your curiosity.

I love this.  I felt my stomach clench while I was reading it.  Still makes me feel shivery.  This better be a long, long story.

Bridget | Mon, 05/02/2011

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question." - Harun Yahya


I love this Hannah, you arer a master writer. It so realistict, but at the same time not, like a dream. :)

I have done the creeping myself out too, but then you write the most awesome things!

Bernadette | Mon, 05/02/2011

As my brother James would say...

...this just gets interstinger and interestinger!

Mary | Mon, 05/02/2011

Brother: Your character should drive a motorcycle.
Me: He can't. He's in the wilderness.
Brother: Then make it a four-wheel-drive motorcycle!


For some reason, it reminds me of "The Girl in the Fireplace," a Doctor Who episode...

Julie | Tue, 05/03/2011

Formerly Kestrel

 wow that made me shivery. 

 wow that made me shivery. 

Renee | Tue, 05/03/2011


Really, Hannah... you are zee professional.... You are an incredible author! I love you soooo much that I want to hold you forever in my arms!



Elizabeth | Wed, 05/04/2011


The Holy Spirit is the quiet guest of our soul." -St. Augustine

Ooh! Do I spy a really cool

Ooh! Do I spy a really cool character? I do indeedy! Not necessarily a hero, though.

Anna | Wed, 05/04/2011

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief


User login

Please read this before creating a new account.