Sweet Escape. Flash Fiction.

Declan looked at the knife. There was only one way that this would ever end. He knew that, he had know it for months. The blade glinted in the light of his lamp. He picked it up and ran one finger along its edge, hissing as it cut through his finger. It was sharp enough, it would be quick, as painless as it possibly could be. Outside something cackled in the darkness. Declan didn’t turn around, if he ignored them they seemed to get bored after an hour or two. The cackles started again as something banged against the window in a light, steady rhythm. He didn’t want to see them, to look at their old, wrinkled faces. The demons outside continued to taunt him, yelling out insults, each one was met with uproarious laughter. He didn’t bother listening to music, or trying to drown it out. He had only tried that once, his headphones and speakers would only play their voices and once they were on they were impossible to turn off, the voices only getting louder and louder, filling the inside of the house until he thought he couldn’t stand it for a second longer.

With a deep breath he dragged the knife across his arm, leaning heavily, cutting deep. He gasped at the pain, blood started pumping from his arm, his hand feeling weak he grabbed the knife and after a few seconds of panting, he cut across the other. The knife clattered to the floor, his breathing seemed harder, like there was a weight on his lungs. The blood which had flowed freely before was now slowing, turning into sullen bursts. He closed his eyes slowly, each blink felt like an eternity. Finally his eyes closed and he couldn’t open them again. He felt cold, but his arms felt like they were on fire. The pain began to recede, drowned out by a white noise. He could no longer hear the howls, the cackles, it was all starting to fade away. Finally, he would have some peace.

Cold, sharp hands clawed at him, his eyes flew open, he gasped for air. Above him he heard the cackles, louder than ever before. They had never come inside the house before. Their old, filthy rags drifted over his body, hands pulling and tugging, pinching and groping. One of them, the youngest, paused when she saw he was awake, her skin was smooth and plump, her lips a deep red, she smiled revealing sharp teeth, pieces of rotting meat were stuck between them.

“We could never get at you before, not while you were alive, you were protected then, but now you’re ours to do with as we please.” She leaned in, her rancid breath washing over him as her lips met his, her long thin tongue darting forwards and forcing its way through his lips, he screamed into her mouth as spikes raked at the inside of his cheeks, filling his mouth with hot, salty blood. Her tongue caught on his lip, dragging it forward and her teeth clamped down, biting off his lower lip. He screamed, then began to cough as blood started to flow down his throat. She threw back her head, drops of blood flying outwards, and swallowed his lip, around the others still cackled. The blood flow slowed, then stopped, he felt a searing heat across his mouth then it all stopped. Carefully he prodded with his tongue to find his lip had regrown and healed.  She smiled down at him again, his blood dripping from her chin, “Don’t worry lover, we’re going to take our time. We’ve all the time in the world here” Still smiling, she bent down again, her tongue darting out. As it forced his way inside he began to scream once more.



About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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