Horror and Thriller Fiction posted January 9, 2020


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Short horror story

The Last Day of Confinement

by CrystieCookie999

Horror Writing Contest Contest Winner 

It has been so long since I saw the sun, I am starting to forget what sunlight even is. I have been leaning next to the carcasses of my remaining brother and sister for weeks now. In the darkness, I can visualize them all. We are constrained in one position, almost vertically standing. As time passes, their skin is becoming more shriveled, yet the liquid surrounding us seems to keep the lower parts of our bodies plumped out. The only food I can find is some kind of mold growing near the corner of the roof. It started out tasting almost like blue cheese, but lately it tastes more like sour, warm bread. Still, it is better than nothing.

Very occasionally, maybe once, twice, or even three times a day, there is a sudden flood of light, but no interaction with any of us. No one comes to remove the carcasses. No one comes to inquire as to why my tears keep sliding down the sides of this cold enclosure. Still, I have an uncomfortable feeling that each time the light floods this place, someone's eyes are upon me, upon the dead bodies, looking for something. Sometimes I can hear dull, heavy footsteps outside. Sometimes I can hear vague voices arguing, but I can never make out the words. Everything seems muffled, distant, even alien... If only I knew what it was those eyes wanted!

What I remember most about home is the backyard. I have always been someone who loved the outdoors. I literally grew up surrounded by a lovely, natural arbor of vines and leaves. Green leaves above me always felt as natural as the sky. I had no quarrel with butterflies, bees, wasps, or ladybugs, and my brothers and sisters felt the same way. Mother and Father had put down roots and let us grow up surrounded by constant company and friends. They did not seem concerned if we grew a little plump. "Curves are cute!" Mom always said. But curves seem to have shortened our lives. We were cut down in the prime of youth, and to end up here, in this cold, dank place...

As time passed after that awful day, the carcasses of my brothers and sisters were removed, usually one or two at at a time. I want to scream out every time I see them lifted up and out of this vitreous, cold, and clammy enclosure, but no sound comes out. Then the light disappears again. I hear some kind of crunching, brittle sound, muffled yet again. Is someone mangling their corpses to remove nutrients? If only, if only we had not come to Woodstock. If only we could have stayed in our home and backyard forever. What demons, what monsters plucked us from our homes! I do not even know their names. This awful kidnapping, these deaths, this sour smell I have to live with every day is demoralizing, and there is no escape!

Lately, too, I have become aware of some mechanical hum, just loud enough to interfere with sound sleep. I must give in to death, to this mold that has been growing ever larger. I can no longer see through this transparent prison. I can only lean up against the carcasses of my remaining siblings, Salgama and little Pepino, as his nickname goes. My parents are long-gone, too, kidnapped the same time, that same devastating, unforgettable day. I catch a glimpse of Pepino. His dark green skin was the pride of my parents. Maybe that was why we were kidnapped and cut off from our former lives, due to prejudice against our firm bodies and lovely green skin color. I shudder. What other reason could there be? And lately, the vinegar smell is so pervasive, I feel like vomiting.
...

"Eww, ask Mom if I can throw these pickles out. There's mold growing on the last three."

"Ok, that's pretty disgusting, all right. Man, some things in the back of the fridge have a life of their own, they've been there so long. Gotta do grilled cheese sandwiches instead, I guess!"
...

At last, release, this falling into oblivion. Death is welcome, far away from that cold, dark, white prison.


Horror Writing Contest
Contest Winner

Recognized


With apologies to anyone who is a fan of Claussen pickles, whose headquarters are in Woodstock, but it's Woodstock, Illinois in the U.S.A., and to the best of my knowledge, they do not grow mold any faster than any other kind of pickle.
Salgama: Latin for pickles
Pepino: Spanish for cucumber
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Artwork by thakashkumar at FanArtReview.com

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© Copyright 2020. CrystieCookie999 All rights reserved.
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