Happy Spooky Season! I am beyond thankful for all the entries submitted for my first writing contest, The Write or Die Ghost Story Contest. I was not expecting so many submissions. You guys are truly amazing. Picking just one story as the winner is so, so hard, and I want everyone who entered to know that your stories were great. I look forward to seeing what you all come up with next year.
Okay, moving on to this year's winner. Everyone, please give a round of applause to... Peighton Marsh! Her short story, "Vitamines Will Help You Sleep" is a chilling story set in the 1800s that starts with a girl who hears mice in the attic.
"Vitamines Will Help You Sleep" by Peighton Marsh
Monday, October the third, 1888
I think there are mice in the attic. Maybe a polecat. Whatever it may be, it has taken a liking to scuttling about late at night. I awoke in the early hours of the morning and pressed my ear against my east wall. There was scratching and scurrying. At one point I swear I heard gnawing. I am not certain what it may be eating, as we do not store edibles in the attic. Strange.
Perhaps I will mention it to Uncle when he brings my supper and vitamines.
He has no knowledge of the noises. ‘They made quite a racket!’ I told him, but he just shook his head. Says I must have been dreaming.
I shall see if this dream returns tonight.
Tuesday, October the fourth, 1888
I was certain it wasn’t a dream. I knew it as a bottom fact.
The noises returned last night for a second performance. I fell asleep quickly, as with most nights, but was awoken later to the horrible sounds of scratching.
I was straight out of bed this time.
I knelt by the walls and listened for what felt like hours upon hours. Little feet shinning around, teeth chattering, and the hollow sound of things bumping together. I can not for the life of me discern what creature would make such sounds. Mice? A raccoon? It is certainly not a beaver up there chewing the wooden beams.
Uncle questioned if I had another dream. I told him no.
Thankfully he does not read my journal.
Thursday, October the fifth, 1888
I have slept very little the last days.
The sounds torment me. They grow louder and more complex each night.
Uncle must believe me now. I heard him quite early this morning, climbing up into the attic with traps. The clinking of chains and metal jaws is a familiar one.
I never would wish harm or death upon an innocent creature, but whatever it is has stolen too much of my sleep.
I hope it finds the sense to leave our home before its life is taken.
When Uncle arrived with breakfast and my vitamines, I gave him my thanks for his effort. He seemed rather dismissive about the whole thing. It’s curious, however. When I clarified to him that I had heard him setting up the traps, he paled.
Perhaps he feels bad for waking me.
It has been an uneventful day. I find it hard to focus on my books and drawings, and I grow only more fatigued as the sun creeps along the sky. But I have hope for tonight. When Uncle brought my usual supper and vitamines, he gave me a tablet of a new supplement to help me sleep. He said I should take it just after I eat.
I have never seen such a remedy before, so small and blue, but he assured me it would help.
Friday, October the sixth, 1888
The refreshment I feel today is immense. I slept so soundly, I had not a single dream. I told Uncle of this when he came to bring my morning meal. He seemed just as happy as I! He delighted me in allowing me to take a stroll about the garden. The sun felt glorious on my skin. The wind was crisp and blew the apple trees all about. It was beautiful.
I will use my new-found energy today to read more of my books. I may even draw myself a new landscape. I do love those.
Maybe I will draw the apple trees.
Saturday, October the seventh, 1888
Another night of sound sleep. I am overcome with joy!
I can not visit the garden today, but Uncle gave me a new book to read. The cover has been torn, but the title reads A Study In Scarlet. He said he found it whilst cleaning out a customer's home. I am ever so grateful he thought to bring it for me.
Sunday, October the eighth, 1888
I am devastated.
I have found myself deeply enveloped in my new book (it is a delight) but I have made a grave mistake because of this. Uncle came to bring my supper and sleeping tablet. It was a lovely meal of potatoes and soup. But in my haste to return to my reading, I knocked the supplement from my bedside table and it vanished between the floorboards. They are ever so rickety and holey.
My slumber is ruined. I will not see Uncle until the morning, and I have no way to reach him before then.
I can only assume I will return here to write this evening.
Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
Is this the consequence of not taking my supplement? Am I now ill and dreaming horrible illusions?
The sounds coming from around me have shaken me to my core.
Scratching, gnawing, whining, groaning. Why are there voices?
There have never been voices.
None of them belong to Uncle.
They whisper through the walls and moan above my head.
I can not bear this.
I will pry up my floorboards if I must.
Monday, October the ninth, 1888
Uncle was concerned when I slept through breakfast. I did not tell him I lost my supplement. I do not need him fearing for my sanity as I am now.
I am grateful the day has been quiet. Uncle is out cleaning homes for customers, and I am back in my novel. My stomach aches.
I do hope he returns soon to bring me a meal.
My curiosity will best me yet.
I have pocketed the tablet. I wrapped an apple and a bit of bread from my supper in an old kerchief and stowed it away beneath my pillow. I will stay awake to investigate these noises, then take my supplement and sleep through until tomorrow. I will have a snack to satiate me until lunch.
This was a horrible mistake. I feel as though my world is collapsing around me but I cannot bring myself to swallow the pill. I have walked the perimeter of my room for hours on end, dragging my ear across the wallpaper.
They whisper to me.
“I am hungry. Let me go. It is dark.”
“The man is coming.”
“THE MAN IS COMING.”
Whatever is happening is made from another world. I fear I have lost my mind.
I must know---
The final word was scrawled, with excess ink brushed across the page.
As the sun threatened to breach the horizon, sixteen-year-old Mary threw down her journal and flew to the wall. She raked her fingernails across it, scraping wallpaper from the thin wood. It fell around her bare feet like ragged confetti. Splinters pierced the thin skin around her fingers, and she yelled out in anguish.
“I need to know!” she shrieked. She didn’t care if Uncle heard her. She didn’t care about anything other than what was hiding in her walls.
Hands shaking, she ran over and yanked hard on her door. The heavy padlock jerked against it but did not give. She spun on her heels and scanned the small room for anything she could use. The metal legs on her bed caught her eye. They weren’t very large, but they were strong and were only held on by an iron pin threaded through holes in the frame. Mary frantically dropped to her knees and, with all her might, tore the pin out.
The leg popped off and rolled across her floor, and the bed crashed down after it. She winced at the sound of it all. But she could not be stopped.
She gouged at the wall with the pipe, grinning maniacally as it splintered and eventually gave way. Though the hole was sufficiently large, she could not cease her hammering. When her arms ached and shook beneath the weight of the pipe, she stopped. Her chest heaved with every breath. She finally pulled away from the wall.
Her whole body began to tremble as she stepped forward and peered deeper into the hole. Where one would expect to see wood beams and shreds of fiber for insulation, she could see only cluttered remains. Bones, white and yellow, piled high to the ceiling. Children's shoes, gloves, and hats.
Chains.
Mary sucked in a breath as she ran her hand along the inside of the wall. Long rivulets lay carved into the wood, ripped by tiny fingernails. How many people had been in this room before her? How many were now forever imprisoned in her walls?
The moon crept up to peek through the window, and the room went cold. Mary felt her eyes snap to the hole again as though pulled by a string. She could not look away.
“He told me to call him Uncle. He locked me away.”
The voices all spoke over one another.
“He said he was helping me. He said I was ill. I couldn’t wake up.”
Her heart pounded in her ears.
The man is coming.
She didn’t hear the door open until it was too late.
Thursday, October the thirteenth, 1888
My name is Elizabeth. I am fourteen years old. The man here says I am to call him only ‘Uncle’. He came to my home a few days ago, offering to clean it for my family. Mother and Father were on errands, but they have been so busy, I thought a nice clean would do us well.
Uncle said he found horrible fungus and chemicals in the cellar. He said it was going to poison me and we must get out as soon as possible. He insisted that I had to stay away from people, as to not pass on the illness, and he would have the doctor contact Mother to let her know I would be away.
I feel fine right now, but if the man says the doctor wishes me to be isolated, so be it. I could not bear to see my family fall ill because of me.
I have been given a small room on the upper floor of the house. I like that I have a window, and the flowery walls are lovely. I wonder if he prepared it special for me, seeing as there is a large patch of recently-pasted wallpaper near the door.
Uncle says he will bring my meals, and plenty of vitamines to keep my health up, but I must stay in this room until the doctor says it is safe for me to return home.
I was given a book to read and this journal to write in. It must have belonged to someone else before me, as it is quite thin, and many pages have been torn from the front. But I am grateful nonetheless.
I believe this will be a nice stay.
Friday, October the fourteenth, 1888
I think there are mice in the attic.
I hope you all enjoyed the creepy story as much as I did, and I hope there are no mice scurrying around in your attic. Thanks for reading! Be sure to hit like, comment your thoughts, and share this story!
Stay Spooky,
Kait The Writer
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