Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 44

clinging on to Pa’s calloused ones on my first day of school; a comical smile splayed across my face as I proudly showed
Pa my first fallen tooth; Pa clapping along to my song during the New Year Festivities…
The doors bolted shut behind me with a loud thud that reverberated through the hall. I snapped out of my
reminiscence and wandered further into the house. From the newel post where Pa had stood on my birthday, I could
see the banisters casting ominous shadows on the wall, shifting as if they had a life of their own. I ventured up the first
couple of steps and peered upstairs.
“Hello?”
My trembling voice trailed off into the depths of the shadows, engulfed by the deadly silence.
“Is anyone here?”
No reply once again.
As I turned, ready to leave, I heard footsteps coming from upstairs. The floorboards groaned, loudening with
each step. Out of nowhere, an apparition materialised at the top of the stairs, beginning its descent. My body was frozen
stiff with fear. I stood there, unable to resist as the shadow enveloped me in its harsh embrace, suffocating and choking
me until my world dissolved into oblivion.
*
*
*
*
*
I awoke with a dull throbbing in my temples. Propping myself up onto my elbows, I found myself in a room that
was bare except for a bed placed in the centre of the room.
I had been allocated the room at the end of the corridor. My room. It still smelt faintly of lilies, but all my
belongings had been discarded. The comfort of my childhood made the pain ebb away, receding into the murky
shadows. But every night, the gash was reopened, the pain relived.
Suddenly the door creaked open and a man stepped into the room. He was a mustachioed gentleman, sporting
gleaming medals on his lapel that clinked with every move he made. He clamboured onto the bed, pinning me to the
bedframe. All struggle was futile, for no matter how hard I thrashed, I could not escape from the phantom that loomed
above me. I watched helplessly as he encroached in on me.
“You are gorgeous, my dear,” he whispered in my ear.
I shuddered at his raspy voice. Shivers snaked down my spine. It felt like a hallucination, as if he was infusing
poison into my bloodstream.
“ Don’t call me dear! ” I wanted to spit in his face, but I resisted the urge, choking back the words that were
attempting to claw their way out. He left with a satisfied smug at the end of the night. I winced in pain as I headed back
to bed, my bruised and battered body hanging as limp as a dead lily.