Alexis Walters, a teenage girl is having trouble, when it comes to sleeping. But what's causing it?


6. Blood Or Paint

My world seemed a rollercoaster of torment. I fell to the floor, clutching my head, as eveything in the house span around me. A scatter bomb of thoughts had exploded in my head. So many things to consider at once I just couldn't contain it. First, the consistent nightmares, then my dads death. But who could be at the door? I got to my feet again, and softly padded my way towards the front door. I was still wearing nothing but my dressing gown and my slippers. It was now tipping it down outside, the rain was making loud smacking noises against the window panes. As I creaked open the door I peered one eye round the wooden frame so that I could see the raging weather outside. But there was nobody there. Not a single object or person. Just the heavy thud as tonnes of water fell from the sky and hit the grass in the front garden. I peered my head round a little more to get a full view of the garden, but still nothing. I closed the door, as the chill was starting to reach me, what with hardly anything on. I made my way upstairs to get dressed, pulling myself up what seemed a heaving mountain.

Upon entering my room, I was astounded by the most unforeseen sight you could have ever imagined. Any human being would have fainted at the what I saw. I didn't faint. So then that raises the question, am I human? After the past events I would most certainly have said I wasn't. Humans don't go through the torment that I have experienced over the past few days. At least no humans I know. But what did all this mean? Why were my nightmares related to those murders? So many questions left unanswered.

Smeared across the wall directly above my bed, in front of the door, was a large work of graffiti, but not the kind you'd expect to see in the street. It was what seemed to be a message. "You have a black heart" was written across the wall, in blood. It was sickening. At first I screamed before covering my mouth with my hand. My stomach was churning inside my body. It wasn't just the words, the ones from my dream that haunted me. It was the fact that it was written in blood. I tried to convince myself it was paint and someone was playing a cruel trick. But I hadn't told anyone about my dreams. I had kept it quiet ever since it began. The surge of emotion I had was indescribable. Pain reaching through my cranium as my mind came to realise the shear gravity of the situation. Gathering myself, after the shock of the new design in my room, I raised myself up onto the end of my bed and stepped towards the blood stained wall, examining it. Who's blood? I sat on my bed and held my head as it throbbed, complaining about the overflow of information.

I raised my head ever so slightly from my drooping position. My face sodden with tears, so wet that my cheeks actually felt soggy. As I did so, I gazed out of my window, the rain still lapping down onto my window, like my tears on a larger scale. The wind had began to pick up as well. I could see the trees forced by the current of air. Pointing in a particular direction, as if it had a meaning. Their branches flying in unison. And that was when I saw it. . .

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