Sorry I'm Late

This is a short story I wrote for the Halloween competition.
It tells the tale of Archie, and the memories he can't forget. She won't let him forget. But who is she? And who's story really is this?


5. The Truth.

And there I was. I felt my hand burn as I struggled to find the door knob of the attic, not looking at my hand. I wouldn’t look. I would never look. Blood began to seep from my forehead. It was her. I could feel her panic inside the scarlet droplets, begging me not to step foot in what I still hoped could have been inside my imagination. The droplets began to burn, I could sense her anger as it richocheted inside my eyes. And there I was. Glass bottled surrounded me, each with the black powder inside. And each with those little white sticky lables. The same labels we’d used in class for our folders. My hand burned, but the jars told me what I needed to know.

The boy stepped inside the room. Twenty identical glass bottles lay on the top shelf. Each with black powder inside. Each with a white sticky label. He looked closer at the writing on the labels. One said Natalie Spencer. Another Jack Chambers. But before the shrill scream inside his head could pierce the air, there was a tap behind him

 “Sorry I’m late.” She said. “Recognise the names?” I didn’t speak. “Oh, Archie. I did warn you what happen, my love. I warned you not to come in here.” I looked up at her. “Mum?”

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