In celebration of being Freshly Pressed and gaining some new followers, I submit to you another creepy short story I wrote back in January. I was inspired by a picture I found on deviantart and my own sister’s love of horror films and delightfully dark plot twists.
This will be the second short story I post here, and while I plan to submit more, I want to mention that while both have the same tone, not all of my writing is horror themed.
The strangest part of the dream was the tights. To her knowledge, Ivy did not own a pair of blue tights. Or any blue clothing, for that matter. Blue was the color of starchy foods, the texture of unwashed russet potatoes.
In the dream she was dead.
Her petite body hung from a plastic hanger in a bare white closet. She herself opened the doors, and the self standing outside of the dead body was dressed exactly like it. The tights were itchy, and seeing her dead body hanging there make her feel sick to her stomach.
When she woke up, she opened her closet doors. In a few days the smell would be unbearable. Now it smelled faintly like the piece of seaweed she’d tucked in her pocket at the beach when she was a kid. The kelp pod attached to the slimy ribbon made her think of a head, and she’d tightly tied a string around its neck and dangled it from the hook inside the window until it dried and the musty smell made her throw up.
Carefully, she dragged the heavy garment bag out and draped it awkwardly over her sturdiest rolling suitcase.
She took care in dressing in front of her full length mirror, her almost elfin frame wrapped in a black sweater dress and orange tights that didn’t itch. She made a New Years resolution then, pouting her childlike mouth at her reflection. This year, she would be more like her sister. Everyone loved her sister. Her sister made an effort to look their age. Her sister didn’t collect irrational fears.
On her way back home she picked up a gallon of bleach and a pair of blue tights.