In Spite of Prior Trauma
In Spite of Prior Trauma horror stories

xdolusloki Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
The most calm time of night that we all love.

In Spite of Prior Trauma

The chill from the fan in the corner of the room swept over his eyelids as they opened. His sight first met with the bedside table, on it a framed picture of a couple in a forest.

Our hero shakes himself awake in the night and turns over on his back.

It was the stillness of night that one would normally feel comfortable in, in spite of any prior trauma behind the darkness, most would say calming.

His eyes scanned over the contents of the room he had slept in so many times before: a closet to the right,

filled to the brim with clothes and subtle figures his eyes had tried to deceive him with. His bedroom door to the left.

The front wall: his electronics, and a mini fridge to the left wall accompanied by a shut window.

He sat up, pushing his back up against the rear wall where his headboard kept his skull comfortable.

To the left of him also lies his lover. Her ginger mane covers her features as she shares a blanket with him. Adoration in his eyes as his gaze met her bare back.

He could make out her figure underneath the cover and he had sighed loudly upon relief that he had merely awoken from a sleep.

Upon the breath exhaling from his lips, they curled into a smirk. To himself he thought, "all was well.

" What gave him permission to have this thought? Well it was the stillness of night that one would normally feel comfortable in. In spite of prior trauma.

A second thought crept into his frontal lobe. Now, that thought sent that chill breeze that the fan had been so generous to offer, right down his spinal cord.

He had no fan.

The next thing to stumble its way inside his brain couldn't exactly be called a thought, more of a feeling. Almost like a small jolt of electricity. The brain tries to piece things together.

At this moment he turns his head to the open window on his left and his anxiety fades.

The subtle color of blue floated gracefully towards him in the form of soft, see-through drapes; complementing the peaceful view and serenade of scratches from the tree and branch outside,

against his window.

Again, he falls into repose. A third thought replaced the second: "My mind must be playing tricks on me" while the exterior realm was graced with a playful chuckle.

His right palm met his chest in familiarity, eyelids closing. He felt pride being able to laugh at himself.

It felt like a minute, before his head once again turned to face the window with eyes wide. The echo of his previous thought almost left his lips, "My mind must be playing tricks on me!"

He had no tree outside his window.

What could only be described as tendrils made of tree bark shot forth at the bed from the open window.

A myriad of tentacles of abnormal size, pressed and coiled together to make some sort of limb.

It could only be described as lubricated and dripping to the touch, moss still growing like mold along the serpent appendage that these tendrils managed to form.

One could describe the girth and unsymmetrical design had it not been so dark.

One could even have discerned the bodily form of said monstrosity, but he had thanked himself tremendously afterwards he had not.

For just the crooked, macabre shape in the blackness behind his window was enough to inflict fear like bee stings in the heart.

Horrified at his newly discovered visitor, a silent scream he prayed would escape had not emerged from the gaping jaw of the victim. That chill had not only taken his spine, but his soul.

Paralyzed by what could only be categorized as awe, his mattress seemed lighter as the trance deepened. Or so he thought.

As regained senses allowed him to realize this amorphous arm was not intending him any harm.

Serpents were truly the best way to describe the "fingers" as they took their time slithering amongst the woman.

He began to see the imposing threat from these fingers crawling beneath the covers.

Snaked tightly around and between his lover's thighs, a perverted tendril poked out from the tasteful blanket almost in taunt of him.

The larger tendrils began to take hold and rear their horrors, one aggressively taking the neck of his lover and twisting it.

At least the creature had been gentle, for she had not awoken until that very moment. It was at that time, her eyelids opened. Narrow at first but then wide as the sun.

It's that fearful, almost dreadful gaze that he has to remember her by.

It was at that very second she was gone.

Not "gone" in the sense of being dead. "Gone" in the sense of disappearing. One would probably say "vanished," had they not seen the brutal way that woman had been whisked out of the bedroom.

The sheer force and speed of being not "pulled," but whipped out of bed.

The back breaking whip cracked all the way back to its owner, who our hero couldn't help but almost feel the excitement of from behind the blue veil.

Now the "owner," that thing whom that "arm" belonged to; one could say it vanished.

One could say that the creature vanished because by the time our hero had worked up his nerve and gotten the flatmates from across the hall, there was no evidence to be found.

No horrendously shaped and ghastly tree, no evidence of his lover being there that night and not a chance in hell of anyone believing him. Kind enough to shut the window on his way out, even.

Our hero shakes awake from a struggling slumber, alone. While his back lay once again against his head board, a cough breaks the silence as a hand reaches up to cover his mouth.

His fingers bristle with the beard that has taken over his chin, wearily looking over to his bedside table. He chooses not to examine the candid picture of himself in a forest.

He inhales deeply and shuts his eyes. His bedroom laid with stagnant air as the tranquility of the moment overtook him. A stillness of night that one would normally feel comfortable in.

In spite of prior trauma.

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