Mathilda Crescent - a kinda scary short story I wrote
“I’m ready to tell you the whole story,” I tell my psychiatrist, Dr. Gilmore. He’s a kind, slender man with coppery hair and beige glasses. He is assessing me for schizophrenia.
“You got this!” He beams encouragingly.
I inhale sharply, as I begin to narrate that fateful night…
***
“The rain penetrated the glowing streetlamps, casting the suburban street in a sinister light. Every building was shrouded in shadow, looming in the darkness like foreboding sentinels. I was cocooned in my thoughts, tired, and eager to get home.
“Turn right onto Mathilda Crescent in 5 kilometres,” the crisp voice of the navigator filled my car with its authoritative sound. I steered to the right, and that’s when I saw him.
A man emerging from the darkness, elusive against the flickering streetlamps.
He jogged across my car, and I swerved.
But it was too late.
The sickening crunch of bones and a metallic screech pierced the sultry air, echoing through the street. He tumbled along the road, contorting grotesquely.
My heart raced, trepidation clawing my throat as I watched it unfold.
Had I killed someone?
Trembling, I leaped from my car. I teetered towards the motionless man, my shallow breath trailing me like cigar smoke. Kneeling down, I pressed my fingers against his clammy wrist.
His pulse was faint. He was alive.
I hadn’t killed him.
I drew back, my chest loosening. The man was shrouded in darkness, but spasming light illuminated his foaming mouth, dancing across his pale skin. His eyes were closed.
Calmly, I dialled 000.
I’m not a murderer, I reminded myself, as the voice of a dispatcher filled my ears.
“How can I help you?”
“I just hit a man with my car. He’s alive but unconscious. He needs emergency services,” I explained. “I’m at Mathilda Crescent, Ascot.”
The dispatcher remained eerily silent.
Finally, he made a soft, muffled sound. A chuckle.
“Ma’am, are you crazy or lying? Mathilda Crescent was demolished 20 years ago!”
With that, he hung up.
I looked back at the man, still lying there. He was definitely real.
Realer than ever as he unexpectedly lunged at me, seizing my arm.
I was too shocked to scream. I jerked my wrist away, looking into his eyes as they snapped open.
They were globes of white, pooling with coagulated blood.
I shrieked in horror, my heart leaping into my throat.
Every part of me told me to run.
Far away.”
***
I finish, looking at Dr. Gilmore. My nerves fray with anxiety.
“D’you think I imagined it all? Am I really schizophrenic?” I cry, a hostile psychiatric hospital flashing in my mind.
“No. You just gave the dispatcher the wrong street,” there is an unusual edge to Gilmore’s voice.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Your navigator led you astray. You hit the man on Tara Avenue, not Mathilda Crescent.”
I stare at him in stunned silence. I’m relieved to be non-schizophrenic, but I’m confused.
“How d’you know?” I ask.
His expression is unfathomable. The map of creases on his face distort with…rage?
Unexpectedly, he removes his glasses.
I gulp.
His eyes are purely white, crusted with parched blood.
“Because I’m the man you hit that night,” he seethes. “You left me, half–blind, to die in the bone-chilling cold, as I begged for help.”
My breath flees. I remember his desperate grasp around me…
I want to run.
But the doors are locked.
“Let’s continue our session!” A grin flickers across his lips. “I’ll show you what it’s like to be me.”
He smiles, drawing long, metal scissors from his pocket.
They point at my eyes.
I wrote this last year for a suspense english test for yr 7. what do u think? Did u like? The word limit was 600 words so thats prolly why theres some interesting word choices there haha
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