4Vanilla Lotion By- Shannon Miller
She loved her Vanilla Lotion. It always brightened up her mood. The smell reminded her of the cookies her Mum would bake on a warm spring day. The Lotion made her hands smooth as silk. She loved her Vanilla Lotion. It gave her life...
The only sound was the soft rubbing together of her hands as she rubbed in her Vanilla Hand Lotion. The door to the large study was closed, and the windows locked with the curtains drawn. Her source of light was but a small table lamp, with a purple thin veil covering it, giving off a eery glow.
She had started rubbing the Vanilla Lotion up her arms, as her hands had become greasy with too much Lotion. From the corner of her eye she seen a flash of sliver, and whipped her head around, causing her neck to give off an earsplitting crack. The sound echoed off the high ceiling of the room, and bounced back to her, causing her to shudder, at not only the pain, but the sound itself.
Rubbing her neck, she realized that her neck now had Vanilla Lotion on it, so she began rubbing it on her neck too. Again, out of the corner of her, the flash of silver, although, this time, there appeared to be a black handle with a hand attached. She slowing turned around in her seat, not wanting any more pain in her neck, but only seen the study empty.
Deciding it was a tired minds way of telling her to get to bed, she finished rubbing the Vanilla Lotion up her arms and on her neck. When she was finished, her hands were still quite greasy. She tried to wipe it on her pants, but all she did was dirty them. Her hands were still practically dripping with Vanilla Lotion.
The hairs on the nape of her neck began to stand up. Goose flesh covered her arms. A tingly feeling started in her toes and swept over her body in one immense wave of fear. She began to stand up from the chair, only to have a pair of ice cold hands push her back down by the shoulders.
Something cool was placed against her neck, and the next thing she knew blood was pouring down the front of her blue jumper, to pool between her legs and drip steadily to the floor. She wanted to move, but her body couldn't. The fear that this person had a knife and obviously wasn't afraid to use it, kept her from disobeying by standing.
Whoever it was walked away from her and over to a window. A long fingered hand of the palest colour she had ever seen, parted the curtains less then an inch and peered through, to outside with a lidless eye.
The Thing apparently found something distracting outside as it did not turn around to the young woman. She finally got her legs working and slowly tried to stand. Her body was shaking as if it were going through an earthquake in itself, from the lack of blood, that was coming from her throat.
Trying to take no notice, she half limped, half stumbled around the straight, high backed chair, and grabbed on to the table behind it. Her breath was coming in sharp hitches, giving her the feeling of drowning. She started towards the door, only to find nothing along the way to hold herself up with. So she dropped to her knees with a loud thud.
The Thing at the window turned around, and looked at her. More curious then anything. The lidless eyes continued to watch her crawl to the door. To struggle to breath. The footsteps of it could not be heard, it didn't appear to even walk. Just float inches from the ground.
She made it to the door, and attempted to grab the handle to help her self up, but the greasiness of her hands was still there and they just slipped around the brass knob. It continued to watch her, curiosity slowly turning into amusement. The Thing found this funny that she were suffering like this.
She managed to pull her self up by a small table near the door, and leaned against the wall. Her breathing coming in even shorter, sharper intakes. They were more like gasps for survival then anything. Itwas closing the distance between them at a considerably slow pace. Apparently, there was no rush, nor no intent of it seeing her die painless.
She stayed leaning against the wall, and tried not too look at It. She started to cry. There was no pain anymore, only numbness. Everything was black around the edges of her vision, the rest blurred by tears and the unconsciousness that was attempting to over take her.
It was losing it's patience. The pace toward her was picked seemed to notice this, and her crying subsided to quiet sobs and sniffles, and she jerkily brought herself to the door knob. She grasped on to it and tried to turn it. But to no avail. Her hands had too much Vanilla Lotion.
It fell upon her, allowing her one blood curdling scream before tearing the knife through her throat. The dark, rich liquid gushed out in all directions. It seemed to go through the thing and land on the carpet behind it. It carried the woman's body to the chair she had been in, and placed her in it in a sitting position.
It walked back to the door and picked up the severed head, looking into her eyes. Placing her head on her lap, It layed her hands atop the head to prevent it from rolling onto the floor. Her Vanilla Lotion lay discarded on the table beside the chair, opened with a little of the thick, white liquid on the table. Closing the lid, It placed the Lotion upright, as she had always left it, then quietly exited the room.
She loved her Vanilla Lotion. It always brightened up her mood. The smell reminded her of the cookies her Mum would bake on a warm spring day. The Lotion made her hands smooth as silk. She loved her Vanilla Lotion. But it was the death of her...