The "Solved" Mysteries of Harris Burdick -- LiveWire Teen Forums

Ah, fuck, I'm posting it.

I did Under the Rug. DUN JUDGE ME.

Readygo:

There's a girl in the cellar who refuses to die.

She's been there for a week now. I don't know her name or why it was her that I chose. I've given her nothing since I've locked her in that dank, moldy chamber. Yet, for now, she still breathes.
She likes to knock. She knocks on the walls, and on the ceiling. I am often greeted by a "rap, tap, tap" while I am trying to drift to sleep in the room overhead. I do not mind. I find it quite soothing.

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There's a girl in the cellar who recently died. I still hear the "rap, tap, tap" late at night while I am trying to fall asleep. She still likes to knock. She's picked up... other habits, as well.
At first they were small things; a flickering light, or a cool gust of air. She haunted me like a daft child who couldn't distinguish the difference between myself and a schoolyard prankster. It made me laugh. I found it slightly offensive.
Then one night, I heard her voice, as clear as though she were standing right next to me. It started out as a soft, weeping cry, and I grinned at the familiarity of it. I'd heard this sound before. It had been a wonderful accompaniment to the knocking, whilst she'd still been living in my cellar. But the sound changed. It slowly became a low, mocking, deliberate laugh, then a cackle, then finally a horrible wailing shriek that cut through the soles of my feet and up my spine, relentlessly resonating in my skull.
It didn't stop until I submerged my head underwater. It didn't stop until I drowned her.

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Two weeks passed and it happened again. That same soft sobbing was back, and I braced myself for what I knew would follow. But that was only the beginning.
This time, the sheer intensity of the wailing itself was threatening to split me in two. This time, nothing would stop it. Even after I'd nearly drowned myself, the raucous noise continued without even a hint of ceasing.
Then other things started happening. The ground beneath me began to shake, as if from an earthquake. Pictures fell from the walls, and plaster from the ceiling. Then, right in front of where I stood, I saw something protrude from beneath the carpet. I tried to stop it. I tried to stop all of it. But the shrieking grew louder, the quaking grew stronger, and the carpet stretched and stretched until it tore open and a slender, decaying hand reached out to touch the tip of my shoe.
Then, suddenly, everything stopped. Silence took place of the screaming, and the rotting hand withdrew itself. The floor mended behind it, and the shaking calmed. Everything was back in it's proper place. Everything was precisely where it should be, and precisely where it had been before. Everything was in order.
I was not.

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There is a girl in the cellar who refuses to die.
She lives in my floorboards, my walls, in my mind.
I killed her body, but I couldn't kill her soul,
And now she won't rest 'til she swallows me whole.

Post edited at 9:09 pm on Jan. 20, 2010 by Tempest

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Just watch how quickly the young and na�ve become old cynics.

I am looking at boobies, go away.

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