18; nightmares
Nightmares.
green light (stoplight system.)
concerning: Victoria Winters.
367. words; complete.
Victoria's dreams have rarely been good since coming to Collinwood.
There's something about the house - Vicki knows it, but she can't put her finger on it. Haunted houses are children's stories, and she knows better than to believe the rumors surrounding the house on the hill. Still, it doesn't change the fact that perhaps they have worked their way into her subconscious. Her paranoia is strong - keeps her awake at night. But if it isn't insomnia, it's nightmares.
The part she finds oddest is that she can never remember the dreams once she wakes from them. It's only vague images: faceless people, muffled words, blurs of color, and the sheer feeling of terror that she holds with her as she sits up in bed, eyes darting around as she looks for an intruder. Sometimes, she's shaking. Other times, she's crying.
Tonight, she's doing neither when she wakes and bolts upright, clutching at her sheets and biting her lip. She sees a floating white shape at the end of her bed and she gasps, green eyes going wide. Victoria tries to will herself to scream, but no sound comes out, and finally, she manages to get her bearings. She's fully awake now. Fully awake in her darkened room where nothing is coming to get her. She's safe, and the floating shape that frightened her so was nothing more than the billowing white curtains in front of her open window. Vicki breathes a sigh of relief and gets up to close the window, and as she goes to lock it, she swears she sees a dark shape disappear into the bushes. She shakes her head and blinks, trying to find it again, but it's gone.
That's when she feels it - something watching her. She can't place where it's coming from, only that it's there, and it sends a shiver down her spine as she hurries back to bed, pulling the blankets as far over her as she can and squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep even though she knows it's unlikely. The memory of the nightmare is in the back of her mind; sleep would be a reprieve she might not be lucky enough to have.
green light (stoplight system.)
concerning: Victoria Winters.
367. words; complete.
Victoria's dreams have rarely been good since coming to Collinwood.
There's something about the house - Vicki knows it, but she can't put her finger on it. Haunted houses are children's stories, and she knows better than to believe the rumors surrounding the house on the hill. Still, it doesn't change the fact that perhaps they have worked their way into her subconscious. Her paranoia is strong - keeps her awake at night. But if it isn't insomnia, it's nightmares.
The part she finds oddest is that she can never remember the dreams once she wakes from them. It's only vague images: faceless people, muffled words, blurs of color, and the sheer feeling of terror that she holds with her as she sits up in bed, eyes darting around as she looks for an intruder. Sometimes, she's shaking. Other times, she's crying.
Tonight, she's doing neither when she wakes and bolts upright, clutching at her sheets and biting her lip. She sees a floating white shape at the end of her bed and she gasps, green eyes going wide. Victoria tries to will herself to scream, but no sound comes out, and finally, she manages to get her bearings. She's fully awake now. Fully awake in her darkened room where nothing is coming to get her. She's safe, and the floating shape that frightened her so was nothing more than the billowing white curtains in front of her open window. Vicki breathes a sigh of relief and gets up to close the window, and as she goes to lock it, she swears she sees a dark shape disappear into the bushes. She shakes her head and blinks, trying to find it again, but it's gone.
That's when she feels it - something watching her. She can't place where it's coming from, only that it's there, and it sends a shiver down her spine as she hurries back to bed, pulling the blankets as far over her as she can and squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep even though she knows it's unlikely. The memory of the nightmare is in the back of her mind; sleep would be a reprieve she might not be lucky enough to have.