Here is a piece of writing from last year (there are two versions)
VERSION ONE!:
Waiting for what?
Prologue
Where do you run, when there is no exit? Who do you talk to, when there is no person? What is there to be afraid of when there is nothing there?
The Beginning
Alison sat on her bed. Not thinking, not reading, not talking or watching t.v.. Just listening. She could tell, there was something outside her room waiting to strike. She couldn’t tell who or what it was, but it wasn’t good. Nor did it have good intentions. Alison slowly walked up to her window, made sure it was locked and shut the blinds tightly. Her mom called from downstairs that it was time to go to bed. Alison changed into her pajamas; she then closed her door and climbed into her pink covers. Admitting to herself that she was being paranoid before turning of the light and falling asleep. Little did Alison know... she was wrong.
Alison
There is something outside my bedroom. I can tell that it’s not good. So I sit. Listening, waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen. It doesn’t. Engulfed in fear I walk slowly to my windows make sure their locked and close the blinds. Mom calls up and I know it’s time for bed. I change into my pajamas, closing my door first. Then I climb into my soft, warm covers and admit to myself that I’m paranoid and then turn of the light. But if I’m paranoid why is my stomach telling me I’m wrong? I close my eyes allowing myself to fall into a light sleep.
If only I’d known.
I find myself sitting in the corner of my bed in a ball. What is happening to me? Why do I have this agonizing pain of being watched? I slowly stand up and reach under my bed until I find a box. I look around and then quickly open it to find my old nightlight. I turn and crawl over my pillow to the edge of my bed and plug it in. Satisfied I shrink back into my covers, tossing the box onto the ground.
“Alison, Alison, aliso-” A voice that never finishes.
Waking up once in the middle of the night makes you grumpy, twice then you’re full on cranky. I figured something out.
“I was being stalked, by who you may ask? I. Have. No. Idea. So when you find that you’re 11 years old and hiding under you’re pillows, you feel... pathetic. You never get used to the fact that something may be watching you or you’re just a psychopath. So given the fact that either of the two could be my reality, is why I’m freaking. But while I’m being truthful I’ll admit it... I’m scared of pandas. Now that I’m going crazy, I’ll either be put in the asylum or be dead soon anyway. So what’s the point of not saying my secrets out loud. If there is someone stalking me they must think I’m insane, not containing my thoughts and the words flowing out of my mouth super fast and jumbled.”
“Your right. Alison, Alison, Aliso- Aghhh! OW! Geez, what was that for?!?” This is the most annoying 7 year old, in the world’s response to getting hit with a giant zebra pillow.
“BRIAN!!!!!!! YOU IDIOT! I THOUGHT I WAS BEING STALKED!!!” I screech hitting him with the zebra pillow again, thoroughly knocking him down.
“I’m sorry! Just please, please don’t hit me again, that thing ways 5 pounds, and it’s bigger than your chair!” He begs.
“Fine, but if you ever do that again... I’ll hit you with it, IN YOUR SLEEP!” I say pretending to be hysterical to scare him.
“Ok, won’t happen again, sorry, love you, night!” He blurts before quickly shrinking across the hall to his bedroom. I laugh and lay down into my bed.
Epilogue
A word from Alison Daren:
I would like to say this experience taught me not to be paranoid. It didn’t. Instead it taught to always have a big zebra pillow next to my pillow. I believe that anyone else reading this story should as well, spread the word. SPREAD THE WORD!!!
Here is the photo of my zebra pillow. They sell them at Sears and JC Penny.
Version Two:
Included here is the scary version. The un-happy version. The What if? version.
The version that is for people who like suspense, mystery and horror. If you’re not one of those people, stop reading now. Before you’re entranced and then... there’s no going back.
Waiting for what?
Prologue
Where do you run, when there is no exit? Who do you talk to, when there is no person? What is there to be afraid of when there is nothing there?
The Beginning
Alison sat on her bed. Not thinking, not reading, not talking or watching television. Just listening. She could tell, there was something outside her room waiting to strike. She couldn’t tell who or what it was, but it wasn’t good. Nor did it have good intentions. Alison slowly walked up to her window, made sure it was locked and shut the blinds tightly. Her mom called from downstairs that it was time to go to bed. Alison changed into her pajamas; she then closed her door and climbed into her pink covers. Admitting to herself that she was being paranoid before turning of the light and falling asleep. Little did Alison know... she was wrong.
Alison
I could tell there was something outside my bedroom. I can tell that it’s not good. So I sit. Listening, waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen. It doesn’t. Engulfed in fear I walk slowly to my windows make sure their locked and close the blinds. Mom calls up and I know it’s time for bed. I change into my pajamas, closing my door first. Then I climb into my soft, warm covers and admit to myself that I’m paranoid and then turn of the light. But if I’m paranoid why is my stomach telling me I’m wrong? I close my eyes allowing myself to fall into a light sleep.
If only I’d known.
I find myself sitting in the corner of my bed in a ball. What is happening to me? Why do I have this agonizing pain of being watched. I slowly stand up and reach under my bed until I find a box. I look around and then quickly open it to find my old nightlight. I turn and crawl over my pillow to the edge of my bed and plug it in. Satisfied I shrink back into my covers, tossing the box onto the ground.
Why me?
Maybe I am supposed to feel this way. I wish this was just a prank from Brian. But it’s not. And if it’s not than who is it? Better than that, what is it? What does it want? And to get what it wants, which is probably me dead, how extreme would it take it? But for one of the most serious questions, why me and when?
“Alison.”
“Alison...” A honey sweet voice calls out my name. I find the voice..... alluring. I want to follow it. It’s almost as if I’m Gretel, my mind is Hansel and I’ve just happened to have stumbled upon the house made of candy; with the sweet little old lady, right when I’m starving. But it comes with a catch, it always does. Except this time I know that theres a catch. But what exactly is the catch. That is the problem. Aside from that, who owns the voice and how exactly does it, emphasis on it, know my name? I wait. No voice, nothing to prove it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. I hesitantly crawl back into the covers, shrinking into the corner of my bed.
You know that I’m here.
I woke up, again. My room smells d-i-s-g-u-s-t-i-n-g. Reluctantly, I walk over to my window and open it all the way. Funny I don’t remember my window not having a screen. My window is wide open. The midnight breeze giving me goosebumps. The scene in my room looks like that of a horror movie. The bright waxing gibbous, causing a striking light baby blue light to illuminate my room. Like a wave, with streaks of white and a little yellow. I look out the window and I’m not surprised to see that a dark cloud has found it’s way around the moon; other clouds coming to seal the moon into darkness. But they don’t. Instead they twist around it until it really is like a horror movie. I look down into the grass and leave-less tree. The shadow of the tree looking somewhat like the shadow of a man. Cautiously, I walk back to my bed, having given up on sleep, instead I wait.
Conclusion
I never found out who or what it was. Sometimes I believe that it was just a figment of my imagination, running wild. But the majority of the time... I don’t know what to believe, because how could my imagination produce something so vivid. I don’t have dreams anymore either. I sleep a dreamless sleep. Actually I’m happy about that, because that means that I won’t be dreaming of it. The terror that shook my life. I am better now, at least that’s what I tell myself. But sometimes I still ask myself... what exactly was I waiting for?