Dear Maria: Chapter 1

Dear Maria,
For the last time you have taken away someone’s hopes, someone’s happiness, someone’s being. You cause people to suffer. Pain. Grief. Do you know how it feels to hurt, to live in fear every second of your life? Do you, Maria? I don’t think you realise the pain you put people through with your selfish actions of hate. I think it’s about time you learn. Suffer with us, Maria. Feel the pain you have caused to hundreds of broken hearts. Feel the pain, hatred, sorrow, grief, and anger that you have caused us tortured souls.
This is our satisfaction.
This is our revenge.

It was eight-teen hours ago that she had fallen asleep in her small, 4th floor flat apartment. Her alarm clock violently set off in a flurry of crescendo beeps, calling out to her, tearing her away from unconsciousness. Her eyes burned as she tore her eyelids apart, taking in the demonic red glow of the alarm clock. 06:66. She stared at the small device, “that can’t be right...” she thought to herself. The small thing must be broken. Broken or not, it kept its continuous beeping, over and over again until she finally lifted an arm from under her to shut it off.
“Stupid thing…”

Maria rolled over onto her back, stretching her arms above her head before bringing them down to rub furiously at the burning sensation that still resided in her eyes. Her normally beautiful green eyes had become lined with red, the small veins darker than normal. Last night’s make-up was now smeared all over her face. Flakes of mascara and eyeliner resting on her cheekbones, uneven skin tones where foundation had been rubbed away and even lipstick had somehow managed to crawl its way down to her chin. She propped herself up before swinging stilettoed feet off the bed, landing with a small clunk as the heel touched the wooden floor. She noticed she was still in last nights outfit – a red boob tube with a rather short, black leather skirt - as she stumbled closer to the large mirror near the door of her room. Her hair was a mess. It looked she had been ran over by a car or two. Thinking about it, Maria couldn’t remember a thing about last night, what she was doing, who she was with. “Probably had too much to drink…” She wiped the remains of her make-up off her face, ran a brush through her hair, attempting to tame it slightly, before exiting her room out into the living room.

The once bright, cream wallpaper had darkened, becoming a disgusting shade of browny-yellow, letting its grip weaken on the walls, slowly descending downwards and curling under itself, revealing the dark grey bricks that hid behind it. The couch, torn and ripped, oozing fluff the way an infected wound would ooze pus out onto the flesh. The porcelain doll - that she usually kept sitting upon the chest of drawers, just beside her television – was lying on the couch. Her dress torn to shreds, an arm broken off and a fraction of her face smashed. Maria could see the small piece of china on the floor that once would have been her dolls right cheekbone. The light in the room turned a deeper shade of red as the sun set further in the sky. She could see it burning brightly out side her small, iron barred window, bars that had never been there before. It was now that she began to take in what she was seeing. Maria finally moved away from her doorframe, taking in the rest of her destroyed room. Her wooden coffee table had been overturned, with one of the legs snapped and tossed several feet away, the small neanthe bella palm she had been growing had wilted dramatically, black dead leaves now resting on the sand like soil. Her oak bookcase had fell on its side, spilling its objects of knowledge all over the floor. Pages had been ripped out and scattered across her carpet, and covered in what looked like blood. It was now that the terror really began to sink in. Maria was trembling. What was going on? Was there someone else in here? Her heart rate had increased, and she could hear its pulsing rhythm in her skull. She hovered across the room to her telephone, lifting up the receiver and bashing in 999. Nothing. No dialling tone. She slammed it down. Stared. Bashed 999 again and held it to her ear once more. Still nothing. She checked the wire leading down the wall and noticed it had been cut about halfway down. The receiver fell from her shaking hands as she stumbled back towards her room, searching for her mobile. She found it lying next to her alarm clock, still resting at 06:66. Again, she hammered in 999 and again nothing. She stared at the corner of the small screen, staring at the empty reception bar. A small message appeared on the screen “Low Battery!” and within five seconds, the phone lay dead in her hand. Standing there, looking helplessly at the blank screen, her hearing tuned in to a dainty, repeated thumping. Tap tap tap…Tap tap tap.

Hesitantly, she turned around and re-entered the living room. The tapping was louder, and joined by a low buzzing noise. Maria’s eyes skimmed the area, until they locked on to a small, black blob frantically bashing its skull off the window. A fly, it was only a fly. For some reason, watching its failing attempts to escape calmed her. She stood there and stared at the insect, entranced by its simple noise. Tap tap tap…tap tap tap… tap tap tap.

Only when the abrupt ringing of the telephone sounded did she exit her trance. The phone. It was ringing, but, how? She turned to face the small black object sitting upon a small end table on the other side of the room, its loud rings seeming to increase in volume. Tentatively, she took small steps across her floor, making her way to the object calling out for attention. Maria placed her shaking fingers on the cold, smooth surface of the telephone, waiting for a few seconds before she dared to pick it up. Slowly, she raised the dark receiver to her ear, “H-hello?” she managed to stutter, just above a whisper. There was only deep breathing on the other side of the line. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman who was phoning her, “Hello?” she said slightly louder, “Is…is anyone there?” With saying that, the receiver emitted an ear-piercing shriek. Maria instantly dropped the phone to the floor – where the screech could still be heard from – and covered her ear in pain. Never had she heard something so loud. Its high-pitched frequency rang around the room, the waves of sound bouncing back into her ear canals. It was amazing how much pain sound could truly cause. She placed a hand over each ear, attempting to shield them from the dreadful noise. There was almost a sigh of relief when she heard the noise become deeper, slowly turning into a deep growling. Who…or rather what was on the other side of the line?

The growls slowly manifested into a wide range of unique, disturbing noises, yet Maria couldn’t find it in herself just to simply pick up the receiver and hang up.
“Maaaaahhh-reeeee-ahhhhh…”
She glanced down at the curved object on the floor, questioning herself is she should now pick it up.
“Maaariiiaaa. Marrriaaa. Marriaa. Maria. Maria. Maria!”
Her hand creating its own earthquake, she reached for the receiver, once again bringing it to her ear. “Hello? Who is this?”
The line went dead.

The temperature in the room seemed to have dramatically decreased, patches of frost slowly beginning to appear on the windows and walls. The large fly that was moments ago bouncing off of the glass window, now lay still, dead on the windowsill. She walked back to the centre of the room and slowly turned on the spot, watching as the entire room began to freeze over, watching as her breath clouded before her. “What the hell is going on in here?” This was the last straw, she was getting out of her apartment, at least, that was what she thought. She ran through into the small hallway adjacent to her living room. Past her kitchen, past her bathroom. Her hall had also been completely wrecked. Ornaments were broken, a small vase smashed, artwork destroyed. All this was also freezing over.

She turned the final corner and stood face to face with a simple yet frightful horror. Her simple, wooden door had turned to rusted iron, bolted, chained and locked in everyway possible. Padlocks the size of her fist dangled from the chains and bolts. When did this happen? Why did she not hear her possessions being smashed and bars being fitted? Why did she not hear someone drilling locks into her door and dragging chains over her floor? What worried Maria most though was the way that this was locked, from the inside. It could only mean that whoever, or whatever, still remained in her home.

There was a thunderous thump from the living room.