Her lips were blue as if the taste of air hadn’t breached them for years. The gray of her skin gleamed with remnants of water seeping from her pores, denying her freedom from the element that stole her life. Her flint black hair rested in a tangled web of dampness, dangling strands around the frame of her vacant white eyes. Their pupils barely visible through the foggy film that layered over their once vibrant color. The liveliness of her face was far beyond damaged from the abrasive trauma of her death, leaving it unrecognizable. She never spoke a word. Not even a whisper of breath escaped her. The Drowning Girl, I called her.
I love this opening.
She leered over my bed night after night like a lost soul looking for a sign of life. When I was thirteen, she made her first appearance and I vowed never to sleep alone in my room again. For days, I urged my parents to take me away from the haunting apparition, but they only blamed it on my childish imagination.
Over time, I discovered that she would never appear outside the four walls that made up my bedroom, as if some unseen force forbid her from leaving. Using that fact to my advantage, I persuaded my parents to allow me to sleep in their room. It was the only place I felt absolute and safe. When they finally had enough of my ridiculous accusations, they forced me back into my own bed. I pleaded for every light to remain on from the hallway to my room until I was safely asleep.
She leered over my bed night after night like a lost soul looking for a sign of life. When I was thirteen, she made her first appearance and I vowed never to sleep alone in my room again. For days, I urged my parents to take me away from the haunting apparition, but they only blamed it on my childish imagination.
Over time, I discovered that she would never appear outside the four walls that made up my bedroom, as if some unseen force forbid her from leaving. Using that fact to my advantage, I persuaded my parents to allow me to sleep in their room. It was the only place I felt absolute and safe. When they finally had enough of my ridiculous accusations, they forced me back into my own bed. I pleaded for every light to remain on from the hallway to my room until I was safely asleep.
I was intrigued by this, and I'd keep reading. My only criticism is why she didn't just sleep on the couch, or pick a different bedroom to sleep in once she figured out that the ghost was contained. This opening also reminds me of the Sixth Sense, and I wonder if agents might think "I've seen this done before" etc. Just a thought.
I liked this, as was intrigued by it, but in the first paragraph I thought the description of the ghost was leading into an event, and the backstory that followed felt a bit lacking in pace. The beginning grabbed me, but I felt the momentum was lost after that first paragraph. Nice spooky imagery though.
ReplyDelete