User blog comment:TheShadowKnight/SCARE ME! (Part II)/@comment-2183381-20110205024515

Blood Soaked Dress

For weeks, I had been plagued by horrible nightmares, each one more graphic and clear than the next. All the same. They were of me, running through the woods, frantically searching for something or someone, and then coming upon a young girl, about seven or so, on the ground, dead. Her skin would be cold to the touch, her gorgeous white Sunday dress stained with blood, and her throat ripped open. I would always walk forward and feel for some kind of a glimmer of life, a breath, a faint heartbeat. And always found none. Then, giving up, I'd turn to leave. A small, frightened, tremulous voice would call out for me to stop. "Please," it would say in a scared, yet perfect, British accent, "help me. It hurts. Mother, please find me. Help..." Whenever I'd turn around, the little girl and her glazed, dead, sad eyes would be staring at me, and she'd be sitting up, crying, her hand reaching out.

Well, a couple of months after the first dream, about April 8th, 2008, I went to let my dog out. Now, she's a small, Pekingese-Pomeranian mix, so she's not too aggressive, I guess. Well, this tiny, harmless dog let loose a growl that would frighten the worst of any hardened criminal before running out into the woods out back.

I took after her, shouting, "Come back!" She didn’t come back, so I forced myself to look for her even though darkness was falling. After about two hours, I finally sat down and rested. My eyes started to droop just as I heard whimpering. Jolting up, I saw a little girl holding my dog. She was staring at me with the strangest look, like she didn't know what I was, and if I was bad.

"I found your puppy, ma'am..." she said in a quiet, scared voice. Her accent triggered a strange feeling of déjà vu. She sounded like she was from England.

I reached my hands out to her, giving her a relieved smile. "Thank you."

When she handed me the dog, I stood up and looked her over. "Do you live around here?" At her nod, I asked, "Do you know how to get home?"

She nodded once more, and then began to fiddle with her dress. That was when I noticed it was a clean, white, formal dress. A little voice nagged at me, saying that I knew her from somewhere—that I'd seen this before. I ignored it.

Just then, the dog heard my mother's whistle and leapt from my arms. At least now I knew she was going home. I turned to thank the little girl, but she was gone. I sighed and turned to leave. That was when I heard small cries coming from in front of me.

"Mother? Mother, help me...please. My neck hurts so much...someone please find me..."

My mind reeled, and my dreams flooded back. I pushed back a few branches and saw the little girl again. Her back was turned to me, but I knew something was off. Her dress, once white as the moonlight pouring onto it, was now dull, tattered, and dirty. Her skin, once peachy, was now a bluish-white color. I gasped. There was no way—she probably fell, and the light was hitting her wrong. Right?

I stepped forward and put my hand on her shoulder. It didn't seem very solid, but it was icy cold. She turned.

Blood soaked her beautiful dress, falling from a horrendous gash in her neck. She looked up at me with her glazed, dead eyes. "It hurts so much," was all she said, before, like magic, she just disappeared.

To this day, I still see flashes of white coming from in between the trees in the middle of the night.