Everybody loves horror. Now I may not be a GREAT horror story writer, but I must admit – I have some pretty creepy tricks up my sleeve……
The idea for me to write a short horror story was from The Book Warrior. She is a great friend and follower and requested for me to make a horror story. Thank you Book Warrior. Your request got my creative cogs turning again! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️Much love and I present to you…..
What happened to Princess? By H.R Phoenix:
Mrs Collins pulled on a maroon jacket, and zipped it up to her chin. Then she grabbed her umbrella and sauntered out of the lime green door, humming a made up tune.
Rain pattered down, dropping on her nose as she rushed down the street with long strides.
Mrs Collins crossed the road and went up to number 4, where her neighbour, Miss Tracey lived. She knocked on the bright red door loudly, tapped her foot on the stone path and looked around impatiently. There was a click and the door opened, revealing a young woman with raven black hair, who Mrs Collins pushed past gently and made her way into Miss Tracey’s living room.
They only knew each other for two years, but the bond between them was as strong as the bond between two sisters.
Mrs Tracey, who stood by the door, melted away her astonishment and went after her neighbour. The curtains and windows were closed and locked and the pair seated themselves on two large armchairs.
“Mrs Collins!” Exclaimed Miss Tracey, her eyes widening. “What brings you here at 5 am?”
“It’s about Lilliane.” Mrs Collins sighed. Miss Tracey understood at once. Lilliane was Mrs Collins’ only child, who died at the age of five. Fifteen years had passed, but the sadness still glowed in Mrs Collins eyes. She often visited her friend as a source of comfort.
Mrs Collins smiled weakly. “Today’s her birthday. My lil girl would be twenty now!” she murmured.
“Tea?” Miss Tracey inquired, raising a silver tray with two china tea cups.
Mrs Collins nodded and put her head in her hands and Miss Tracey went off to boil the water.
A few seconds after she left, Mrs Collins raised her head and bit her lip thoughtfully.
When her child had died, the newspapers were all over the investigation. Liliane didn’t die naturally. She was murdered.
Worse of all, Mrs Collins knew who the murderer was.
She knew very well who the murderer was and she chose to keep the identity of them secret.
Miss Tracey returned with a pretty floral teapot and poured her friend a cup of steaming brown liquid.
“Thank you Tracey.” Mrs Collins breathed. “Your welcome, dear. Sugar?” Miss Tracey asked, lifting a little pot.
Mrs Collins waved a hand. “No, no, honey, if you have any please.”
Miss Tracey went out again in search of Mrs Collins’ request.
Near to Mrs Collins’ armchair was a tiny side table, where an old rotary dial sat, gathering dust. Suddenly, the telephone buzzed in its cradle, making Mrs Collins’ jump.
“It must be Mr Collins!” Miss Tracey yelled from the kitchen and Mrs Collins realised that she hadn’t told her husband where she had gone. She picked up the telephone and muttered into it: “Hello darling. I’m at Tracey’s.”
An unfamiliar voice replied back, “Hello mummy.“
Mrs Collins froze. “Darling, what type of game is this?” she asked with a nervous chuckle.
“What are you talking about Mummy?” A girls’ voice questioned on the other end.
“Collins, stop this.” Mrs Collins said firmly.
There was a grunt. “Mummy, you always call me ‘princess'” the girl said sweetly. “Remember?”
Mrs Collins slammed the phone back in its cradle and ran her fingers through her hair.
Then she collapsed into an awkward heap on the ground.
Miss Tracey appeared with a gasp and helped her back onto the armchair.
“Oh Mrs Collins!” She exclaimed. “Whatever happened? Are you ill? Here have some tea!” she thrust a cup into Mrs Collins’ hands, took out a jar of honey and carefully spooned some into the hot drink.
She patiently waited for Mrs Collins to slurp it all down.
“It’s Lilliane, she was speaking to me, on the phone.” Mrs Collins gasped.
“But it can’t be!” Miss Tracey squealed.
“You’re right. It can’t be.” Mrs Collins whispered. “Get me some more tea Tracey.”
Mrs Collins clutched her throat. “I feel weird.” she said. “Tea, Tracey, I need tea.”
Miss Tracey laughed. “No Mummy.“
“What?!” spluttered Mrs Collins.
Miss Tracey beamed. “Remember me?” she murmured. “Begging. Mummy, please don’t. Please Mummy.”
Mrs Collins was whisked off to the past.
Grabbing a knife from the counter
Her daughter, sobbing at the wall. “Don’t do it!” the little girl screamed. “No Mummy!”
She remembered running away. Realising what she had done.
Mrs Collins stared at Miss Tracey. “But, but I killed you.” she said quietly. “I saw your burial. You were dead.”
Miss Tracey grinned. “I know. And now it’s your turn. Remember me Mummy. Remember your princess……”
I might do a part two, if you enjoyed this one! Thank you for reading, now how is my story? Did you like it? Tell me how you found it in the comments below 👇
Phoenix ❤️ ❤️ ❤️