Aladora’s heart raced; her breaths shallow and frantic. The bathroom mirror reflected her pale, trembling face as she scrubbed her hands raw. The crimson stain clung stubbornly, a gruesome testament to her desperate act. She hadn’t meant to end her boss’s life, but the fear had consumed her, twisted her instincts into something primal.
The house on Ecosisia Lane was her sanctuary, yet now it felt like a cursed haven. Then she heard the knocking. It echoed through the dimly lit hallway, each rap a chill down her spine. Aladora hesitated, her hand trembling over the doorknob. The peanut—her neighbour, once friendly—stood there, eyes wide with terror. His plea was cut short as he collapsed, lifeless, onto the threshold. The peanut, too, met a similar fate, its shell cracking open to reveal nothing but emptiness.
And then, the top hat appeared. Sinister and poised, it stood, its brim casting shadows across the dead body. The smile etched into its fabric seemed to mock her, promising secrets and horrors. Aladora fled, her footsteps echoing through the empty house. She reached her room, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. But the top hat was relentless, materialising on her bed, its presence suffocating.
“What do you want?” She screamed, her voice raw with desperation. The top hat tilted, as if amused by her terror. It stepped forward, defying the laws of reality. Aladora’s mind raced—escape, hide, survive—but the walls closed in. She stumbled down the stairs, her legs betraying her. The top hat waited at the landing, its smile widening.
“No,” she gasped, her fingers clawing at the basement door. It swung open, and she stumbled inside. The darkness swallowed her, and the door was sealed shut. The top hat stood there, framed by the narrow gap, its eyes boring into her soul. It whispered, a voice like rustling leaves and distant screams.
“You can’t escape your fate.”
The potato's screams were never heard.
©The Galaxian Dictionary
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