Her.

By Sana Noor

Q. In 350 words create an atmosphere of horror, mystery or suspense.

A distinct odour of cigarettes and liquor wafted into my nose and for a second I held onto my breath. The stench had already found its way into my lungs and my eyes watered from all the smoke that lingered in the air. This place was new.

I coughed my way through the alien place. My hands were spread out before me and felt their way through the black abyss. Something was wrong. I knew as much that I had never been here before but at the same time it was familiar. My breathing became laboured as I frantically searched for a way out. But I needed to stay calm because a panic attack would do me no good here.

Suddenly everything cleared and I found myself among tombstones. The full moon, all its craters clearly visible, was the only source of light. But I did not need the moon or any source of light, for that matter, here. I knew the place like the back of my hand. I had been coming here ever since her death.

The air was strangely chilly. A gust of wind was blowing against me, as if to push me closer to my destination. I protectively wrapped my arms around me and trudged along with my head down. Each tombstone had its own story to tell, but I was not interested. She needed me, I could feel it.

A putrid stench reached my nose and mixed with the faintest smell of alcohol and cigarettes made me want to vomit. That was her identification. She was here.

She stood in a blood red dress that contrasted with her pale skin. Her eyes were bloodshot with violet rings under them and her hair was matted against her forehead. She had several burn marks on her fingers from all the smoking she had done. She raised her hands towards me, beckoning me forward for a hug. She felt cold and I involuntarily shivered. “Help me, baby.” She whispered in my ear. Her voice raspy.

I woke up with a start. “Mom.” I whispered to myself.