The hill where I die everyday. : shortscarystories – Short Horror Story

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It happens at the top of the hill. I don’t know where it is, or how I get there, but my body is exhausted with the weakness of a thousand climbs. My eyes just open to seee dull, unwelcoming greens of an unending valley swaying slow and far to the extents of my naked eye’s vision, darkened and haunted by the canopy of black clouds. I don’t even realise when my weak, trembling knees give way to every inch of my skin pressuring against the soft, wet mud. The thin, long blades of grass rise taller around me, engulfing my body with what feels like millions of strings thin as a hair, digging and cutting into my flesh.

Fireworks of pain and tingling shoot through my eyes, whether I close them by will or not eludes me, but it feels like not an ounce of will could ever open them again. As my body sinks deeper, I can’t differ where the ground begins and where my rotting, decaying carcass ends. Each nerve and artery feel like they’re morphing into countless worms writhing in the heated claustrophobic mound, trying to eat their way out. My flesh rips far away from my skeleton in one long, thin strip unravelling my very being from top to bottom. The mud reeks as if my blood and flesh is its living force.

In that moment I stop existing physically, yet my mind remains conscious and buried in the lifeless coffin of my body. This moment eludes every law of spacetime, and my consciousness can’t measure if it lasts three hours or three years, stuck in eternal limbo. If I had ever grown up fearing death, I would not know if this was it. In helpless and pathetic submission, I don’t think I can ever own myself again. I don’t own my thoughts, my ambitions, my nightmares, or my own body.

This force owns me, physically, mentally, and spiritually. It lives inside me like a darkness originating from my very essence. I could beg all I want for release, for escape, for hope, or even for death, but I know it will make me do it all over again tomorrow.

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