It's not Halloween yet but I want to post it already. Hehe. I hope you like it. Lately, I've only written about rough and raw stuff. If you read it and leave a comment, I'd be very grateful. In case you have the strength to make it a long story.
#Thepromise #Lingbahh #Dark #
Horror novels
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The Promise
By Lingbahh
Genre : Horror
Type : Original Short Story
“Peyton, Payton, is he home?”
The sound of a loud slam came from the metal door in front of the rat-hole-sized apartment. I woke up sleepily from a pile of thin blankets. Looking at the clock, it read 3:24 AM. Grinding my teeth against the cold, I got out of bed and went to the source of the sound. There was my mother... Oh, no, Aunt Natasha was standing lip-smacking with a large young man I had never seen before. I ignored him and turned to talk to the woman.
“Auntie came home so late.” Mom came home so late. “Drunk again.” I don't like my mother being drunk at all.
“Really busy, so I came back here. Quickly open the door.” She left the mouth of a young man my age and turned to me without breaking eye contact. I looked at his face and opened the dilapidated door, stepping behind me to let the two of them walk in.
A strange man and a drunk mother. Oh, auntie.... I looked at the picture of them leading each other hand in hand and came inside with a feeling... Still, not calm, but still. It was like standing and looking at something outside the glass. I was an outsider, an extra person, a person that no one ever wanted.
"I promise you won't get drunk." Mom promises you won't get drunk.
“Shut up, if you're not drunk, how am I supposed to work?” she said, shaking her blonde hair that had been bleached and brushing it against my face. Then he turned to the strange man whose body smelled strange. It was like something I had smelled before but couldn't quite put my finger on. “Come in, don't pay any attention to this damn kid.”
I swallowed hard. “I promise I won't bring anyone home again.” I'm not allowed to call my mom...
No matter how many hundreds of thousands of times I repeat it, it hurts...
“Shut up.”
“I'd better go back first.”
"No, my lord, don't go yet. I'm keeping my promise," she said sweetly. Leading him to the sofa in front of the television that I had neatly kept. The man was over six feet tall. Maybe six feet three inches. Bold figure in fashionable clothes The space peeking out from his tight-fitting clothes was covered in tattoos. Torn jeans
Upon reflection, he was probably fifteen years younger than my mother. “Sir.... Can’t we just have fun before you do as we agreed?”
Sir, I wrinkled my nose at that name.
Mom was so drunk she couldn't see my head. She slid down between his legs and unzipped his pants. I turned my head away from that picture. Hold your breath and speak.
“Really ugly. Why are you like this?” I couldn't control my tone. So he became irritated and criticized.
“Peyton!” she yelled, turning to glare at me furiously. I know that look very, very well.
“I promised to find another job. Don't you know that there are murderers outside? I knew that he was killing prostitutes. Haven't seen any news? Aren't you afraid of dying?"
“I'm not a prostitute!” she snapped. “You're not scared to death of me. You don't have a home to protect yourself from. You brat,” he said then turned and narrowed his eyes at that muscular and aroused figure. “Don't worry about it, sir.”
“Wow, that's really cool. There's even a dramatic drama to watch,” a low, gruff voice taunted. “The young hero is more delicious than I thought.”
"Don't pay any attention to it." Mom called me that... To mother, hair is an object. It's the trash that's piled up in the corner of the room but never taken out.
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https://lingbahh.wixsite.com/lingbahhzilla/blog/the-promise-short-story