Narrative Essay: The Witching Night Of A Child's Life

It was the pitch blackness of the witching hour when I awoke from a internaties worth of a sleep that was only deprived of depressing, dark void. The clinging silverness of the table that I laid upon gave a shiver down my spine. My pupils were dilating quickly, then stopped. The small light hanging above me flickered filantly. I aroused from the table. I seen an illumination erupting behind a door. I felt drawn by the light as if I was a moth. I started limping to the place. My legs were not fully awoken as well as the rest of my body. As I got closer to the illuminating light behind the door, I was able to see my hands. Parts of my fingers and arm had stitches covering them. My hair was dripping down over my eyes. I reached the door. I did not know what I should have done next, but a part of my newly functioning brain felt like it knew what to do. My nume, dead colored hand reached for the old, dirty gold door handle and twisted it. The door flew opened. The light asutated my eyes, causing them to water. I could faintly see an outline of a creature with long, oil-like hair staring back at me. Its eyes piercing my soul. Stitches were all over its body. Its eyes were yellow. Its skin was of a deadly yellow. It’s black lips opened

I put my hand on his chest to contain him and I tried to ask him what was wrong but at last, my speech was to broken. It was so broken, in fact, that it could have been compared with someone speaking backwards. His face was that of fear. He was struggling fiercely. “Let go of me,” shrieked the man, “you hedeya beast!.” I moved my hand off him. He crawled of the opposite of the bed from where I was. He got up off the bed and ran straight, then took a right which was where a door was. He quickly turned the knob and swing the door violently. He then ran and ran and opened the door. I was confused about why he did what he did. Could he have thought I was going to hurt