The Redwood Asylum: A Paranormal Horror by L.A. Detwiler (recommended reading txt) 📕

missing. There had to be a way to help 5B and, resolutely, to help myself as well.

I should just walk away, I told myself every single time my fingers traced over the waxy crayon on the now-worn papers. It would be easy to disappear again. Still, there was more than just 5B and the pull of Redwood keeping me there. Guilt. Fear. Sorrow. It all mixed into a milkshake of dread, holding me in place and giving me a false sense of both security and belief in my ability to make things right. The world was a fucking mess, after all. If I could set this right, bring peace to 5B, maybe there would be some glimmer of hope for me.

“Who are you?” I murmured into the empty room. There was no answer, of course. Even I was still sane enough not to hope for any answers.

I walked to my room, putting the drawings in the drawer. I climbed under the covers, visions of the kids flashing behind my eyes. No answers came as I drifted off to sleep, the sunlight just creeping in as morning approached.

***

Sleep lingered as I roused, my ear violently itchy. I became aware of the fact I was digging at my left ear as my eyes struggled to open. I kept scratching, confused as to what time it was, what day it was, and what had startled me awake.

My fingers prodded until they landed on something wriggling and slimy. I bolted upright, wildly flinging at my ear and gasping. I scrambled out of bed, peering back to my silk pillowcase to see the coating of dirt and mud caked on it.

Eyes bulging, I raced to the mirror over my dresser, still wildly picking at my ear to rid myself of whatever was squirming. With a loud suction noise, it popped loose, my fingers flinging the slimy texture across the room.

I stared in the mirror, examining my ear to make sure the vermin was gone. The earthworm, muddy and wriggling, was on the carpet of my room. I shook my head, thinking any moment I would awake. But it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. I pulled at my hair as I whimpered, too tired and too freaked out to scream.

I turned to assess my room. That was when I saw him. Huddled in the corner, the dripping mud caked to his body. He crossed the room at what felt like a languid speed, gurgling and groaning as he crossed in front of me to reclaim the worm that had been in my ear. Mouth agape, I leaned backward on my dresser, trying to distance myself from the boyish figure who was back.

“Please, please. Help me help you,” I murmured. He paused in his footsteps. Then, his head flung to the right, his ghoulish face aimed at me. He let out an agonizing sound and then stalked toward me. I sobbed and cried, hoping that one of the neighbors would hear even though I knew they were out of town. I was alone in the apartment building except for 5B’s haunting, and that wasn’t a comforting thought.

His muddy finger rose, pointing so close to my eye, I trembled. But before he could do anything, another shriek echoed from the corner of the room. I turned to see a vision of red, her head floating like last time. There was one horrifying difference, though, in the appearance of the girl.

She had scissors in her hands. A large pair of scissors, primed to stab.

I scrambled to the side, stepping away from them as I dashed down the hallway toward the living room. My legs were shaky, and I didn’t know where I could possibly go, but I knew I needed to get out of there. My hands reached for the doorknob, but I was too slow.

Little Red blocked the way.

I backed up again, scrambling for my phone to call 911. But before I could, she had me pinned against the wall, strength clearly her asset in this state of being despite her size. I squealed and pleaded as she held me steady, the scissors carving into my right arm. The pain seized me, and I felt myself losing consciousness. I was too terrified to give in, though. I was petrified that if I slipped away, I would never come back.

Blood dripped down my arm as she wheezed and gurgled. Little Brown was on the other side of me, pawing at my arms, at my chest.

“Please make them stop,” I chanted to an unseen rescuer. But no one came for me. Why would they?

I was just at my end, thinking how nice it would be to slip into that eternal sleep when it stopped. They were gone, all traces of the horrors vanished as if I had, in fact, simply dreamed it all up. My aching, bloody arm, though, said otherwise. Trembling, I slid down the wall to the floor and hugged my knees to my chest. I needed to tend to my wounds, but I needed a moment to regain my strength. Crying, I told myself to get it together. I needed to get it together. They hadn’t killed me. This time. What would be next?

I gained the courage to look at the wounds. Although stinging, they weren’t deep. Just superficial cuts. Still, my heart thumped wildly, and vomit rose in my throat as I examined my right arm.

“Find Us” the letters spelled out in a crude, bloody message.

I shook my head. How could I possibly? Who would believe me even if I did?

I needed to pack a bag, to get out. I needed to leave it all behind. To hell with 5B and Redwood. The kids weren’t my problem.

I headed to the kitchen after shakily getting to my feet. I wrapped a dishtowel around my arm to stop the bleeding and made up my mind. After cleaning up, I would leave Oakwood for good. I would disappear once more, head to a coastal town or a