Scary Stories: “Dying Doesn’t Hurt” by Vicki Fields

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Noah walked into Kaya Ireland’s bathroom, where the sound of running water from the tap could be heard. The girl was lying on the floor with her arms outstretched. Her long hair swept the tiles, black on white.

Noah went to the bathroom and turned off the water before it overflowed. Then he swallowed a piece of cake, wiped his fingers on his shorts, and crouched down in front of the lifeless girl to check her pulse. He was gone, Kaya Ireland is dead.

Noah scooped her up, lowered her gently into the water, let her sink to the bottom of the tub. His black hair stood up with difficulty at first, then fell, wrapping threads around his lean, snow-white body.

Noah sat up, wiped his hands on the towel, and leaned against the doorframe, ready to wait. He counted twice to a hundred before he sensed Kaya ready to turn back. He approached, almost slipping on the tiles, and jerked the girl by the shoulders.

She coughed, clutching her wrists in a death grip.

“What?… What was it?…

His look was crazy, and Noah almost laughed, even though it wasn’t funny.

“You are dead, Kaya Ireland.

I gripped Noah’s wrists tightly, leaving fingernail marks on my skin. There was a ringing in my ears, and nothing but that ringing could be heard.

I twisted my head, trying to concentrate on something, then Noah appeared, grabbed my cheeks and squeezed them. I managed to read a few words from her moving lips:

You are dead Kaya.

There was a deafening silence. Then thunder rumbled outside the window.

What happened?

Having barely lifted the stiff fingers from Noah’s hands, who was looking at me studently, as if I were an interesting piece in a museum, I shivered: the slightest movement echoed with pain throughout my body.

What happened?

“You thought you were going to heaven? Noah smiled as he sat up. – And here I am.

“I felt like I was dying,” I muffled, looking up. His face softened, the sneer gone.

Leaning down, he gently tucked my hair, which was stuck to my cheeks, behind my ears. His palm felt unbearably hot, I shivered.

“You really are dead, Kaya. I’m sorry, honey, but you… Maybe get out of the tub first? Does this state of affairs bother you? First he pointed his index finger at himself, then at me. Coming to my senses, I grabbed the sides of the tub with my hands and stood up, spraying Noah.

– No need to try to fill everything with water! he protested, jumping up.

Standing on the mat, I wrapped myself in a towel so he wouldn’t see the tattoo showing through my shirt. I chose not to think about the fact that he had already seen everything he wanted a long time ago. I looked in the mirror and met my reflection. Despite the horror I experienced, I looked as usual: my jet-colored hair was thrown over my chest, snow-white shoulders with pointed collarbones and the straps of a T-shirt were visible under the towel. Everything is as always, except the feeling of fear and goosebumps. I ran my hand over the white streaks of old scars on my arms and neck.

– I am dead?

Yes, and it will happen more than once.

– What you said? I turned, meeting cold, indifferent eyes. Noah’s next remark sounded like a sentence:

“I said it would happen more than once. And today, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and in a week – you will die every time Leda Stevenson tries to kill herself.

Click on. Soap bubbles were exploding in my head. Click, click, click. When one disappears, another appears in its place. The ringing in my ears grew, preventing me from concentrating on any particular thought.

Who is Leda Stevenson?

Noah didn’t answer for a long moment, studying me with a calm gaze, then slowly approached and put his arm around my waist, pulling me away. I leaned on him, accepting help, for I was still there in the world dead, paralyzed and shocked.

When my bare feet touched the carpet, I heard an explanation:

“Leda Stevenson is the girl you saved in the women’s bathroom at UEC today. That sweet blonde who was so scared she mentally compelled you to defend her. Le-da Steven-son, says he into syllables, and I stopped abruptly.

The bathroom door is left behind as a silent reminder of what happened, on the left is a large dark wooden cupboard in which someday (not today) clothes (not mine) will be suspended. Noah pulled his hand away from my back and rested his head on my shoulder, bracing himself for a barrage of questions.

– Are you kidding? I asked, and his eyes grew cold.

– When you were suffocating in the bathroom and couldn’t call for help, did that seem funny to you? When you felt the soul leaving the body and then returning to it, did you think it was a joke? I do not think so.

I felt a chill between my shoulder blades, but the reason was not in wet clothes and not in the open window – I just remembered her, I remembered the chick looking in my direction with watery eyes, begging for salvation.

She was a victim of Maya King.

How is she related to me?

“Leda killed herself today,” Noah said, sizing up my expression. “And every time she tries to kill herself, you will die after her.”

What kind of nonsense?

– I leave. Again, the words left my lips before I could think about them. Like when she confessed out loud that she was dead.

“You have to bring her to life, Kaya. After that, everything will stop. Otherwise, you will die for the rest of your life.

– Who are you? I interrupted.

– And you?

– What?

“Who are you, Kaya, now that all of this has happened?”

I took a step back and said:

– I’m going home.

God, it doesn’t make sense anymore that my mother didn’t like me – I’m going to fix everything. I’ll apologize, I’ll apologize for everything I’ve done, for tormenting her for years in a row, for being a cold-blooded, indifferent girl.

I will fix it. I will prove to my mother that I have changed.

That I’m not a monster.

That I’m not a robot.

I will prove that I am not like a father.

I’ll do anything but stay in Atton Creek for another minute.

“This town won’t let you go, Kaya.

No, I’m leaving right away!

Suddenly it seemed that all problems would be solved, all you had to do was leave.

“I will not stay here.

Noah didn’t move and I rushed into the room: I pulled a suitcase out from under the bed and started stuffing clothes into it, which I managed to get out yesterday and spread on a chair near the round window.

– Are you sure?

His mockery stung painfully, I hesitated, but continued to toss medical textbooks into the suitcase.

– Yes I am sure. I had a normal life before this move. I knew what would happen the next day, I knew what the future awaited me. To Hayden…

– Normal life? Noah asked dubiously, and I turned around sharply. He raised an eyebrow, provoking me to be rude, but I suddenly felt vulnerable.

Why does he seem to see right through me?

Noah walked over to me with a sigh.

“You have been unhappy all your life, you have felt unworthy all your life. He stopped at arm’s length, cast a distracted glance at the suitcase. Above the pile of things was a frame with a photograph. I immediately wanted to grab it, hide it from prying eyes, but I didn’t move. – Did you force yourself to become like him – strong, determined, did you think you could survive this way, could you deal with your feelings? Hate him for leaving you?

“MY FATHER IS DEAD!”

For the first time in a very long time, I lost control of myself. It wasn’t until my legs felt cottony and my mouth was dry that I remembered the pills, but I couldn’t move.

“And you didn’t even say goodbye to her,” Noah finished quietly. There was neither regret nor amusement in his voice, his eyes reminiscent of a frosty morning sky remained impassive.

Why… why does he say that? How does he know?

He’s different, he’s just a guy who bakes buns; as transparent as possible.

You’ve only known him for a day.

I pulled myself together with difficulty, controlling my rapid breathing and unclenching my stiff fingers. Incredible pain shot through my joints, but I didn’t even wince and said firmly:

I don’t care how you know all this. I leave.

I don’t want to talk to him anymore. Not after what he said about me and my dad.

You’re not leaving, Kaya.

We asked Vika what scares her

For me, there are two types of horror: scary and vile. If the first type is about impacting the deep world reader, then the second is about blood, guts, and that’s it. Sometimes I have the impression that the author who writes a “vile horror” has only one goal: to impress the reader. I don’t like the “psycho technique” either. That’s when the author, for some reason, believes he can afford to do whatever he wants on the pages of the novel, and then uses the excuse that the hero suffered from schizophrenia or some other trouble as an explanation. At times like this, I feel cheated.

It’s hard to scare and surprise the modern reader, but that doesn’t bother me, because that’s a writer’s job: give it your all, know which buttons to press. Psychology and experience contribute to this. I also think you can scare the reader if you tell a true story. Readers are not stupid, they will immediately sense where the author is lying. If the author himself believes in what he is writing, then the reader will believe.

The scariest horror is the one that comes closest to reality. Where the reader can easily compare himself to the hero, where, looking out the window, he can say: “yes, it’s like in a book!”

In real life, I myself am a very shy person. I’m afraid of the dark, of elevators, of dogs… sudden calls 🙂 But what scares me the most is the fear of physical pain and uncertainty. For example, when reading a scene where the hero has been in hiding and is about to be found to inflict hellish pain, I may even put the book aside for a while.