“Ophelia!” Sadie took the girl by the shoulders, pulled her around so that they were face to face. “Don't swallow it! What are you—!” She looked back to the house and screamed for help. “Call an ambulance!”
The girl jerked and coughed, embers spilling out of her mouth as the coal ate up the soft lining of her throat. Then, the coughs brought forth bright red blood, which dribbled from the corners of her lips and burst forth in an ash-flecked mist across Sadie's face. The girl sank to the ground in Sadie's arms, and tugged up handfuls of grass as the charcoal burned its way through her innards. Her red, bulging eyes swelled with tears and tortured noises welled up in her heaving breast.
Sadie wiped the girl's blood from her face, tried opening Ophelia's mouth to look for the coal, but realized it had gone too far to be reached. She brought her water bottle to the girl's lips and tried to empty it down her throat, but with a savage grunt, Ophelia knocked it into the grass. So horrified that she could hardly meet the girl's glassy gaze, Sadie turned back to the house and screamed once again. “Please! Hurry!” At that moment, both August and Rosie could be heard running through the house for the back door.
The girl lurched and groaned in her death throes, blood trickling across her cheeks, drops of it clinging to her earlobes. She clutched at her chest, stirring violently at the briquette's constant progress. The smell of smoldering flesh escaped her bloodied lips like a foul burp.
“Why?” asked Sadie, lowering Ophelia fully into the grass and holding up her head in her hands. “Why did you do this? Did... did my mother make you do this?”
August and Rosie burst through the back door. “What's happened?” shouted Rosie, diving into the grass after her daughter. “What's... what's all this?” She took up the girl's head, her fingers growing damp with blood. “Ophelia?”
The light went from the girl's eyes at that moment, but they'd remained fixed on Sadie to the very last. What's more, she died with the widest of smiles on her face.
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About the Author
Once upon a time, a young Ambrose Ibsen discovered a collection of ghost stories on his father's bookshelf. He was never the same again.
Apart from horror fiction, he enjoys good coffee, brewed strong.
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