When the Wind Blows
By: Xing E.
California, Age 14
At night, when the wind blows, the chimes outside of her front door sing eerily, tinkering away, the sound carried by the breeze. She wraps the blanket around herself almost automatically. She can't exactly feel the cool air wafting in her room, but she can imagine it, as if it were an animate object, pushing at her foggy window, moaning and groaning until it had found a crack, and then seeping through, in wispy currents, swirling and churning by her bedside.
She pulls the covers over her head, in an attempt to hide from the wicked thoughts surrounding the night. But the covers make it worse, because now all she can think of is how vulnerable she is to a midnight attack by some horribly disfigured, half-man, half-goblin, type monster that has been hidden from her eyes due to the cloak of night. So, she pulls her blankets off, and sits up, trembling with both fear, and cold. She sighs a breath of relief as she realizes there are no nighttime enemies in the room. She lies back down in bed.
Creak. But oh! what was that? Her small body bolts straight up again. Her heart races as she looks about her room in terror. Creak. There it was again! This time, instead of moving, she sits completely still, almost afraid to breathe. Her muscles are tense as she cranes her neck to look above the blankets she had involuntarily pulled up to her eyes as an automatic safety measure. She stares out her window and fancies she sees a face there, grinning at her with menace, its body hidden by the bottom of the window, its teeth gleaming ebony white in the moonlight, its eyes turned to slits as it let out a long, steady cackle of amusement.
She screams, but she can't get the sound out. It comes out like a choking noise, and she freezes because she knows she has no other defense to put up. The wind is blowing furiously at the window now, whistling and wheezing away, and through all that she can hear the high, unnatural shriek of laughter, getting louder and louder, as the wind blows harder and harder, until it seemed the very essence of the laughter would envelope her entirely, bringing her into its icy coldness, touching so deep as the marrow of her bones.
And there she lay, curled up in a ball with the blankets wrapped tightly around her, wishing for the day to come.