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    A Little Girl in My Room & Other Stories
    A Little Girl in My Room & Other Stories
    A Little Girl in My Room & Other Stories
    Ebook46 pages41 minutes

    A Little Girl in My Room & Other Stories

    By Claire Farrell

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    A flash fiction collection. Twelve dark fiction stories. R Rated for sensitive themes.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherClaire Farrell
    Release dateMar 4, 2010
    ISBN9781452306278
    A Little Girl in My Room & Other Stories
    Author

    Claire Farrell

    Claire Farrell is an Irish author who spends her days separating warring toddlers. When all five children are in bed, she overdoses on caffeine in the hope she can stay awake long enough to write some more dark flash fiction, y/a paranormal romance and urban fantasy.

    Read more from Claire Farrell

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    Reviews for A Little Girl in My Room & Other Stories

    3/5

    7 ratings2 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Well done short stories that had me at sentence one, and were creepy. I look for more from this author.
    • 3/5
      A few good stories, and a few not so good. It was ok

    Book preview

    A Little Girl in My Room & Other Stories - Claire Farrell

    A Little Girl In My Room

    & Other Stories

    By Claire Farrell

    The following collection of short stories covers a range of genres but contains themes aimed at an older audience.

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright © Claire Farrell 2010

    Claire_farrell@live.ie

    Book cover image provided by Gennady Muradin @ Dreamstime.com

    Licence Notes

    This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Contents

    Skeleton in the Closet

    A Friend

    Childlike Bride

    Frozen

    Frozen in Reverse

    Ready Or Not

    Peace

    Deals

    Justice

    A Great Day

    Forever Young

    A Little Girl In My Room

    Skeleton in the Closet

    There is a skeleton in my closet. It’s been there a long time. But I hear it crying still. Long after the smell went away.

    They didn’t know the blood stopped showing. They didn’t know my belly grew so big. They didn’t know water fell out of me when the pains came. They didn’t know a slippery sliding mess fell to the floor when I knelt down.

    They didn’t hear the pink thing cry and scream like it was outraged. It was angry because my Daddy was its Daddy too. Daddy knew. So Daddy went away and left me alone to grow big and hurt and leak because I was a bad girl.

    It looked at me with Daddy’s eyes. Bad eyes. If I let it grow, it would do what Daddy liked to do.

    I didn’t like it. It was bad. It was ugly. It didn’t hush up. I hid in the corner but it wouldn’t stop.

    It wanted to hurt me.

    So I hurt it first.

    A brick.

    A choking, snuffling noise.

    Then peace.

    Silence.

    I was tired. I slept. I woke when the crying started again. I crawled to it but it didn’t move. The crying didn’t stop. I poked it. It was cold. The crying didn’t stop. I threw it in the closet in case Daddy came back and heard it.

    The bloods came back. Daddy never did. The smell kept him away. And the crying. It never stops. Never ever. Never ever.

    It makes me pull out my hair. It’s white now in my hands. People come to give me food and wash me. They never speak about the crying.

    There is a skeleton in my closet. I hear it crying still.

    A Friend

    I sigh when I see them through the window. A group of young, giggling children stand outside, pushing each other forward. Dusk approaches. The sunset dashes the sky with sheer shades of pink and orange. A dying sun leaks onto the overgrown lawn. But the house doesn’t change. It’s always dark. The House of Horrors, they call it, they all do, I hear them. But they have no idea. They don’t remember how it got its name.

    Children dare each other to knock at the door, throw stones at the window and think it’s all a great laugh. But they don’t know the truth.

    Every year on Halloween, it gets worse. There’s always one. Braver than the rest. Sometimes a little kid

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