Scarlett Blaze Sieger: Mild-Horror:Mature

A various collection of horror scenes from my stories. Some were edited out or rewritten, but these are the originals. They rank from very mild-horror to extreme, borderline-nutcase horror.

Scarlett grabbed the five-year-old girl by the shoulders and dragged her towards the appartments' storage basement.

"What's your name?"

She demanded as the girl stood in front of her, trembling.

"Miranda."

The girl replied in a barely audible whisper. Scarlett nodded, her black-lipsticked lips twisting into a mocking smile. She took the cigarette-lighter, rope, matches and sketchbook out of her bag. She lead Miranda towards a low, wooden box.

"Sit down."

Scarlett said, still wearing the same demented grin. Miranda obeyed, staying still as a statue as she was tied to the box with thick rope. That was the nature of small kids, Scarlett thought to herself, they trust, they don't question, they are raised to just accept whatever lies they are told.

Taking out the cigarette-lighter, scarlett told Miranda to close her eyes. Miranda obeyed. Scarlett brushed the flame against the younger girl's eyelashes and the ends of her short, black hair until they caught fire. The eyelashes were the complicated bit, too short to catch fire easily, but eventually they began to burn. Miranda began screaming as she felt the burning heat devouring her skin, melting her like a plastic doll that had been dropped into a fireplace.

"Burn!"

Scarlett screamed, the fire reflecting in her eyes, black-brown framed by scars. She felt overwhelmed by a sense of power, the scent of burning flesh sending her into a sort of dog-like bloodlust, the sound of Miranda's high-pitched screams and sobs thrilled her. Scarlett could see melted flesh dripping away in layers like candle-wax, blue-white bone charring to black as the screams began to die with the girl.

Scarlett threw pages of the sketchbook into the smoke-filled air where they floated like square-white butterflies. As they drifted towards the ground, she scattered them again, setting them alight. The pictures had all depicted the scenes of destruction that she dreamed of; scenes that she was now living.

"I'll fucking destroy this world!"

She yelled, voice disappearing in the roar of the flames. Miranda was dead now. Fire alarms were now emitting their metallic shrieking. People were banging on the basement door, but it was locked, with a storage-unit shoved up against it. There was no way in, no way out. Scarlett's suicide-mission was perfectly planned.

The End

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