The Blue Ribbon Noose

The end of term had finally arrived, and I was dead on my feet. My brain was a scrambled mess of equations and historical dates, and all I wanted was oblivion. I lived with my aunt in a rambling old farmhouse that butted against a vast, silent woods. That night, Aunt Laura’s laptop had given up the ghost, so she was using my own, sitting in the creaking desk chair until my eyes fluttered shut. The last thing I remembered was the soft clack of keys and the smell of her coffee.

I woke with the odd sensation of being watched. The pale moonlight filtering through the lace curtains cast silver patterns on my quilt. There was a weight on the mattress, dipping it slightly. I turned my head, and my heart stuttered. A figure lay beside me, a shape of absolute black against the pale linen, facing me. I couldn’t see any features, just a void where a face should be. My mind, still slow with sleep, fumbled. ‘Aunt Laura?’ I whispered. But the shape was too large, too broad. This was not my aunt.

Panic ignited, a cold fire in my chest. I tried to scramble away, to launch myself from the bed, but an invisible force pressed me down, flattening me against the mattress. My limbs were dead weights. I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat closed, and only a thin whistle of air escaped. Again and again I tried, and each time, silence. The figure’s arm extended, a hand emerging from the dark, reaching for my face. I strained, and somehow, I managed to jerk my head to the side. My eyes fell on the cluttered nightstand, and there, coiled like a sleeping snake, was the blue hair ribbon I’d worn for the school photo. But it was moving.

The ribbon uncoiled, sliding off the table and slithering across the floor. It was as if it had a life of its own. The figure’s hand paused, and the ribbon rose, ascending toward my neck. I felt a cold, silken touch against my throat, and then a tightening. I couldn’t breathe. The world began to blur at the edges, and I saw the figure tilt its head, as if observing something interesting. Just as my vision was about to go black, the pressure on my chest eased. I gasped, sucking in air, and the ribbon fell limp. The figure pulled back, fading into the shadows by the door, and was gone.

I lay there, trembling, for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, I forced myself upright, my body shaking. I ran to Aunt Laura’s room, but her door was locked. I pounded on it, crying out, but there was no answer. The next morning, Aunt Laura was not at the kitchen table. Her door was unlocked now, but the room was empty. Her bed was untouched. The only sign of her was a note on the kitchen counter: ‘Gone to the river for a morning swim.’ But the river was miles away, and her car was still in the driveway.

The police were called. They found no trace of her. But they did find the blue ribbon, tied into a perfect noose, hanging from the branch of the old oak tree by the river. I never saw the figure again, but sometimes, when the house is very quiet, I hear the sound of a ribbon unspooling, and the whispers of a voice that asks, ‘Are you coming with me?’ I am the only one who gives it an answer. I don’t speak it aloud, but every night, I put a new blue ribbon on my nightstand, and I wait.