Barricade
I’m about to do a very stupid thing.
I know it’s stupid. I know it. But I don’t think I have a choice anymore. And I have to do it now, while I have the nerve and the will and while my hands are still steady.
I’m sick. I’ve always been sick. Some days are better than others. When I was young my parents prayed that it might just be a precursor of the onset of epilepsy, but the seizures never came. I just… can’t trust myself.
I see things. On some days, I can hear them and smell them too. I should say that I used to see them. After being on every possible combination of pills three doctors could come up with, I thought we’d finally found the right chemical key for my misfiring brain. It’s been six years of stability and relative normalcy, trading a halfway house for a tiny studio apartment, a collection of mostly tolerable side-effects, and a steady job. I realize this probably sounds dull for most people, but I cherished every moment of that achingly simple monotony.
It went bad all at once
Friday morning. I awake from the first dream I’ve had in years, a vivid phantasmagoria of colors and sounds, and begrudgingly leave my perfect and sterile clean apartment for the short walk to work.
I notice it as soon as the elevator opens, the unearthly stillness and silence in the heavy air. The front door of the complex is hanging open, unlocked and swinging gently, the faintest trace of smoke drifting inward in the damp breeze. Outside, the wide streets are empty and bare. My mouth is suddenly dry and I rock back on my heels, cresting a crippling wave of panic and déjà vu.
This particular hallucination, the quiet and the smoke and the emptiness, was always my most frequent; I haven’t had it in six years but the familiarity of it stings. I shut my eyes tightly, and jab my hand at the panels of chipped buttons. Moments later I am on the top floor, walking half blind the path to my door with practiced familiarity. Once inside I sit on my bed, gripping tight the handle of my cane, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. Focused. Calm. Clear. I open my eyes.
I can’t be outside like this, I know this. I was hit by a car when I was homeless, wandering dazed into the street, while my fevered mind saw only emptiness. I’ll need a replacement hip before I’m forty. I can hear the slivers of bone grind a little with every labored step. I call my boss, and leave a terse message, apologizing for being too ill to work today.
I hold my breath as I open the one tiny window in my studio. It’s so close to the building next to me, I can almost touch its brick wall and I can’t see the street from this height and angle: but as I strain to lean out the window, sounds of yelling and a few whining engines drift up to me. The pall of unearthly quiet is broken, and I feel a great sense of relief, knowing that my episode is over.
I am counting the pills in orderly columns on the table, proving a fifth time to myself that I have taken my daily regimen, when I start to hear the screaming. It builds from far below; riding the struts and supports of the tower until it seems to emanate from the bones of the building.
An hour later the sounds seem like they are right outside; horrid, terrified, inchoate clumps of half formed words and pleas, punctuated by wet, ragged shrieks and heavy muffled thudding. The breathing and relaxation exercises aren’t helping, and I’m gripping the edge of my bed, soaked in sweat. The idea appears fully formed in my mind: I need to barricade the door. I struggle to suppress it. It would be like- giving up, all progress I’ve made would be for naught if I entertain the notion that the episode is real.
But the screaming… this is a new one for me.
There’s the shuffle of movement outside, and the knob of the door twists violently and shudders against the deadbolt. I try to cry out, but my throat is parched and only a dry croak comes out. The door starts flex slightly as heavy blows land on the outside, and a mad, gibbering chorus of voices spits out a strange nonsense of broken syllables.
It only takes me a moment to decide now. I burst to my feet and throw all my weight into the bookshelf, crashing into it with bright white bolt of pain. It topples slowly, leaning at first like a tree and then smashing to the ground. On top of the bookshelf goes my desk and chairs, my hip screaming with each step. I collapse again on the floor, grasping for breath, and listen to the pounding subside and the horrid voices retreat.
That was two days ago.
They come back every day and scratch at the door, whispering in that vile gibberish. Sometimes I allow myself to think I can recognize the voices. The phone is dead, and the power is out. When I lean out the window and yell for help, the only answer I get is the occasional shriek or ululating babble.
When I was younger, when I was at my worst, my episodes would last for hours, at most. I am at a loss. I have very little food left and the water pressure has already dropped.
Lying in bed in the late summer heat, in a moment of near total silence, the inevitability of it occurs to me. If I stay, I’ll starve. What happens to me on the other side of the barricade only depends on how sick I really am.
I want to believe with a sudden desire I am just ill, simply and profoundly ill. The sureness of it wells up in me, and I feel suddenly awake and lucid. I need a doctor, surely, but soon the hallucination will lift and my mind will heal. I just need to break through this.
I need to go outside.
I remove the bookshelf slowly, rotating it away from the door gently to rest with the other furniture. This is right, I assure myself. This is healthy. I turn the deadbolt, put my hand on the handle, and try to suppress the rising terror in my guts. I give it a little pressure.
Outside, I hear a dry shuffling and a low rising murmur of unfathomable voices, and my surety drains from me, leaving only cold and naked horror in its place.
My hand is on the door.
I’m about to do a very stupid thing.
–
Credited to entropyblues.
Posted in Insanity & Madness
September 21st, 2008 at 11:13 am
I love that the ending is vauge enough to make you question wether or not he really is crazy.
September 21st, 2008 at 11:26 am
Oh my, first pasta in a long time that I wanted to go on. I loved it.
September 21st, 2008 at 12:02 pm
But… what happens? D:
That was a very good pasta, left me hanging for more.
I’m beggining to like these long ones.
September 21st, 2008 at 12:03 pm
That’s it? I want more! This seems like a pasta that could go on for at least short story length. I couldn’t imagine having to live with an illness like that. I would probably kill myself.
Also, BUT WHO WAS NOISES!
Sorry. I’ve never done it before and couldn’t resist.
September 21st, 2008 at 12:19 pm
oh sorry that was me
September 21st, 2008 at 12:25 pm
This was very, very creepy. I loved it
September 21st, 2008 at 12:43 pm
wow that was some amazing writing
September 21st, 2008 at 1:38 pm
Hmmmm….very interesting story
September 21st, 2008 at 2:32 pm
Nice story.
September 21st, 2008 at 3:01 pm
Wow…
I really, really like this one =D
Hope I never go mad like that.
Great job, entrophyblues.
September 21st, 2008 at 3:13 pm
THEN WHO WAS DOOR?
September 21st, 2008 at 4:37 pm
i kinda liked this one and whoo-hoo i think i have the first comment!
September 21st, 2008 at 4:53 pm
Holy CRAP. That was AMAZING.
September 21st, 2008 at 5:35 pm
wow…when it comes to writing this pasta is top notch i must say
i rather liked this
bravo
September 21st, 2008 at 5:56 pm
WAT.
September 21st, 2008 at 6:14 pm
Interesting. An enjoyable tale.
September 21st, 2008 at 6:25 pm
PHONE IS DEAD
September 21st, 2008 at 8:24 pm
nice
September 21st, 2008 at 8:33 pm
I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS!
I want this to be an actuall short story!
>.<”
September 21st, 2008 at 8:42 pm
“Sorry to bother you but we had to give your new more potent medication.”
September 21st, 2008 at 10:32 pm
Amazing
September 21st, 2008 at 10:54 pm
That was great.Not the best though.
September 21st, 2008 at 10:55 pm
Quite lovely. Compliments to the chef! =]
September 21st, 2008 at 11:10 pm
Sucks for him har har.
September 21st, 2008 at 11:25 pm
BUT WHO WAS SCREAM?
Oh man.
That was amazing.
September 21st, 2008 at 11:33 pm
Zombies?
September 21st, 2008 at 11:45 pm
BUT WHO WAS GIBBERING SCREAMS?
September 21st, 2008 at 11:50 pm
Thanks to the brave anon on 4chan that suggested to me the idea of zombies + delusional narrator.
September 22nd, 2008 at 12:06 am
Oh hai guyz. Sorry for fuckzing with crazy dude.
September 22nd, 2008 at 12:14 am
it had to have been Zombies
his medication caused his SUPER MUTANT POWERS OF ZOMBIFICATION to not be activated.
the medicationg must have become ineffective, and he suddenly ZOMBIFIED everyone in the city…
probably not.
September 22nd, 2008 at 12:56 am
Still sounds like zombies.
Sorta has a 28 days later vibe to it.
Either that, or I’m missing something.
Which is quite possible.
September 22nd, 2008 at 1:10 am
Very, very well done.
September 22nd, 2008 at 3:33 am
eh.
whatever.
3 out of 10.
September 22nd, 2008 at 5:04 am
This was a wonderful piece.
Stephen Queen, you are a heathen.
September 22nd, 2008 at 5:53 am
I didnt get zombies from it untill you all said it. Then it reminded me of that movie with Will Smith.
I was thinking interdimensional-psychic powers.
Like he was actually seeing into other dimensions which happened to be full of monsters and things, and now after all that searching the monsters finally found him.
0.0 Definate day-dream material.
September 22nd, 2008 at 5:53 am
Best pasta I’ve read in a while. I loved it! =D
September 22nd, 2008 at 6:27 am
More psychological mindfucks like this are needed, and less, “Oh, no, a ghost!”
September 22nd, 2008 at 7:13 am
BUT WHO WAS HALLUCINATION?
September 22nd, 2008 at 9:29 am
entropyblues, great writing. Concept isn’t groundbreaking but you executed it so very well.
September 22nd, 2008 at 9:44 am
Fantastic!
September 22nd, 2008 at 3:25 pm
O:
I LOVE. I WANT TO KNOW IF HE’S CRAZY…
[/cruisecontrol]
September 22nd, 2008 at 3:43 pm
@the Person Formerly known as ‘Noneya’
I thought of the Will Smith movie, too.
I Am Legend, right?
September 22nd, 2008 at 4:57 pm
I didn’t get “zombies” either. More like… ghouls.
Some demonic creatures of madness that have either drawn him into their world, fully this time, or taken over ours.
September 23rd, 2008 at 7:12 am
I couldn’t tell if he was crazy or not ):.
September 23rd, 2008 at 5:24 pm
this reminds me of the 6th sent
September 23rd, 2008 at 10:08 pm
MUST KNOW WHAT HAPPENS! GOOD GOD, MAKE THE SEQUEL!!
September 24th, 2008 at 2:06 pm
dude,that was WICKED!!!! i love how it leaves it open for perception,but,oh god,i love it,100000000000000000000000000000/10
one question though,WHO WAS MAN?
September 24th, 2008 at 7:31 pm
Wow.. I like it! XP
September 26th, 2008 at 6:28 pm
asdfghjkl;’
In a way I want the ending to this really badly! But then again, I feel that the ending is better left for you to decide, like a cliffhanger.
Very nice pasta. It makes for a great dinner.
September 27th, 2008 at 2:27 am
Oooooh. This was definately a good one.
Kudos to whoever came up with it.
October 1st, 2008 at 12:19 am
I was expecting yet another “LOL crazy narrator hears noises” pasta. Instead, I found a masterpiece of psychological horror, and a really effective mindfuck.
Well done, OP.
October 1st, 2008 at 7:27 pm
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared. She said “You’re moving with your auntie and uncle in bel-air.”
October 2nd, 2008 at 1:01 am
It was good overall but it gets a bit boring you just have to keep reading till the end..
October 3rd, 2008 at 4:51 pm
I’m stuck between wanting to know what happens, and not wanting. I hope to never fall into that sort of madness, though, truth be told, I may all ready have. I suppose I’ll never truly know.
October 5th, 2008 at 2:04 pm
that was some creepy ass shit!
but well written shit, does the writer of this have any more things similar? because this was pretty damn awesome.
October 6th, 2008 at 6:34 pm
@55
Yep.
http://thejosefkstories.blogspot.com/
October 10th, 2008 at 8:04 pm
Cried from the occasional typo, this was a pretty good piece of writing. Though, i have a thing for the Unreliable Narrator device, personally.
In regards to the ending, don’t change a damn thing. The reader is guaranteed to come up with the most outrageous thing possible to fill in the empty space after the story ends.
October 12th, 2008 at 7:32 pm
O:
WHO WAS SCREAM?
lolidothatalot.
October 19th, 2008 at 2:19 am
This was one of those rare creepypastas that made my stomach jerk and my eyes water.
Probably because I’ve had troubles with hallucinations before, and the “what if it never goes away and I’m stuck here” thought was always horrifying.
October 19th, 2008 at 5:21 pm
That was so cool.It only felt like one day in the story.I want to know more and find out whats behind the door.
October 24th, 2008 at 8:12 pm
Sounds like if he isn’t crazy, he’s being thrown into hell, or some other crazy ass dimension.
November 1st, 2008 at 11:38 am
When you reached the end of the story, continue reading from the beginning.
Notice something? I sure as hell shat a house.
November 4th, 2008 at 3:09 pm
dont you think this sounds at least a tiny bit like “i am legend” ??
November 5th, 2008 at 9:27 pm
@ 62. Fetus
So does he have schizophrenia or something? Like that one story with the milk and eggs or whatever. Where the woman kept doing the same thing over and over when her mom was really dead on the couch..?
Weird. I didn’t think of it that way.
Good pasta, though.
November 8th, 2008 at 6:42 pm
@62
holy crap i didn’t notice that.
November 10th, 2008 at 12:47 pm
Nice! But reading through the story I feel sorry for him.
I have been with psyche patients in the wars cause im a student nurse. and that is great observation @ 62!
November 10th, 2008 at 12:53 pm
*ward
November 16th, 2008 at 12:54 am
I was thinking. So the stupid thing is probably him succumbing to his fear and closing and barricading the door again, right? Poor guy.
Next post gets 69!