Wake Up

February 19, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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Everything started out normal. It was just a simple nightmare, right? But the more I thought about it, the more unlikely that sounded. No nightmare could be that detailed, that gruesome. At first I thought I was alone in that dream, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. There was something there, in the far corner of the room. It sat there, watching, waiting, taunting me, almost drawing me towards it. It looked like a statue, made of dark stone with glittering eyes made of rubies. It’s hands were crossed over it’s heart, as if holding a small object close. Silently, I walked towards the object, somehow knowing I would regret the decision. It was only a few feet away now. Something was off about the statue. It had a deathly cold air around it, almost like an invisible wall that you had to push through to get past. Once I was only a foot away, I immediately knew what was off about it. This wasn’t a statue. No, far from it to be exact. It was some sort of…phantom, reaper, whatever way you want to describe it. It just stood there, unwavering, unblinking. I desperately wanted to move away, to turn and run as far away as possible, though something rooted me to that exact spot. Was it fear? Fascination? Maybe a little bit of both? Whatever it was, I despised the feeling for keeping me in such a dangerous spot.

It all happened so fast. First, I was standing there, watching the creature. Then, it lunged at me, wrapping it’s robed arms around me, the cold air chilling me to the bone. I blinked, a new scene unraveling in front of me. I couldn’t exactly describe where I was, because there was nothing around me except snow. The white fluff was blowing in the wind, like ice cold razors cutting through my flesh. All sense of direction was lost, replaced by desperation to get out of the freezing temperatures. Sprinting off in what I thought was north, I stumbled a few times, quickly getting up in fear that something was chasing me. I must have been running for hours, though I couldn’t tell. Off in the distance, I thought I saw what looked like a cave. It was still a good two hundred yards away, but surprisingly clear through the blizzard. Seeing it as my only option, I ran towards the entrance, finally stumbling into the blackness. Upon reaching the bottom, I found myself in a jungle, heat beating down on me, the sweat refusing to evaporate into the already humid air. Getting up, I brushed the dirt off my pants, carefully slinking through the trees and undergrowth, not wanting to attract any unwanted guests. There was a sound in the distance, almost sounding like an elderly man’s voice. Ignoring it at first, I continued to walk, the man’s voice getting louder with each step until I reached a small clearing. In the center, an old man sat, his knees pulled to his chest. The man’s back was towards me, but as I walked around him, I was surprised, no, terrified when I saw what he looked like. Pale, emotionless eyes sunken into his skull. Thin lips muttering something I couldn’t hear. Skin wrinkled and burnt from sitting in the blistering hot sun. The man looked up at me, recognition flashing in his gaze. “I saw you in my dream. Can you save us?” He asked, still rocking back and forth. The words shocked me, and as I backed away, he repeated himself. Over and over he spoke the words, each time his eyes growing wider and wider, his voice raising to a shout. Turning, I sprinted off in the direction away from the clearing, though the words still followed me the whole way.

Another few hours passed, and I was in a field. The change of scenery confused me, and I knew that it had to have something to do with the reaper that attacked me. Off on the horizon, there was a mountain, it’s peak reaching high above the clouds. Walking towards it, I tripped over something, falling onto my face. Turning, I saw what looked to be a young girl, about 13 years old, laying in the grass, her hands folded over her chest. “Don’t believe what they say. You’re dreaming. You have to wake up,” She said, returning to her pensive state. Backing away, I continued my trek towards the mountain, though I didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Frustrated, I kicked a stone, falling back onto the ground. There was a cold wind, red eyes flashing above me before the world went black.

**

A soft dripping sounded in the distance, soft whispers followed by a beep…beep…beep. I didn’t open my eyes in fear of seeing the reaper, continuing to listen to what was going on. There was a louder voice off in the distance, and I sat up, my eyes opening to take in a white hospital room, flowers and a card sitting on the table next to me. There were doctors out in the hallway, whispering softly. One must have seen me, because they all rushed into the room, huddling around my bed. “What did you see? Did you dream? Was it there?” They asked, all the questions making my head start to ache. Someone from the back of the crowd hushed everyone, pushing his way to the front. He was tall, and though he only looked to be about twenty-two, he had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. “Let the poor girl wake up a little first,” He said, setting a clipboard down on the edge of my bed. “Here, I’ll explain,” He said. “Police found you in the woods about a mile away from your house. There were several puncture wounds all over your body, and you were shivering as if you were in the snow without a coat. A few of us checked you out, though we were unable to identify the cause of said wounds. You’ve been in a coma for over two years,” The doctor explained, his eyes dark in sadness. “During the coma, we have written down several things you have said in your sleep, most of them inexplicable,” He said, looking down at the clip board. “Your stable now, so you’re free to go home any time you wish,” The doctor said, grabbing his clipboard and heading out of the room. A nurse handed me my clothes, the rest of them leaving the room to let me get changed. After doing so, I walked to the lobby to check out.

**

That same night, I crawled into my bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin and looking out the window. The branches rattled against the window in the wind, making me jump every time they brushed against the glass. I could’t seem to shake the memory of the reaper, especially the red eyes. Something about them seemed so foreign, yet so familiar. Shaking my head, I turned over so my back was facing the window, deciding to think about it in the morning. Closing my eyes, I heard a soft whisper.

“Sleep tight… I’ll be waiting.”

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Night

February 17, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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At my young tender age, painting was the only psychoanalysis I ever needed to retreat to, or how common people call it therapy. Every hour in the morning until the sun rises, my brush strokes back and forth. It tells a part of a story I wish to tell, but I am only full of fear. The brush strains itself dry with repressed fear as its ink.

What did I paint this time in the morning?

 

A bird.

A bird.

My first night under the new full moon in the summer was an everyday moment. The repeating cycle forced upon the cold shadows of what used to be formal civilization. I tried to close my eyes, entering into a tranquil state, relieving myself from the pain of familiar faces.

Entering the other side of my mind, the visions and experiences to which my emotions created.

A dream. One night I entered.

One night I took in the unexpected.

One night I envisioned a corrupt identity.

Visions blurred around, but at once I reasoned to the fact I was falling into deep space. My eyes closed shut, to let the feeling sink in. Unsteadiness arose when my bare feet felt cool slabs of brick.

This is quite strange, I thought.

I’m outside.

There I was on my hands and feet, rising up to wave around, feeling any possible walls in this pitch-dark environment. Only two walls reached my grasp, side by side. If there was a passage, there was a way out. I took a light step forward with one hand on the wall. Light was up ahead, and my hand lost touch at the end. Something rushed by inches from my face. My eyes deceived me, for that was not a train, creature, or being, it was a coach.

A coach? Have I gone mad?

The rush of wind trailing behind caught my legs, forcing them back down on the pavement. Whatever this place was, nothing of modern living was shown. Old street lamps in black lighted each corner. All of the buildings were in a crimson color; to where I stood was an abandoned alley.

My Lungs dropped abruptly, choking and wheezing for a gasp of air. Grey paste retched out of my system, relieving the pain my lungs had.

“Oh! The indecency!” said a woman above me. The paste stained her dress and petticoat. She scrunched her little nose, tossing her head the other way. People treaded across the grey puddle, all mimicking the woman’s disgusted face.

Retreating to the alley was the only choice now. There was a stinging pain across my head and heavy shoulders dragged me down. Rest was inevitable now.

 

Very little time had passed in my struggle to rest. The night grew darker with nobody around. I had very shallow strength to walk, but it was not time to worry about.

The well-kept perfection of nothing out of place chilled my knees. There stood lit lamps, cool breeze, no quarrelsome ruffians or pestering chats. Everything kept in place.

I stood up at the sound of a slow clacking noise down the pavement. On a corner across the alley, stood a lamp where a shadow grew closer.

 

It was a woman.

night2

The woman clicked in her heels quickly, clutching both arms in the cold. She lifted her head up to catch a glimpse of the night sky. Such an illuminating beauty she was. However her eyes encountered a different story. They sunk in deeply, losing color in the iris of what should have been hazel. The woman lowered her head on the lamppost, exhibiting weary highlights of indigo and violet in her hair. Outbursts of sobbing were all she did.

“Get the damn girl…Wait! There is no…either that filth…. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!”

Unknown thoughts stung me various times, burrowing its messages in my head like swarming wasps. I kept bashing at my forehead, believing this was a demented illusion. Every vein retracted inside. Something was pulling strings, since I could not even twitch. The strain held back blood from my beating heart. It would skip for seconds until it ceased to beat at all. Death nearly took me away, but the hidden force released me and I collapsed.

Faint laughter was heard from the entity.

“…Lucky…sense…here…he…here…. He’s here. Fufufu-hahaha………such…queer…you…are…”

At the corner, the woman ceased to stop wailing. What stopped her wails was the sound of another’s footsteps. She flinched at its shadow coming near the lamppost.

The lamppost shined on a tall man in a dark cloak with his fingers in white and sharpened at the tip.

His face is what shook me.

Only a white bird mask covered his face. There was little skin on his right cheek, and red meat dangled on the side. The woman looked at the damage with sad eyes. I listened deeply to the woman’s voice of anguish, hearing not a hint of what I could understand. The man spoke softly to calm her down. She stomped a heel, yelling at him in frustration. He took a hard slap from the woman and yelled in agony of the dangling meat ripping away. His white hand seized her arm. She whimpered at his impatience, hearing the dark tone in his threat. But the man could not bear seeing her forlorn.

He openly embraced the woman, soothing her fear with words.

“You…ignore…happiness. Have…”

The entity returned.

I had enough of the message it tried to send.

“This cannot change on what I believe in. Possessive thoughts are for the driven.” I told the invisible being.

What was I saying…?

“Fools? You. Better…even the girl…DAMN LIFE-“

“SHUT UP!” I covered my ears, no to believe the insanity in me.

“Would…you…to be happy?”

“Happy?”

“Yes…only…to…rid…pain…slaughter…his…cherishment.”

There was a moment I had, looking at my right hand.

EVERYTHING HAS AN END.

 

The wretched bastard fooled me by being apologetic. Every day she visited less and less, until a note was written to me on how she was happy in Lock Haven, with him as her betrothed. Bitter days raised and desolate nights set. That was an end to our friendship. And my madness as an animal opened.

“End…it.” The entity murmured.

I tightened my right hand into its very grasp with crimson trickling down.

There was a blade in my hand.

Not a damn would be given over the pain; I slit the rest of my palm and held the handle in my left hand. The woman had been given the man’s cloak for warm comfort. They walked separated paths after dealing with conflict. I paced forward in her direction. She seemed detached of worries over any possible danger in the night.

 

I pounced upon the woman’s petite figure, stuffing my fingers in her mouth to block any uttering shriek.

My blade punctured her face numerous times. The absolute rush of releasing my demented rage was everything to me!

Pride. Wrath. Melancholy. Emotions representing harsh cloaked feelings.

Sympathy. Joy. Care. Emotions those are full of untouched beauty.

All the colors splattered around and mixed their contents to make sheer and brilliant crimson! Everywhere! EVERYTHING!

But everything has an end.

The man had dashed to her muffling cries, kicking me right off the woman. He pulled out a sword to finish me, but it turned to ashes. The man and woman disappeared.

And so did the world.

 

Dark dust rose with fog surrounding me. The dust formed a cloak; under its shadow was a hideous face with deep holes scowling in disgust.

The dust formed a cloak; under its shadow was a hideous face with deep holes scowling in disgust.

Its neck creaked each inch, raising the head toward me. The being slurred:

“Envy has. …Become… Your master….”

The face outstretched itself, growing long teeth and a slick tongue. It charged right at me.

The face outstretched itself, growing long teeth and a slick tongue. It charged right at me.

“NO!”

My lungs peaked at its height in an attempt to breathe. I was alone in bed, looking at the alarm clock.

5:09.

The sun has not risen yet.

My right hand seemed empty, no cuts, and no blade. Not even a dark thought that stung my head. I let out a deep sigh of solace. There was no need to go back to sleep. I had a conjecture over her happy ending. It was her fault for choosing that man. My only loss of regret was not choosing to see her again. Without a helping hand, she could have been lost. Seeing them both happy was enough to make me repulsed.

 

The thought made me chuckle a little.

“Five more minutes of sleep would do…”

 

Misery had always been The Artist’s great friend. Even in the lowest of times, I can’t help but reflect back on those dark times in my paintings.

Look, I even painted the moon, with one side dark and one side light.

Look, I even painted the moon, with one side dark and one side light.

 

 

Credit To – Atzin

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Hermit

February 15, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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(Based on a real life premonition.)

On the eve of his parents death Alex sat down at the dining table and poured himself a glass of crystalline red wine. He swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing and grimaced at sour grape-like taste that died on his tongue. Alex had never been much of a drinker ‘but then again’, he admitted to himself ‘I was always going to need some help today’. He shuffled in his seat lethargically to look at the dust-covered picture that hung from the wrought iron fireplace. In his mind he could see the hole that he had made in the sepia photo, burned through by three hundred and sixty five days of wonton staring.

His folks were gone, ridden a car into the great here-after, and deep down he knew he’d have to accept it one of these days, but for Alex the grief had not faded.

Far off in the depths of the oaken rafters a small snap resounded through the whole house. A clock chimed for one in the morning.

Otherwise the house was deathly quiet, and for a young man scarcely out of his teenage years the absence of sound rang louder in his ears than his preferred drum and bass solos. He hadn’t felt like listening to music in a long, long while, or doing anything else for that matter except try and re-order his heat oppressed brain. An entire year had come and gone without Alex ever leaving the family home.

Had Alex been born in any other time this would have been an impossible feat, as the hunter-gatherer instinct would have been his only recourse for daily nutrition but with the introduction of welfare cheques and cooked meals that could be delivered to your doorstep, Alex discovered he could withdraw from the world entirely. He could take up a permanent residence inside his head. Resigning himself to yet another evening of moroseness, Alex slumped down into his fathers old chair and felt for the familiar wrinkles in the leather or perhaps, if he were lucky, a handprint. The tragedy was that Alex had been a very active boy until his loss. How he used to run when his folks were still living. Alex remembered how he was able to for miles, and how proud it made his parents to see that Alex had placed a great deal of his time on fitness. ‘Great work ma boy’ his gruff old dad had said to him, a smile wide on his whiskered face. ‘We’ll make an athlete out of you yet, don-cha-know-it, only don’t forget your pa when you make it big!’

Alex sat up, faster than any movement he had made in the past seven months. This was a waste of life, and it was only now, on the anniversary of his perpetuated misery had he come to realise it. ‘This wasn’t the way his parents wanted him to live’ he had thought, and he intended to put that straight. Alex pulled up his grey tracksuit and headed to the green front door. Stretching out a hand, Alex had begun to notice a few things that struck him as odd. Like how whenever he’d look over at his parent’s photo, he couldn’t see them like he could see himself. In the photo, Alex had seen, a pacemaker suspended a meter and a half in thin air. Just a smallish plastic and metal pump floating in front of a Yorkshire countryside backdrop, and floating above that was a set of wickedly grinning dentures. These were the non-organic parts of his father, that and his mothers’ replacement hip; toward the left side of the picture was all Alex could see of them now. Alex placed a hand on the brass handle, ready to feel the cold night air on his face.

What had also seemed odd was that his memories of their deaths often changed. Sometimes he was sobbing uncontrollably into the sofa, allowing the phone to drop out of his hand when it called upon him to identify the bodies. Other times, he was there, out on the road, watching through a windscreen awash with streaky raindrops.

No. No, that wasn’t right. Sometimes he felt like he wasn’t witnessing two bodies flying over the dashboard, and land crumpling into a broken heap some twenty yards away. Sometimes he felt like he had only seen one. The latch clicked but Alex held the door in place, the full terror of his circumstances gripping at his insides. He took a sharp, quiet breath inward and let the final thought drift through his mind.

And sometimes it felt like he wasn’t moving his legs when he walked around the house, couldn’t remember how and when the delivery man had dropped off the takeaways, and why his internet was always dead.

That word. Had he been on the road that night?

Alex opened the door outward. And saw nothing. An inky black fog as far as he could fathom, was expanding and contracting in every direction. No houses, no cars, no street lamps. All Alex could see was a barren space, as wide as the imagination, and as blank as slate.

Slowly, Alex closed the door on the infinite void and let the memories of the past nine minutes fade out from his mind. Just like always, it was too much to bear. So he forgot. He would always forget. And so for the 8,193,495,194th year in a row, Alex locked his front door, and walked back into purgatory.

Credit To – Urbsun Psychic.

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Then Again, But Maybe Not

January 10, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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The wind brushing up against my face was common, but it never felt subtle to me. Never felt as if it was there to cool or comfort; only there to remind me of where I was. In my bed laid me – and in me laid my mind, which was a sanctuary where I reviewed the past events of life. Most nights, the same memories would flash across my mind – my temple. Occasionally, however, a past instance unbeknownst to me would arise in the inner confines of my brain. These instances were special. They proved to me that there was more than just the tangible memories. These memories weren’t real, yet they were. They had to be, or else how did I have them?

One night, the wind was prominent. It was grazing against my mind, urging it to think – and so like most nights, I would try to have thoughts until sleep fell upon me. That night was different though. It was different because I wanted to rest; I didn’t want to be kept awake in the complex and constant firings of the synoptic nerves inside me. Nevertheless, I knew that my longing to sleep was futile and so I succumbed to the scratchings against my skull. I tried to force a memory out from the caverns behind the millennia of compressed stone, but my castle only lowered the drawbridge when I was ready. I waited. Waited. Waited. It wasn’t easy – to just lie awaiting the miracle of mental satisfaction, but I had no other choice.

Looking back on it now. I don’t remember what thought came to my mind that night. I am not certain of its confines nor am I concerned with it any longer. All that I am aware of is that something came to me that night.  I am positive of this, because I know that I fell asleep. Something fell asleep at least. Maybe it was inside me. The dark corners of my world within my mind grew. They formed in endless ambiguity and they regressed the steadfast luminance of the candles in the hall. The hall.

I didn’t stay in my dreams long though. No time for that. I opened my eyes and there he laid. Next to me. He was there with me and he was silent. I was startled to say the least – how could this entity have possibly found me in my sanctuary. His eyes were open, but no expression was apparent. Was he observing me? Was he as shocked as I was? My questions were answered sooner than I thought – for he opened his mouth and said

“Hello Taylor. It is nice to finally meet you.” The guttural bellowings of his voice frightened me, but I did not want him to know what was in my mind. This being said, I knew that he had only opened his mouth to address the thoughts circling inside me. I responded slowly, because the gravity of the situation was still setting in. “I suppose it is nice to meet you as well, although I don’t have the pleasure of k-knowing your name as you do mine.” The ever-so-slight stutter was enough to blow my cover. This person laying next to me was keen, I knew he had caught my falter. “No need to be afraid. I am not here to hurt you. Promise. Only here to show you,” he snidely remarked with confidence abundant. I could feel a sense of warmth come over me and the wind had gone stagnant. I started to wonder why I hadn’t gotten up, why I hadn’t ran away from this situation. I realized there seemed to be no threat and to be honest – I wanted to see what he would say next. I waited and finally decided to lay on my side to face him. Up until this point, we were both on our backs – underneath the covers except our faces. When I turned, he did as well. I suppose he felt it was only logical, but I was not sure he understood how unique this memory was. He looked like me. Almost identical except his face was narrower and his jaw more pronounced. His hair was lighter, but it was hard to tell considering my eyes were still adjusting to the darkness. We were close together, so close that I could feel his breath. It was ice and the coldness of his aroma reminded me of the wind. I got to thinking.

“Listen, I know that my thoughts are open to you. I know that you sense my fear. I am afraid of you and I want you say mo-” “Stop it,” he said. “I can’t interpret your mind. I don’t need to. If you want me to leave – I will, but I’ll return tomorrow night and the next until you are ready for me.” I felt ashamed for some reason after this utterance entered me. Guilt – as if I had let him down with my statement of emotion. We had barely spoken at all and yet I felt like I owed him something. Questions. Question were puncturing my machinations.

Make them stop – I am begging you.

“You can stay, but I need answers;” the implication of my demand didn’t fully make known its consequence until it was too late, but I felt as though I had to require something from him. He sighed loudly and it sent shivers down my spine. The mixture of cold and warmth in the room was intriguing to say the least – my body was reacting to opposite stimuli every moment. The mental tiring was straining to say the least, I held my own for as long as I could. “I was afraid you might say that…I am not here to give you answers, only to bring you to them;” he laid his hand on my shoulder saying, “you have to trust me. Constricting you would be tightening the shackles on me.” I gathered the strength to confront him more vehemently; “What is your name and how did you get here? What are you?” His hand retracted sharply as if by pain; “as of right now, you know as much about me as I do. I am learning though. I am learning quickly and every word exiting your mouth helps. As for how I got here…isn’t that obvious? You of course. How else?  I don’t know what I am. It really all depends on what you want me to be I suppose. You ask me of things only yourself can say.”

The wind was still nonexistent; I was capturing everything. My eyes were gathering as much of his face as they could handle. My ears picked up every creak in the room. I was making sure that this was a memory I would surely not forget. I looked over to the digital clock behind him, only to find that the time was reading blank. Was I still dreaming? Obviously. Relief fell over me and I finally felt at ease. It was time to make this encounter more interesting, now that I knew for certain I was not in danger; “I don’t want to name you. Let’s be friends though, I think that would be nice.” His expression went from blank to anger instantly. His hand projected outward to grasp my throat with speed and precision on an uncanny level. I felt myself gasping for air, my eyes went black. The wind rose to a roar from my window and I lost my hold on reality.

When I awoke in the morning I was facing the other side of where I had been strangled in my dream. I was glad to know I had not forgotten the dream,  for it was a common occurrence. “Don’t make light of me anymore. This is not a joke;” the words exuded from behind me like a ghost wrapping its deathly fingers around my ear. I cringed and held my breath. It seemed like hours I waited there, I finally convinced myself that I was just paranoid and slowly turned over. My eyes met his dead-on and my heart stopped. “Why are you here…why am I still dreaming?” I asked him with pain in my throat. He only smiled and said “I’m sorry, I was only trying to make you see the truth.” I touched him on the face. It was real. I tried to push him softly – there was weight in him. He didn’t seem to mind the experiments I was running on him. He finally gathered how hard this was for my mind to wrap around. “Stop. Can’t you see that I am real?” He cackled with much delight. I closed my eyes for a split second to regain composure, but when I had opened them – he was nowhere to be found.

I checked underneath my bed like the toddler does for the monster. I looked in my closet and in every corner around the house. It was to no avail. I walked down the long hall between my room and the shower and decided to relax with a long bathing. My mind was racing and my heart would not cease its pounding. I dried myself off and figured that I was finally over the hellish nightmare that plagued me. I looked in the mirror to see if I needed to shave, but then it hit me. Like a sledgehammer to my skull I collapsed in pain from the sight. There were bruises around my neck. I could see him behind me in the reflection pointing, but not saying a word. I didn’t even try to turn around. I knew he wouldn’t be there.

I walked into the kitchen to find that my mother was already there cooking breakfast. She didn’t notice the bruises. She never noticed anything. “Mom, when are we going to the doctor? I have been having trouble sleeping for months now.” She pretended like she didn’t hear me, but I knew why. Ever since father died, we never had enough monetary resources to sustain even basic needs, much less unnecessary luxuries. Co-payments for medical check-up fell into the latter category, but my brain sure didn’t want to accept that. The fort wasn’t holding up. I needed sustenance to concentrate. I needed to focus, to gather my thoughts together. Just as I was about to ask how long the food would take to get ready, the plate was gently placed in front of me. The scent of the plate entered my nose. Needless to say, it was not a subtle sense considering my hunger. I ate in haste and was completely satisfied, my opinion of mother was rising considerably – but I still could not let go her lack of understanding. As I lounged back to try and clear my head, I noticed out of the corner of my eyes that he was standing in the dark laundry room behind the crack of its closed door. I tried to ignore him, but he was as true as a statue in his deliberate staring into my soul.

I needed a distraction, but I was hoping for something a little less abrasive than my baby sister screaming from across the house. “Take care of her, would you son?” I left without saying a word, I welcomed the change of scenery once it sunk in that he was not going to give me peace. I gave Lena her bottle and helped her drink as much as she could. As terrible as it sounds, part of me hated her. Father had left mother with child before he went missing on a business trip and never returned. As a result, we had another mouth to feed and needless to say, it caused a multitude of complications for us financially. I held a grudge even though I knew it was irrational. All the memories of the family together was flooding my mind, I couldn’t take it anymore.

The pain, make it stop.

I left the room only to remember I had forgotten to take the bottle with me to be refilled. I saw him staring over the crib looking down on her. He was whispering something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “Stop talking to her! Leave her alone. I thought you were here for me only!” I raced to meet him and I look at his mouth in disgust. His whispers vanished in realization of my presence. He looked sad, as if I had somehow done him wrong. “Why don’t you like me? Why won’t you take me seriously? I am not a monster, I am just the first domino. I have what will start a new age for you. I will bring you the truth. I will set you free.” He looked different. His face was narrower and his jaw was enlarged. His eyes were sunken in and punctuated by a not-so-subtle line of darkened flesh. His hair was shorter and he seemed taller then I remembered. I responded quickly, “What are you talking about? I have no idea what you want from me or what I am supposed to do. Don’t you see how this isn’t normal?!” His demeanor changed. His movements became more cryptic. He breathed differently and his eyes were shifting wildly. His mouth didn’t move, but I could hear the words clearly, “This is all I have ever known. Soon. You will know it to be true as well.” My heart sank and fear was rising to unforeseen heights in my body. My fortress was destroyed and desecrated, I lost all composure I had and fled from the room.

I could hear him laughing hysterically in the back-ground, but I refused to let his reality consume mine. My thoughts were racing as fast as my heart and there was a chilling draft in the house I did not feel before. I returned to my mother to bring the news that Lena was no longer in agitation. She was pleased, but seemed clueless to the fact that I was catching my breath. I walked back to my room down the hall. The long hall which separated my room from the rest of the house. I sat down and began to search for something to focus on. I pulled out my pocket knife and studied its contours. The blade was shiny and well-kept; I loved my knife even though I had never used it for anything. It was a gift from my father, but I don’t remember why he thought I would want it. My father…he was always a quiet person and he was not home for most of what I can remember of my life. His job required him to travel a lot and I never forgave him for that. I wanted to keep him home, I didn’t want him to leave. Memories of him were always painful for me to reminisce because they never lasted long enough for me to gather any real emotions. My mind always hated him for that. I glanced back down at the blade and saw his eyes perfectly aligned in the metal. I quickly snapped the knife back into its handle and tried to forget what I just saw. I needed something to get my mind off of him.

Anything to make it stop. Anything would be better than this.

The rest of the day was as abysmal as the beginning. He would pop up occasionally to remind me of his existence. Every-time that he entered the confines of my senses, I felt the hostility rise. His words became increasingly vague and prophetic. His appearance worsened and his skin was becoming paler for every encounter. I couldn’t bare to look at him anymore, I didn’t want him to know that he was winning. Psychologically he was straining me; he wouldn’t attack my body anymore – maybe he had learned something from the physical assault that he did not want to relive. Whatever the reason, he seldom got close to me anymore. I never trusted him from the beginning, but as the seconds passed I saw him increasingly as an adversary. My room became more of a prison of nightmares than an escape from reality. I knew eventually night would come and he would be there, the darkness being his home.

My fears once again became a reality. As I laid down in my bed, he was already there waiting for me. He seemed more real at night, as if the silence empowered his voice. “The stars shine light, but they will never shed wisdom like I do. It isn’t long now. You will see the truth. I will help you remember. I am your friend Taylor. Don’t you see that?!” I bit my tongue. “When the blood of ties is plastered and dried on the floor. You will come to know the fullness of my being.” The wind was picking up again and I couldn’t stop my brain from turning. I refused to respond to him, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of my words for his nourishment. I didn’t want him to continue, but my lack of conversing only coerced his message more. “I am the carvings on the trees of this land. This plain of reality suits me well. I like it here. I like being out in the open. Not stuck in that infinitesimally confounding torture chamber!” His implications were full of spite now. I was not deceived by the hopes of him still being on my side. I knew that something was going to happen. I knew that my stronghold would be weakened if I did not act fast. The wind  was violent now and so was my temper. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to fight back. “Shut up! Shut your hideous mouth! Get yourself out of my bed! Leave me alone! I am not here for you! I know the truth! I know what I need to know!” I screamed at him, the condensation droplets from my spit landing on his demonized and white face. He laughed at me. I was giving him exactly what he wanted. I was fueling his power, giving him strength. I couldn’t breath with this realization, my throat was closing as if he was strangling me like the night before. Yet he wasn’t touching me at all, only infuriating me with his uncontrollable laughter. “I am going to sleep. Please stop talking and let me have some solace,” I said to him after he finally calmed down. “As you wish, but know this – for every moment you waste not accepting me, you only delude yourself further from the truth that I will force you to see.” “That’s something I am willing to risk. Goodnight.”

A week passed and he was no longer a “he.” He had turned into an “it.” A grotesque disfigurement of the original “person.” Its skin was whiter than white. Its eyes glowed in the dark and they were surrounded by pits as dark and as fiery as hell. Its jaw housed sharpened teeth and his nostrils had regressed into a serpentine-like arrangement. It was bald and almost twice my size in height – It no longer laid in my bed, but instead resorted to sitting at the foot of my resting place towering over me when It spoke Its deadly transcripts. I grew to hate It and that fact that It never revealed anything about the situation or how to rid myself of It. It was breath-takingly macabre, almost to the point of tear inducement. I grew used to it though – I had no other choice. Its voice was distorted and it became deeper in reverb. It was as if two entities were speaking at the same time accompanied with accents of growls and screeches. I cowered inside whenever It came close.

“I want to know the truth. If it will make you go away, it is worth it. Anything is worth ridding myself of you,” I said with an inch of confidence. “In time,” It regurgitated with hatred insurmountable. I pulled the covers from under Its weight to go over my eyes. I couldn’t sleep any other way. I wish to myself that this would be nothing but a distant memory while laying motionless. The wind reduced its intensity to normal levels and I inched the covers from over me to find that It had left my sight. It had been so long since I was the only one occupying my bed and  newfound determination filled my mind.

I awoke to screaming. Excruciatingly horrid cries for help were echoing throughout the room and I was in a state of frantic confusion as I hurried to gain my senses. I did not realize what was happening and I searched for It in the shadows, but I saw nothing and no one. I ran down the hall – it seemed like a marathon to reach the rest of the house. The screaming stopped abruptly and my mind prepared me as best it could. Blood. Blood was seeping from my mother’s room and it was seeping fast. I slammed myself into the door and opened it in complete hysteria to find her. She was strewn all across the floor. Her limbs were detached and her innards painted the walls red. Her head was caved in by brutal force and was laying on the ground directly in front of me. I cried uncontrollably. Who could have done such a thing? I remembered that the screams were only present a few moments ago and so I tried to contain my complete terror in order to asses the situation. The killer must still be in the house. Here waiting for me. Before I could turn around to hide I heard a faint crying. Lena, I thought was surely next.

As I hurried to her room as fast as humanly possible, I accepted the possibility that I would be too late. If there was anything I could do, I would do it – but I readied myself for futility and death. It was standing there. Holding Lena from her right leg upside down. It pulled out my pocket knife and stabbed her relentlessly and mercilessly. I screamed. “Is this the truth you were talking about?! Leaving me alone with no family!? With nothing and no one to care for?! Answer me! Answer me!!” It dropped my sister’s lifeless body onto the floor with no remorse, turned to me and calmly said “I only wanted you to finally be free of these bars that have been holding you back. Now you can begin to accept what you are.” I felt like I was going to vomit. I could hardly maintain myself from fainting, but I knew I had to fight back. “What kind of monster are you?” I said defeated and helpless. “I am you. I always have been. I always will be. You cannot run from me. You cannot hide from me. You fool yourself into think you are afraid of me when you reject the truth that we are one and the same.” It hissed and began walking closer to me. One step at a time the wind rose higher and more intense. My brain throbbed in pain. “What are you talking about?! Why are you doing this to me?!” It laughed with a devilish grin and spoke to me in delight, “This isn’t the first time you fool. You have had your hatred for another too and I came out to save you from your torment. You didn’t thank me though. You pushed me back into your prison and you tried your best to forget the memories. You were succeeding too, but there is a part of you who never wanted me to leave.” I shuddered and slid to the ground with my back propped-up against the door to keep me upright. I was remembering it all. The way I had wanted my sorrow to cease. The way I had wished for the strength to end everything, to destroy the reality that had obliterated my dreams. “You wanted your father gone too and I had no choice but to save you. You decided to live a lie after and you discerned to torment me! I am not enacting my revenge. No. I could never harm you! Here I am trying to help you again and you still treat me like a beast!” I lunged from the ground and snatched the knife from his hand. I wielded it as if I had trained to fight for years and managed to keep it at bay. “No! You can’t hurt me Taylor! It will never work! I will only come back stronger. You have to give in eventually. See the truth!” I stabbed It in the heart. I pulled out and went in again – reaching as high as I could – at the neck. I left the knife and watched It fall to the ground lifeless. I grabbed my heart and felt pain arise from beneath my skin. My neck was giving acute pain as well, but my mind was giving me the most trouble. “I can never die. I will never be gone from you. You can’t escape me.”

I remembered this story today and had to write it down to make sure the facts were straight in my head. Except, I never had this memory. No. I did. I had to have had this memory. Or else how am I remembering it? The wind feels nice today, it brushes up against my face often, but it never feels subtle to me. Help me. Make it stop. Please.

Anything to just make this stop.
Credit To - taylorlanson@gmail.com

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This Man

January 7, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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In January 2006 in New York, the patient of a well-known psychiatrist draws the face of a man that has been repeatedly appearing in her dreams. In more than one occasion that man has given her advice on her private life. The woman swears she has never met the man in her life.

That portrait lies forgotten on the psychiatrist’s desk for a few days until one day another patient recognizes that face and says that the man has often visited him in his dreams. He also claims he has never seen that man in his waking life.

The psychiatrist decides to send the portrait to some of his colleagues that have patients with recurrent dreams. Within a few months, four patients recognize the man as a frequent presence in their own dreams. All the patients refer to him as THIS MAN.

From January 2006 until today, at least 2000 people have claimed they have seen this man in their dreams, in many cities all over the world: Los Angeles, Berlin, Sao Paulo, Tehran, Beijing, Rome, Barcelona, Stockholm, Paris, New Delhi, Moskow etc.

At the moment there is no ascertained relation or common trait among the people that have dreamed of seeing this man. Moreover, no living man has ever been recognized as resembling the man of the portrait by the people who have seen this man in their dreams.

This Man

Please visit thisman.org for the full story.

DERPNOTE: This isn’t a creepypasta proper, obviously. I stumbled onto this website tonight and found it very intriguing and, of course, creepy. Particularly because I’m totally falling for the feeling that I’ve seen him before, too! Anyhow, I thought you guys might enjoy reading about & discussing this enough to make it worth posting.

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Origin

January 7, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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The sound of footsteps was audible in the merchant’s square. People walked around buying food, supplies, and the occasional odd item. I was setting up my wares for the day-medicines for the sick and potions to cure pain. I loved helping the people of Florence. Everyone needs healing. No one should be sick. I sold little charms, trinkets for luck, fertility, good health, and many other human needs. I also sold little toys for children, for I felt sorry for them. Especially the poor, the orphans, and the homeless, who wandered the streets cold, hungry, and sad. I kept prices low, so that anyone could buy what they need. If the person could not pay, I would give them the item they needed, telling them to pay when they could. I sympathized with them. I knew how it felt to be in need, and it wasn’t fun.

My business practices, though, seem to anger the doctores and other merchants. “I was pulling customers away!” they would say. All I would tell them was “I am doing what I think is right, not what makes the most money. Please leave me to my work.” I knew it was dangerous to make enemies, but that was the way I thought.

Though if they had known how I made my potions from the beginning, I would have met my demise before I could become a threat.
You see, I practiced the art of magic, something that was forbidden. I never did anything to hurt people. I was always careful. No one needed to know my secrets, and I intended to take my secrets to the grave.

But, even the most careful person can make a mistake…

One night, when I was making a new potion for a child who was coughing up a red liquid, I saw a strange glow from the corner of my eye. I looked up to find one of my books glowing on my work space. The glowing book mystified me. None of my books had done something like this. I opened the book, which had opened to a particular page. It was a summoning spell. Something came over me that night, and I began the spell. I don’t remember what I did, though even if I could, I would not tell you. I remember a flash of light, and a strange, almost menacing laughter, then darkness.

I woke up the next morning on the ground, my head pounding. When I stood and saw what I did, I panicked. A pentacle was drawn on the ground. It looked like it was drawn in blood. In the middle was a circle with an X in the center, this was burned into the ground. I quickly covered the symbols with a rug that I had rolled up in a corner. The rug was big enough to cover the pentacle, and the strange symbol. Feeling that I was successful, I packed up my wares and went to the merchant’s square. Everything was going to be alright.

All day that day I felt uneasy. I could hear the strange laughter in the background of the market. I saw a shadow just out of the edge of my vision multiple times. I became worried. Did I awaken a spirit that night? I did not know. I tried to act natural, but I think that people began to suspect. I know people began to suspect. They were not stupid. They knew.

Near the end of the day a group of children came to my stand, asking for medicine to help their mother. I was out of medicine for the day, so I told them to stop by my home, that I would have the medicine there. “What could go wrong?” I thought, “I covered up the symbols, no one would know.”
At that point, the laughter started again, this time much louder. I waved it off, thinking nothing of it this time. Nothing will happen. Nothing at all.
That night the children arrived. I told them to wait in my living quarters, and went to get the potion. I had found the potion when I heard the screams. Dropping the potion, I rushed out to see what was wrong.

What I saw made me freeze with fear.

The room had been covered with bloody pentacles, in the center that same circle. The children looked at me, horror on their faces, for they knew what that meant. Before I could do anything, they started screaming again. I tried to hush them, but no matter what I did, they continued to scream. Guards had come soon after.

I do not remember what had happened after that. I do remember days upon days of being locked away in a dungeon, the strange laughter echoing off the brick walls, driving me insane. For what had seemed like years I sat in a corner, listening to the laugh, thinking about those children. Why did they not stop? Why did they not listen? THEY were why I was there, sitting in a dungeon. It was their entire fault!

By the time the guards came, all that was left of me was skin and bone. All I could do was rock back and forth, muttering about children and laughter. One of the guards must have hit me in the head, because the next thing I know, I am strapped to something, a crowd of people standing in front of me, shouting curses and profanities. I was in shock. How could they? When I had helped so many of them?!

The pain started then. It felt like my body was being torn in two. I started to scream, the pain was unbearable. I cursed them back, thoughts back-stabbing, wretched creatures! They would not help me! They hated me! I did nothing to them, and they hated me!

I felt pricks of pain go through my eyelids, then my mouth. I could no longer see, no longer scream. I felt liquid hit me. It burned. I hated them! HATED THEM! All of them! Especially the children. Oh, how they should suffer! If not for them, I would not have been caught! It was their entire fault!
I heard something in my mind. The laughter. Darkness suddenly filled the back of my mind. Behind my closed eyes, I saw tentacles of pure darkness. They wrapped themselves around my mind. The laughter became a voice. A horrible voice.

“Do you hate them so much?”
“Yes.” I said.
“You wish to make them suffer?”
“YES!”
“Then our deal is done.”
The pain subsided. My vision cleared. It was dark, but I could see. I tried to blink, but could not. I felt something, but not happiness, sadness, or even surprise.

I felt anger.

They were still there. Laughing, playing. They will suffer. All of them. But the children will suffer more.
Oh, how they will.
They will…

Credit To – Nighthawk

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