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The Visitor

September 20, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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I am going to tell you a story from my childhood, but I admit that I am not sure the events of the story ever truly happened at all. Although I acknowledge that there might be nothing beyond present human understanding happening here, I have to write this account down just in case…

I will do my best to keep this story as objective as possible.

The first event I will describe happened one night in what must have been January, as I remember it happening just after winter break had ended. I must have been nine at the time, because I remember telling the events of that night to Mrs. Jay, my fourth grade teacher.

I am not sure if I was asleep or awake. Regardless, I heard a noise, a scratching noise. It was almost imperceptible at first, but it grew louder, and louder. It grew loud enough that I was about to run down the hall to my mother’s room when I saw it. I am not sure I am capable of accurately describing what it was. It did not have form, as much as it was an everchanging surface of slime. The only feature on the opaque slime was what seemed to be suckers on its roiling surface, like on an octopus.

I did not scream. I cannot describe why but I wasn’t even scared, really. Its surface formed and reformed again until a gaping mouth appeared and spoke to me. Its voice wasn’t like a human’s voice, although it did speak to me in English. It weezed its words at me in the same scratching sound that I had heard before. “How old are you?” it asked. I told it my age, and all it said back was, “not yet.” I don’t remember anything else after that. I must have fallen back asleep as my next memory of the event is telling my mother about it the next day. I told several adults of my visitor to which they all reassured me that it was a dream, as any parent, teacher, or grandparent would, and that was that.

That would have been the end of the story, except many years later I had a similar experience. This event I am certain occurred in January. I was awoken again by a scratching sound. I had not thought much about the previous encounter, but as soon as I heard that noise, the events of that night flooded back into my mind. I sat up in bed, and there was the creature. It looked the same as in my memory, but I did not feel the calm of our first encounter. Although it was not fear, I did not feel at ease. Again a mouth formed from nowhere and it inquired, “how old are you?” I told it my age, and it replied, “not yet.” As last time, I have no more memories of the encounter.

I remember telling my mother. She did not recall the last time I told her, but she did seem concerned, so concerned that she had me talk to someone about my “night terrors”. After talking to him for a few sessions, the psychologist told us that my night terror was likely the result of anxiety about going to high school next year. This seemed like a reasonable explanation as I was always a shy, lonesome individual and the prospect of high school was bothersome to me. Based on this, I must have been thirteen at the time of that encounter.

The final encounter is the one that is by far the most disturbing, as I remember it best. I was seventeen and awoke (at least I believe I was awake) to the horrible scratching sound. I had thought about that previous night from time to time, and once again, recognized the sound immediately. This time when I saw the creature, it felt different. I felt dread. A deep dread that I had never felt before and I hope I never feel again. The creature waited a second, and then it asked that question, “how old are you?” I was frozen, breathless. It felt as if several minutes had passed with the creature silent, waiting for my reply. I finally built up the courage to gasp out an answer, and it replied, “next time.” As every time before, I remember nothing besides waking up the next morning.

This time I told know one of the events that transpired that night. However, I have thought of that night incessantly. With paranoia, I have questioned the meaning of his reply. The reason I am choosing to write this now is because I believe I have figured it out, and the implication is frightening and one I must share while I still can.

I hope I am wrong. I’d like to think that the first encounter was a child’s imagination and the second was the result of adolescent anxiety, but what of the third? Maybe these events were just reoccurring dreams, a phenomena that most people experience at some point. Or, maybe these events never really happened at all. Afterall, my academic training has taught me that human memory is extremely susceptible to losing, adding, or changing pieces of information. I hope one of these explanations is true rather than what I am about to propose.

These occurrences have happened every four years since I was nine. Now that I think of it, the creature may have visited me when I was five and even when I was one, and I simply haven’t remembered it. Every encounter it has told me “not yet” until this last one. Well, if I am right, the next encounter will be soon. I am 21 now, and it is January. I wish I could remember the exact day that the visits happen, assuming it does happen on the same day every time. I have been up, paranoid every night so far. I am terrified to know what “next time” means.

Credit To – InTheVault

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Positively Writhing

September 13, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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A gregarious cheer warmed the wide living room as we all sat ’round the fireplace, the soothing flames suffusing throughout and thoroughly staving the Winter chill frosted over the window panes. The decrepit mansion we decided to bide our night in was weathered, the floorboards rotten and the walls home to fat mice, though upon what they fed in such an isolated place, I was not sure.
A small gathering, we had decided upon, for a nights stay at the local haunted house. Of course it wasn’t haunted, but then, every structure that looked like the building we were in seemed haunted. We brought the essentials: bologna sandwiches, intoxicants, a portable speaker for music, pillows, and the firewood. It was simple, a concise, basic form of relaxation, but it was sure to become one of those resplendent memories. There was Matt, asking me where I got the scabbed cut on my wrist after he took a huge hit of his e-cig, exhaling the thick plume upon our group, then Jasmine, mentioning again the gaudiness of my dyed blond hair. Maddison was there as well, carelessly dropping bread crumbs upon her gray shirt.
We had not taken to exploring the vast stretches of hallway and myriad labyrinthine winds that composed the innards of the once-grand house, choosing instead to center our merrymaking in the decayed opulence of the living room, with its wide arches and flaking paint, chipped to reveal a red-rusted hypodermis. Many of the ancient stuffed couches and chairs were moth-eaten and now a far cry from the comfort they once beheld, but the wooden chairs provided well enough, and so we formed a circle around the fire out of them.
Some hours must have passed after we arrived, for an ornate window revealed the Sun sundered beneath the skyline, and the Moon in midst of its ascent, casting a silver, phantasmagorical sea upon the desolate surroundings. The edges of the dead trees caught it, casting long, black shadows that appeared to have an impossible depth, like an inky sea, like a flytrap waiting for a victim to swallow, to never let return to the breathing world. The snow that sheeted the grounds reflected the silver, and though the countryside was dark, it glowed in faint moonlight. Silhouettes clung to the horizon, marking surreal corpses of forests and once-green verdure.
More time passed, and I broke abruptly from the darkness that had clouded over my mind. I realized I had fallen asleep, and as I gazed around, I discovered that my friends were missing. I suspected they had taken to wandering the house without me, the bastards. I got up and began my search, taking the hallway through which we had entered the living room.
The carpet here was eclectic, origin unknown, though very intricate and beautiful, despite the stains of various substances, dried and crusted after the many years of neglect. Dust fell from the ceiling as the house creaked, moaned the way a living corpse might when realizing it should be dead and done away with, yet beholding itself still standing. Chips and pockmarks disfigured the bare wooden walls, and while a clean lacquer was present on parts of it, its absence on most conveyed it as in disrepair, like that of a condemned building, long past its use to human inhabitants.
Fuck. Shit. I only now thought about it, that perhaps the klonopin would be flushed out of my system, and that I should have brought more. I feared that state, when I grew anxious, the distraught place when I began writhing inside, like an insect being slurped into a leech’s maw. But, with effort, I dismissed the thought, calming my heartbeat. This would surely be a stress-free night. Surely.
I was in the opening atrium, flanked to the left by the doors we had kicked in, and a massive staircase to the right, a red carpet with dull gold trim resting upon the steps. I was preparing to proceed down the hallway across from me, when I heard footsteps. Faint, light, quick, there and then not, coming from upstairs. I looked towards the source, but could discern no presence. Must’ve been my friends.
I began ascending the stairwell, my own footsteps loud in the deathly silence, causing me to stop for a moment, wincing at the sacrilege of such sound. After a moment, I continued on, reached the top floor, and peered around. This place was absent of life. The hallway stretched, branching off at periodic intervals like long, withered veins. There were a few closed doors, the wood tarnished and rotted in some spots, and a little ways down, I could see a dark, brownish-red splatter, dried in a stream on the wall. Windows provided enough light to traverse, the lunar silver shining strongly. It was a full Moon tonight. A desk sat to the right of me, and a painting overhead. I approached, intrigued by the thick layer of dust obscuring the portrait. I wiped it off.
A girl, perhaps a woman, sitting in front of a lake as the Sun shone overhead, long, dark hair with a peculiar sheen, wearing a white dress that clung close to her emaciated frame, her flesh ghostly pale, a hemp-laced locket ’round her throat with an obscured portrait inside, her face looking away, a pretty, aquiline nose, eyebrows contorted in rage, her eyes gone, flesh pulled over them, flesh pulled over her mouth, sewn shut without a thread.
I stepped back, creeped out. The girl was painted with stunning realism, more a photograph than a painting. Who would keep this kinda thing in their home? But I began to digress, instead contemplating its value. I decided I would take it when we left. A slight shudder groaned from within the walls.
Continuing on, without sight of a single soul, I wound my way through the entrails of the upper floor, choosing at random a branching path. The house seemed much bigger on the inside than the out, the layout monotonous and confusing, and though I knew I was lost, I did not heed my sense of foresight, deciding I would eventually find my way back. My footsteps echoed, the acoustics distorting the sound, and I realized the footsteps I heard earlier could’ve come from anywhere.
After some searching, I thought I heard something, like something scraping, though it was nearly subliminal. I chose a door, determining it to be the most likely source of the noise, and entered. The window here shed less light in than those of the hallway, but the hazy outlines distinguished a bedroom, furnished modestly and without creativity, and the darkness washed over what appeared to be a closed closet door. It was like a hotel room; you could feel that many people had lived in it, yet it was clean, immaculate, any evidence that might have once existed wiped away. It had an old-fashioned feel, from the antiquated bed to the simple browned chair in the corner, and then the small, oval mirror that sat on a dresser.
The room conjured vague associations in my mind. I am not sure from whence they came, though they had a familiarity, a de ja vu, a feeling as if I knew something but the neurons just couldn’t transmit the information. But it also held a foreign connotation, almost xenophobic, as if encoded within the DNA of humans, an inherited memory from an ancestor, like fear of insects. My mind whispered dissimulation as I peered across the room, a diaphanous wariness clawing up my spine.
I decided I was not particularly perturbed, however, and not sure if I was merely overthinking things inside a creepy, ancient house, so I firmly dismissed the strange, spiraling thoughts.
I walked towards the dresser, noting a drawer not fully closed, and found it empty save a silk-laced locket. I lifted it up, opened it, to find a blurry portrait of a blond-haired man. Wasn’t this the locket the woman in the painting had been wearing? I shuddered at the feeling of the old jewelry, but its age might make it valuable, and I pocketed it. I looked into the mirror, checking myself out, twiddling with my hair. As my night vision became more accustomed to the room, I began to notice the darkness inside the closet behind me as it swirled, folding, floating, collapsing in on itself, until the door shuddered. I turned around, senses heightened, watching, trying to perceive any difference. After some deliberation, I walked up to the closet, and stared for a moment.
The door was wide open, jittering ever so slightly. The darkness was whole, complete, insurmountable to the straining light pouring through the window. It moved like static, and though it was utterly silent, I could still hear something in the silence, akin to static, as well. As I had no secondary light source and could not properly see, I decided to leave the room and the subtle teeming anxiety it was inciting.
I grew slightly unnerved. I could not tell what it was, but the faint feeling of a tenebrific oppression pushed itself down upon me, from every angle, constricting not my body, but the thing that I was, the very consciousness, I was squirming inside, like an etherized patient still awake on the operating table. Uneasiness crept in tremors up my neck, discomforting me in a primal, survivalistic sense, the sense of a sheep before slaughter, before the sheep could even see the murderer’s face.
As my pulse trembled erratically, I remembered I was in an old, creepy house, I was ok, free from harm, my friends a shout away, but as for right now, alone. Completely alone. Absolutely alone. This was the thought I clung to, and it calmed me down.
I closed the door behind me, shaking myself internally to try and loosen up, and continued my journey. A few deep breaths, and a promise to stay out of the rooms now, to go back downstairs, brought me back down to a comfortable state. I should head downstairs anyways, as there was no sign of my friends. Perhaps they were back in the living room by now.
I walked through the dusky corridors, my breath and footsteps my only companions. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. Isolation. My heart hit harder. My sense of direction was absent, each hallway was identical to the last, each door the same tarnished color, the Moon beaming the same sullen silver. My lungs constricted. The wooden panels on the walls, of the floor, composing the ceiling, all marked and chipped and stained and weathered, they all whispered in solidarity the same word: alone. I was completely and absolutely alone, dreadfully and disdainfully alone, my hands palsying, lost, wandering in an amaranthine maze. I grew nervous, sick, vision swaying, what if I were lost forever-
Nonsense, it’s a finite house, not some haunted mansion in a horror movie. Besides, your friends will come find you when-
What if it’s not what it appears? What if this IS the horror movie? What if they get lost? What if they’re dead? What if-
Horror movies aren’t real. The supernatural isn’t real. The house is limited in physical space, as all things are, no matter how vast or intricate. There’s no one here to kill them, or you, so get a fucking grip you crazy-
It’s been hours since I’ve seen them, I’ve been gone forever, what if they’ve left? How do I get out of here? All I want to do is get out. I can’t breathe. Let me out. LET ME OUT-
Take a breath. What direction was the Moon when you were downstairs and looked out the window?
To the… East?
Where is it right now?
I looked out the window on my immediate left, and then the one behind me where the hallway cornered off. A murder of crows flew by. No Moon over here, or back there.
So go away from the direction it’s not in.
Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. The stairwell is on the East side, I’ll find the general way back. My breath slowed back down. I felt ok. I swerved slightly to the right in the last bout of nausea, abrading my arm against the coarse, gelid wood.
Faint footsteps.
“It’s cold.” A small, soft, feminine voice, almost below the threshold of hearing. Footsteps for a moment, ceasing suddenly. I listened.
“Hey?” I asked, vocal chords wavering, suddenly constricted as the trepidation materialized again.
Silence. Teeming, ululating, cacophonous, abysmal silence. It beckoned for me.
“Yo, is that one of you guys? I’m a bit lost.” Was that breathing I could hear, or just a draft of the Winter gale moving through the house? Did the floorboards creak under the weight of feet, or was the wizened mansion just settling? Are those shadows draped over an observer? Was someone hiding beside the corner behind me, watching? Was I the only one listening to the thundering of my heart?
I indulged my paranoia, turning around. Nothing. After a breath, I crept slowly towards what I believed to be the source of the footsteps, of that disembodied, ethereal voice, noticing crumbs on the floor and then forgetting, the air growing frigid, trying to listen acutely to every variance and nuance. I peeked around a corner, willing myself to investigate. A hallway stretched distantly, seemingly longer than the house itself, a door cracked at the end, and it slammed shut in an instant, a glimpse of gray fabric and pale arms flashing for just a moment. I stood in the middle of the hall, shivering as a cold air blew hard against my back. I turned around to find the window open, unsure as to why, and just stood there. The moonlight appeared to have changed color, now casting a dark, depressing gray across everything. I looked down, feeling a sensation upon my arm. A deep red was blotted across my wrist, the wound dripping. Where had this mark come from? I hadn’t even felt it, who had done this to me, when?
I was fearful now. I felt like prey, I felt the eyes burning upon me, though their location was obscured. I was not alone on this floor, I knew that now, knew some presence had been here the whole time, ever since I came up the stairs, ever since we broke open the doors, waiting, watching, feasting its eyes upon us in the rooms adjacent to us, looking under the cracks of doors and false eyes of paintings, studying our faces, deciding how exactly its hands should bring about our deaths, the order in which we would die, whether to use its teeth or silverware, where to bury our bodies, how much could be spared to the rats, what kind of cooking method for each of the limbs, the fantasy of tasting our flesh, my skull discarded amongst the hundreds others.
The panic shot through me, the neurotransmitter incendiary, molten, my veins cauterized with it. Anxiety built in my lungs until I was suffocating, drowning in imaginary inundation, the tendrils snaking through the bronchi. All I could do was stand still as every single synapse fired the same message, as my nervous system flushed adrenals through my system, as my heart increased with painful celerity into an arrhythmic dirge. Then I ran. Sprinted. Screamed. The murderer was here, something spectral, unnatural, unsatisfied with death yet malcontent to bask in it alone. I convulsed inside, an eerie sensation, my consciousness seizuring, unconsciously struggling to get out as if manacled to my body. I was positively writhing.
“Matt! Jasmine! Maddison! We need to leave, now!” I yelled, hoping it was not in vain.
I ran, twisting through the turns of hallways that seemed to bleed in to each other, and then voices sounded, a low, collective murmur that seemed to rise up from within the house itself, non-corporeal and echoing. The walls congealed, dark patterns formed eyeless faces, jaws dropped in agony, outlines shuddering into one another, melding, cleaving, edges in the walls vibrating, ceiling bellowing and bending, darkness stretching its fingertips across the walls and floors, ever consuming. Consuming me.
“You guys! Can you hear me? We gotta go!” I shouted, unsure as to where my friends could be, whether they were even still alive.
After I took a corner, I became elated when I saw the stairwell at the end of the hall. The hallucinatory anomalies ceased. Finally, I could get out of here, I could find my friends and get somewhere safe. I became wary, however, when I noticed a bright crimson streak on the wall, like an artery had gushed down it, splatters dripped along the floor. I became distracted, afraid my friends were already dead, and then it felt as if I had been tripped, and I was rolling down the stairs. A rib cracked, my temple began to gush, and various other injuries were sustained. The pain was fresh, vivid, causing me to forget all about the thing stalking me. I cussed out loud, laying at the foot of the steps, breathing stertorously, trying to ignore the pain. I was disorientated, immersed in my pain receptors.
My friends must’ve heard me, and came to my aid, rushing down the stairs. I was surprised and ecstatic to see their faces.
“What the hell? Are you ok, man?” Matt asked.
“Yeaaaaah.” I said, succinct. I faded in and out of consciousness, clutching my temple. They all ran to my side.
“Listen, guys. We, we gotta roll, we- we gotta head out. There’suh som’in’ ‘n here. The wind- window was open, someone slammed the door, voices, feetsteps, my wrisd is red. Someone up there.” I said.
“That was us, we were up there, I opened the window because it was real warm, but I guess no one else felt that way.” Matt said.
“Yeah, ‘cause it’s the middle of fuckin’ December!” Maddison said.
“Whateverrr, but yeah man, we were the only ones up there. We called out for you when we heard you yell, but you didn’t reply, and your voice was all echoey, so it was difficult to find you. Until you made that loud ass racket when you fell down the stairs.” Matt continued.
“You look tripped out, you didn’t take your meds, did you? You know how fucked up you get when you don’t take it, remember that time at the lake? Are you sure-” Jasmine said, but I began to ignore her. The relief I felt upon realizing there was nothing in the house, nothing but my friends and my own illusioned mind, lulled me into the dark.
Suddenly, I was clear, lucid, immediately present, the darkness dispersed.
“Hello?” I called.
“Yeah, hey man, you cool?” Matt asked from up the stairs.
“Yea-yeah, yeah man. What’re you doing? Where’d everyone else go?”
“Come up here. They went to try and get some cell phone reception to see about getting you a doctor.” I staggered up the staircase. What an asshole, making me walk up the steps I just fell down.
“This is a spooky house.” I said, as the stairwell shuddered.
“Tell me about it. Did you go in these rooms? And check this painting out!”
“Rooms? What are you talking about? And yeah, I’ve already seen it, it’s weird.”
“Dude, these teeth are crazy!”
“Teeth?” I asked as I reached the top of the stairwell.
Every single door in the hallway was wide open.
I murmured as I stared at the portrait, my face and blonde hair now painted in her locket, at the thousands of bloody, spiny needles piercing haphazardly through the woman’s lipless mouth.
The necklace in my pocket began to burn.

Credit To – Lightbringer

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September 5, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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Craig Peterson

The dream was the same as the night before, and the night before that and the night before that….

Mathew Scott hadn’t slept well in a long time, hell, he wasn’t sure he had slept at all lately.

When would it stop?

When did it start?

He “woke up” from his sleepless slumber just like every night. A frazzled mess. Sweat coated his skin from head to toe. The confusion was so great, it was a sensation he had never known. At first, his surroundings were nonexistent but would slowly crawl back to him.

The faint glow of his digital alarm clock on the nightstand was just bright enough to make the area around his bed visible, barely. Beyond that, nothing. Without his glasses, he would have to squint to make out the digits on the clock. But there was no need for them, he knew what time it was without even looking at the time box. He knew the time because since the night visions started, he woke up….or was brought back from whatever world he was stuck in at exactly 3:39 AM.

He sat up and reached for the pad of paper and pen he kept next to the alarm clock. This was new for him. After having the dream for what must have been a couple of weeks, he became annoyed that he couldn’t remember much of anything about it. After talking with his twin sister Michele about this, she suggested placing the tablet close by and encouraged him to write down whatever came to mind as soon as possible. He and Michele were very close and he referred to her not only as his sister but his best friend. Matt thought that to be great advice. Michele was studying to be a psychiatrist and had done some research on dreams. She told him that once a person was awake, the memory of any dream faded just as quick as it was conceived. It couldn’t hurt.

With his mind racing, he frantically searched for a memory of his nightmare. He closed his eyes hoping that would help bring something to him. He was gripping the pen so tightly that he could feel it bend to the point of breaking. Suddenly, images raced through his mind. Pictures like a slide show. They were there, but nothing made sense. He started to shake. Sweat was running down his forehead. Without really knowing it, he started to scratch something on the pad. A sudden shutter ripped through his body, up his spine and into his head. A ringing started in his ears but stopped almost the instant it started.



He reached for his glasses and slipped them on. He wanted to see what he had written down, at least he thinks he had written it. There was one word printed on the paper. One word that covered the entire
8 ½ by 11 page. Not only written, engraved into the tablet.



In the morning over a cup of strong black coffee, Mathew sat at the kitchen table talking to Michele on the phone. After describing what had occurred, Mathew waited anxiously for his sister’s evaluation. With only a one word conclusion to the dream, Michele was unable to shed any light on the subject. She encouraged him to keep the notepad nearby and try it again.

As evening quickly approached and gave way to night, Mathew found himself lying on the couch in his den watching a ballgame. With pad and pen on the floor, he felt himself start to doze off. His eyelids would slowly glide down and wash out the glow from the TV and bring him into darkness only to shoot wide open as if he were trying to fight sleep, which would be the furthest thing from the truth. Finally, his eyes closed and there was no shutter or glimmer of the TV.

He woke with such violence that he could have sworn his bed jumped up and shifted over a few inches. Perspiration lathered his face and arms. The blurred light that caught the corner of his eye was to weak to be that of his television. He swiveled his head around and saw the three digits on his alarm clock.


Just in front of the alarm clock was the pen and paper. He grasped for them and started to write. With the same intensity as the night before, something was being put to paper. In a manner that Mathew wasn’t really sure was of his own power. While writing, visions filled his head. A lot of darkness interrupted by strikes of light. Something appeared at the end of this light. With each flash, the object was getting closer. The light was getting brighter and faster. With each flash, he felt his breath getting heavier and heavier. The unknown item was getting closer, closer. Breathing so loud it was deafening. Than, an empty void. One more grand burst of light. He saw it. A door.

He felt quivers run through his body. The pen had fallen from his hand but the pad of paper was going nowhere. How had he gotten to his bed? He didn’t remember waking up and walking from the den. Perhaps he never fell asleep in the den, an extension of his dream. None of that really mattered right now. He reached over to the end table and twisted the knob on the small lamp. His hands were so sweaty that he had a hard time twisting the switch to the on position. He glanced down at the tablet and was bewildered at what he saw. First off, this was the second page in the bonded tab. Since he had written the word ‘alone’ with such force the night before, the imprint was clearly visible. Accompanying the word was a picture. It was a door. A wooden door with one distinctive marking. Located on the top half of the door was the letter M. This was a door from his childhood. It was his sister’s childhood bedroom door.

Once again, Mathew found himself at the kitchen table. Two cups of coffee down, countless to go. This time, it was his phone that rang. He looked down at his cell and saw his sisters face glowing on the screen. She really must be anxious to hear the latest episode of his nightly freak show. He spilled out the details to her and finished by telling her of his drawing, excluding the specifics of the door. She listened intently and asked a few questions. Mostly about the light and the breathing to which he had no answer. She was trying to help and he could only offer up what he remembered. She paused for a second or two after he was done describing the events. “Did the door look familiar?” She asked.

“I’m not sure”, he lied. “Tell you what, let me text you a picture so you can see it.”

“Ok”. Within a minute her phone buzzed with the receipt of the incoming picture. She looked at it. After a few seconds she realized she was holding her breath in. As she exhaled, the back of her neck tingled. “Mathew, that’s my door.”

“I know”, he admitted. They talked for a few minutes and ended the conversation with the agreement that they would talk again the next morning.

Tonight, Mathew wanted nothing to do with falling asleep in the den. He had come to the realization that no matter where he fell asleep, he would wake in his bed….. at 3:39. Sleep came easy this night. Well, the act of falling asleep did. It was what happened on the other side of sleep that was difficult.

His scream was so loud, it was surely heard by his neighbors. It wasn’t a ‘drop a hammer on your toe’ scream. It was a ‘I’m going to die in a matter of seconds’ scream’. Terror raced through his veins with such intensity, his vessels were sure to explode within him. He felt the color leave his skin, leaving him ghostly white if only for a few seconds. His hands were clenched. Grasping onto the sides of the bed, as if his mere existence depended on him not letting go. He jolted up. Breathing so hard that he was panting. He felt tears rolling from his eyes. He snatched up the pen and paper and dropped it on his lap. In the same manner as the previous two nights, he started to input something onto the pad of paper. Only, it wasn’t really him. He wasn’t aware of what he was writing or how he was doing it. The only thing he was sure of was that the nightmare had ended and this was a separate event. When the writing was complete, he tossed the pad down and threw himself back onto his pillow to catch his breath. He was spent. After a few minutes of listening to his own breaths and thoughts run through his mind he swung his feet over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He picked up the worked over tablet and gazed at the current page. What was written made no sense to him: ‘It’s time’.

Three cups of coffee and four Advil later, Mathew was on the phone with the only person he had been in contact with since…………..since, he couldn’t remember when. Lack of sleep was starting to take its toll. Michele had a theory this time though. She said it’s possible that “it’s time” could mean that the dreams might be coming to an end. Her reasoning was that no matter how obscure these dreams were to Mathew, they were crystal clear in his brain and the latest message might be a way for his inner self to let his outer self know that it was almost over. He could only hope that to be the truth. He was certain of one thing though, he was scared.

This time it was different

As reality vanished before him in his dark bedroom, a new world waited for him. One in which he knew no boundaries. The playing field was familiar but alien. He was standing outside staring at a house. A house which had a striking resemblance to his childhood home. That was the only familiar part. Surrounding the home was nothing. No cars in the driveway, no driveway, no trees, bushes street lights or even a neighboring house. It was as if the structure had been dropped on some deserted island, minus the island.


Wherever he was, it was pitch black. Only illuminated by occasional lightning strikes. Rain was falling with such anger that the drops were stinging his face when they landed. He started to approach the house. Either that or the house was descending on him. The closer the two got to each other, the more frequent the sky filled with fire bolts. Thunder clashed as loud as any noise he had ever experienced. Fear was creeping deeper and deeper into Mathews body until it consumed his entire being.

He was on the elevated porch, arms length from the front door. This was definitely his boyhood home. Memories of his childhood danced through his head. Michele and him playing like brothers and sisters do. Laughing, smiling. Now this. What sort of evil existed here now? Without any discern, he had reached for and acquired the doorknob. The knob twisted easily in his grip and the door flung open as if guided by a strong wind. Behind him, the sky was still exploding with fury. Just as the door met the wall behind it, lightning punched a hole into the darkness, exposing the inside of the home. On the far side of the front room stood something. Night overtook the home again. Mathew stood frozen with fear, not sure what to do. Another bolt lit the area. It was still there. But It wasn’t something, It was someone.

His glimpse was brief but long enough to tell it was a person, or more of a someone than a something. Again, the light was gone and darkness was back. Rain was still pelting him from behind as he stood on the porch looking into the house. As the next round of nightlight shone down, there it was. Standing face to face with him. Whoever it was stood the same height as him. Its’ breath filled Mathews gaping mouth. Rancid and putrid. If death had a taste, this was it. Hair slumped down across its face, or what must be the face. Looking at it, he couldn’t really tell if it was facing him or looking into the house as he was. He only knew that it was looking at him because it exhausted its death gas at him. Over the booming thunder it spoke. One word.


In a flash it stood there. The next flash it was gone. The empty house stood before him. He looked behind him and saw exactly what he expected to see, nothing. A different kind of emptiness. One in which he was sure that if he were to turn around and step off the porch, he would start falling and never reach a landing spot. The world behind him felt as empty as his soul did. There wasn’t much of a choice. He stepped into the house. He took a few steps into the front room and heard exactly what he thought he would hear. The front door crashed shut.

Whispering voices filled his ears. Whispers that sounded more like screams. He stood alone in what was once his family’s front room. He was alone but not by himself. It was as if eyes were watching him. He spun around to see if anyone was behind him. Nothing. He turned to face the majority of the house again and the whispering persisted. He knew eyes were upon him, could feel them. Movement to his left caught his attention. Quick. By the time his head swung that way, whatever he spied was gone. If this was indeed his old home, the room that he was now looking at was the kitchen. He inched along the middle of the front room towards the kitchen. As he approached the opening, he put his back to the wall so he could poke his head into the room. He paused before he glanced in. He took a quick look and saw nothing. The house was still being filled with pulses of light from outside. Thunder was providing the soundtrack. He committed himself to entering the kitchen. He shuffled in, his shoes glided over the linoleum. The ground felt sandy and dirty. The kitchen was a skeleton of what it once was or supposed to be. Cabinet doors were hanging by loose screws. The sole window was gone. Rain snuck in through the frame. He was nearing the end of the long kitchen when its’ head peered around the corner before disappearing back behind the wall. It seemed like a sick version of peek-a-boo. This time, instead of pausing he dashed toward the corner and turned it. He was now looking at what was once his room. Lightning was flashing so wildly it seemed like a strobe light. Claps of thunder rolled so deep he could feel it. It was standing in the center of the vacant room. One arm was outstretched. Was it pointing at him? No. It was beckoning him. Inviting him to come closer. For a brief second, he saw its’ eyes. He recognized them instantly. Michele. The room blacked out then relit and she was gone.

Without hesitation, he knew where he would see her next, behind the wooden door with an M on the top half. A cold sweat began to take over his body. He finished crossing the room that opened up to the hallway. The marked door down the hall was just as he drew it. There were minor details that existed that weren’t in his drawing, but the picture in his head from when they were kids was an exact match. After only taking a few steps, he realized he was seeing first hand what he had dreamt about two nights ago. He soon found himself face to face with what he knew would be his final destination.. His heart pounded with such force, he thought it might actually jump up his throat and make a miraculous exit. With no effort by him, the M door exploded open, leaving Mathew breathless for a moment. As he caught his breath, two words escaped his lips. “It’s time”.

Both windows had been blown out in this room. Rain entered at will here. This room appeared to be in the same shape as the others, dank and in disrepair. A waterlogged dresser, a wall mirror, and a bed were the only remnants of what used to be a little girls dream room. There she was. Sitting on the bed, which occupied the center of the room. Her back was to him as she sat on the far side of the bed. He wasn’t sure what to do next. She answered that with her own actions. She lifted her right hand and patted an empty area next to her on the bed. He wanted to call out to her but the deafening thunder assured that his cry would be unheard. Reluctantly he slowly moved into the room and around the corner of the bed. Never losing a visual of her, he eased down onto the mattress next to her. Time seemed to be inching along. She stared directly in front of her, not acknowledging his presence. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision.

A new scene welcomed his opening eyes. Michele had turned to look at him. She had the most beautiful smile. The room behind her was full of colors. The walls were painted a light purple, Michele’s favorite color. Furniture was strategically placed and well decorated. Bows riddled Michele’s hair. She was eight years old.

After gazing at each other for what was probably only a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he whispered, “what’s happening”? He asked the question without really looking for or wanting an answer. Why was he back in her childhood….their childhood? Sunlight breaking in through the front bay window warmed his face.

“Let’s play”, she responded. Her smile filled his soul that had been so empty. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back for so long, lets go”.

“Play what Michele? I don’t know what to do”. Mathew burst out. “Please help me understand”, he said with tears streaming down his cheeks. He reached out to grab her by the arm. His motivation was to snatch her up and escape with her. Escape to where? Anywhere but here. His hand latched onto her wrist and squeezed it tight. She looked down in disbelief. As her eyes rose up again to meet with his, he saw that her smile was gone. Fear and desperation filled her expression.

Lightning bounced off the sky and filled the room. Hell had returned. His grasp on her wrist was still secure. Her warm soft skin had been replaced by a grey rubbery substitute. Michele’s hair was once again eclipsing her entire head. She started to scream and thrash around trying to break free. He was still holding onto the idea of taking her from this place. Her cries were more animal then human. Their eyes met briefly and he saw nothing but horror in them. They wrestled violently throughout the room. He kept screaming at her, “COME WITH ME.” Over and over he could hear himself exclaim. More and more desperate with every effort. He could see that she was trying to respond but it was inaudible. Rain was pouring into the room at an incredible rate. He was starting to lose his grip on what he thought to be her wrist. They danced around the room with lightning providing a spectacular light show. He kept calling out his plea. “COME WITH ME!” He could now hear her voice out an answer but he couldn’t make it out. They slammed into the wall near the empty bay window. She tried backing away. He held tight. She was now screaming at him while pulling away.

His grip was fading.

She inched closer to escaping.

Letting go.

She screamed her demands again.

Her fingers were all he had left.

She bellowed out her wish one more time.

The moment was instantaneous. Just as what she was roaring out became clear to him he lost his grip on her. She stumbled backwards towards the window and tumbled out. The powerful storm seemed to swallow her up. Mathew fell down as he lost his grip and landed on the floor next to the bed, hitting the back of his head on the mattress frame. His eyes fogged over with the blast and he could feel warm blood dripping down his neck. Mathew lay motionless on the wet floor waiting to die. What Michele had been saying during the struggle replayed in his mind over and over again. As he was repeating it in his head, he started to whisper it aloud. “I want to be alone, I want to be alone.”

Darkness fell over and into Mathew Scott.


The red light flashed at the nurses station on what had been a slow day. Kathleen, head nurse at the Eastbrook Psychiatric Hospital sat up in her chair to view the video monitors. She could see that there was a disturbance taking place in the cafeteria. Kathleen left her station and headed towards the dining area.

Once there, she was greeted by several of the male nurses who already had the situation under control. Two of the nurses had a male patient pinned to the ground. He was trying to wiggle his way free but to no avail. He quickly gave up trying. Kathleen recognized immediately who it was, Mathew Scott. Poor thing she thought to herself. She had been employed here for nearly thirty years now and he had been here for twenty five of them. Lynette, a new nurse approached Kathleen and nodded at Mathew as he was being injected with something obviously designed to subdue him. Lynette asked Kathleen what the patients status was.

“He’s a lifer here. Poor guy, no friends or family.” The nurses were getting Mathew to his feet, “He was sent here more then twenty years ago after killing his twin sister.” Mathew now stood facing Kathleen with his arms interlocked with the male nurses that were holding him down. Kathleen leaned over to finish talking to Lynette as to keep her voice down. “He snapped one day and threw his sister out of her bedroom window.” The effects of the injection were starting to take hold of Mathew. His eyes were getting heavy and he started to slouch a bit. “He’s generally very quiet but occasionally he acts up like this. Who knows what’s running through his head.”

The two male nurses approached Kathleen with Mathew nearly completely passed out in their arms. They asked where they should take him. Meaning they weren’t sure whether to take him to his room or to a holding cell where they could keep a closer eye on. She thought about it for a second and came to the conclusion, after witnessing this several times over the years that he posed no threat to himself or anyone and directed them to take him to his room. The nurses carried the dead weight past Kathleen and Lynette towards the main hallway where they would find his room. Mathew was out. His eyes were open but his eyes were fixated on something other than where he was. The nurses stopped and one turned back at Kathleen. “Which room is he in?”

Kathleen glanced back at the nurses and responded, “339.”

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The Door Game

September 1, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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Rating: 8.6/10 (802 votes cast)

“Yo, James hurry your ass up!” Damon roared from across the parking lot, standing next to our limo and waving me and Becca down. I quickly stole a kiss with Her before taking her hand and jogging toward the limo with her. We werent in there for more than a moment before our other friend Felix shoved a flask of Jack Daniel’s in our face.

“I made sure to get one for each couple,” He winked at me with a huge grin, “It isnt prom night without Sir Daniels!” we all burst out laughing. I took a swig from the flask before passing it over to Becca, and shifted my gaze to my childhood friends. There were eight of us total and we had all been friends since grade school and couples since late middle school. The gang consisted of Jamal, Krisie, Pat, Jade, Felix and Dayna, Becca and I, and boy were we an interesting bunch.

“So whose place are we exactly going to again?” I asked, as Becca leaned her head on my shoulder.

“The new guy, uh…,” Pat started, but Jade finished for him, “Dale Seer, he just moved here from New Jersey.”

“Yeah that guy!” Pat smiled, as Jade rolled her eyes at him.

Just then the limo driver swore loudly just before veering wildly to the left and right just narrowly avoiding a car driving down the opposite side of the road, leaving us all in a tangled laughing heap in the center of the vehicle. Normally we probably would have freaked out but with the amount of alcohol we had consumed at the time we probably could have wrecked and thought it humorous. We continued to talk about the events of everything that had gone on our senior year, and before we knew it we had reached our destination.

“Alrighty kiddos, I will be here bright and early to pick you up at eight, so don’t be late ya’ hear?” We all nodded in agreement to the limo driver, but as the others turned away from him I noticed his expression had become grim and he motioned me to come closer. “It’s not your time.” He muttered, before driving off. I just stared after the car confused by his choice of words. What did he mean by that exactly, and what was his deal? I just shrugged it off and went to join my friends who were all standing in front of a small eerie looking home.

The house was a light yellow and with as much chipped paint as there was it gave the home a weird poke-a-dotted look. The home almost reminded me of the Amityville horror house, with the dirt coated attic window, a rickety old fashioned porch and the occasional missing shutter. Yep this sure was where I wanted to spend the rest of my prom night.

“Wow, this Dale guy seems like a real winner.” Krissie stated sarcastically.
“Come on guys let’s just give this Dale guy a shot, I’m sure he is a nice guy!” Becca pleaded with us. She had been that way as long as I could remember. Always giving people the benefit of the doubt, and being optimistic about any situation, and that is why I loved her so much. Not only was she the most beautiful girl in school she was also the least selfish and shallow person you would ever meet. I can still remember the first time we met on the school playground. I was and still am one of the nerdish guys you would ever meet, and ironically I was being picked on by Pat when she stood up for me, and ever since then I could never get over how strong she was. Those piercing blue eyes and her dark brown hair still till this day take my breath away every time I see her.

“Ok.” We all uttered in unison, pick up our bags and making our way into the home.

Pat rushed passed everyone throwing his bag onto the floor of the entry way. Despite the outside of the home the inside wasn’t all that bad looking. The entry way was rather large, with five different doorways. The one to the left lead to a rather larger living room with a fire place, the second to our right lead to the kitchen. Two others were at the top of a flight of stairs on either side of the landing, and right on the wall at the center of the two was a large poster. The last one was dead ahead of where pat had gone through.
“Yo Dale, where you at bro.” I called out into the seemingly empty home. Everyone dropped their bags in the same spot as Pat and we got no answer.
“Maybe everyone got stuck in traffic on their way here.” Dayna suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

“Hey guys check this out!” Pat called out from the doorway in front of us. We all walked over to see a strangely large room for the size of the home and right in the center were two rows of four beds, one for each of us. Now that is creepy I thought to myself.

“Okay this is pretty weird, I thought there was suppose to be party here.” Pat pouted.

“Well, maybe there are more beds upstairs,” I stated turning to enter the entry room, and freezing after taking two steps out the doorway. I stared in horror and confusion at the sight before me, “uh guys, I think we have a problem.” I stammered while pointing to where the front door used to be. Everyone turned to see what I was pointing at, their jaws dropping in unison once they realized what had happened… the front door had disappeared leaving a wall in its place.

“That’s fucked up!” Pat chuckled.

“It’s not funny, how are we supposed to leave now?” Krissie shouted at pat, which then caused a chain of arguments amongst everyone trying to figure out what to do. As they all bickered I walked around hoping to figure out what exactly was going on. That’s when I noticed a small red arrow pointing up the stairway to the poster on the wall. I quickly walked up the stairs to the poster and began to read:

Game Rules:
Note: The game starts once the first door is opened
Rule #1- Once you open one door another random door will appear.
Rule #2- Once you open a door another door will disappear and so will everything behind it.
Rule #3- You have exactly 10 minutes to open a door, if you don’t a door will automatically disappear, along with another once you open a door.
Rule #4- Every 5 minutes I will come to find you, and the first person I find or isn’t hidden well enough to my liking I will give you five seconds then chase you.
Rule #5- If I catch you, you join me/us.
Rule #6- The game ends at day break.

Note: First door opened at 9:35pm. I will see one of you around 9:45.
Good Luck!

As soon as I finished reading the “game rules” I looked down at my phone to verify the time. It was 9:40.

“Uh… Guys,” I shouted down the stairs, “I think you may want to come see this!” within seconds they were all at the top of the stairs reading what I had just read.

“This is a bunch of bull crap!” Pat boomed after reading the poster.
“I agree,” Jade nodded, “This is obviously a joke by Dane or Dale or whatever his name is.”

“Plus this alcohol is making me sleeping, so I am going to take a nap with my chica Jade here. So smell you guys later!” he bellowed as he made his way down the stairs with Jade to the bedroom. I just sighed.

“I just feel like whatever is going on here it shouldn’t be taken lightly.” I said, meeting everyone’s fearful gazes. They all nodded in agreement.
“So how much longer do we have left?” Felix asked.

“Three minutes to go,” Becca uttered loudly, “We should come up with a plan after we hide.”

“Definitely a good idea, we will meet here before we open up any doors.” Jamal stated. As everyone spread out to hide I grabbed Becca and kissed her.
“No matter what happens I want you to know I will always protect you.” I said staring deep into her amazing blue eyes. She looked at me and got teary eyed.
“I know, you already have.” She muttered as she gave me a small smile and went to go hide.

I just stared after her for a moment, confused by the reaction she had given me. What did she mean by I already have? I looked down at my phone and saw I only had a minute left so I quickly ran and hid on the windowsill, which was rather large and shut the curtains in front of me. To be honest it felt kind of stupid to be hiding. For all we knew Dale could be messing with us and videotaping this whole thing to see if we would actually do what the poster said. I looked down at my phone. It was 9:46pm, and nothing had happened.

I sighed and was just about to leave my spot when I heard a whisper of a man counting down from five. Five, four, three, two, one… There was then a sound like one of the beds being dragged across the floor and a loud thud, followed by an ear piercing scream from Jade. I quickly jumped out of my hiding spot and turned towards the open doorway in front of me to see Dayna, Becca, Jamal, Felix, and Krissie grouped in the entry way. As I made my way to them the guys covered the girls eyes, and when I rounded the corner I saw why. Starting from the bedroom and making its way up the stairs was a trail of blood. As Jade came into entry, everyone rushed over to comfort her, and she began to cry and yell out in pain. I however looked towards the top of the stairs to see a small mound at the foot of the poster. I made sure to walk at the edge of the stair case so I wouldn’t get any blood on me, and when I got to the top I gagged, then threw up at the sight before me. Pat’s neck had clearly been broken easily at a ninety degree angle, with hundreds of cuts across his body and a large red streak up the front of his now ragged tux. My eyes then turned to the poster where his hand seemed to be reaching towards. On it was the number seven written in blood. I quickly ran downstairs to see everyone arguing, about what had just happened. Once I got to the bottom of the stairs they all stopped and turned to face me.

“Is he up there?” Jade sobbed. I just nodded my head and she immediately began to cry again. I grabbed the other two guys and brought them to the top of the stairs explaining what they would find once they got there. But once we got there, to my horror his body was gone.

“I swear he was just here!” I shouted in disbelief.
The other two looked just as horrified and shocked as I did.

“We need to come up with a plan and fast,” Jamal stated as we reached the bottom of the stairs, “and wasn’t there a door there just a second ago?” He finished pointing to where the kitchen doorway used to be. I swore under my breath and gathered everyone in the bedroom.

“Ok so,” I started a little winded; “From now on we stick together until it’s time to hide otherwise we can easily get picked off, or lose each other.”
“Why don’t we just wait for the bastard who is doing this and just mess him up,” krissie suggested, “because in horror movies that’s the number one issue no one tries to gang up on the killer till they are all dead.”

“I don’t think the killer is human that’s why.”I admitted, a little skeptical myself.

“What makes you say that?” Becca asked.

“Well judging by how quickly he was dragged up the stairs, and based on how big of a guy Pat was if a person were to drag him up the stairs it would take more than 30 seconds. Which is how long it took for all of us to group up in the entry way. Plus I saw the wounds inflicted on him and no normal person could have done that in the allotted time.”

“Alright but why can’t we just stay here then?” Dayna questioned.

“If a door disappears every ten minutes like the rules say then that would mean we would run out of doors eventually, and it also says that once a door is gone everything behind it disappears with so in theory we would all disappear.”

“Well since we are all in the same room, let’s open another door and see where it goes I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to be…” Jade sobbed as she got off her knees and made her way to a door at the far side of the bedroom. We all followed her, as she took a deep ragged breath and opened the door.

We were right back in the entry way… except it was laid out differently than before. The left door way was now a bedroom with only seven beds in it this time. The kitchen was now a large screened in porch with a swimming pool, and the stairs now only led to one door and next to it the poster.
I looked down at my watch. It was 9:50.

“Shit we only have a minute everybody, find somewhere to hide!” everyone ran their separate directions. I ran into the room that was once the bedroom and was now a study and hid underneath a desk. As soon as I was situated however I heard someone running up the stairs. It didn’t hit me right away till I heard a door open. I swore to myself about how stupid they were being, and could possibly have just gotten someone killed. But before I could dwell on the thought any longer I heard it again. The whispering only this time it was different almost like there were two. Five, four, three, two, one…
I don’t know why I did it, but I shouted as loud as I could so everyone could hear me, “Run!”

But it was too late. A second later I could hear Dayna scream followed by a loud crack and splash from the swimming pool. I sprinted out of the room to see right in the center of the entry way a large blood splatter mark, followed by a trail of blood to the pool. We were all in the door way when Felix walked out of the pool crying with Dayna in his arms. He collapsed to the ground holding her. From what I could see her whole face was caved in, which would explain the blood spot on the floor. Everyone else threw up, but I already had my traumatizing visual.

“What do we do now?” Jamal asked as he ran his hands through his hair in thought.

“We have to keep moving, so whatever it is that is doing this can’t catch us.”
“I was there,” Felix stammered, “I saw them. They took her from me! Her foot was poking out from under the bed and they grabbed her!”
“Them? Who is them Felix?” I asked putting my hand on his shoulder.
“It was Pat and another man…” he finished shaking his head in disbelief.
Everyone gasped including me. So that’s what the sign had meant by me/us. I looked down at my watch. 9:59pm, we had to get through a door and fast.
“Guys we have one minute we need to get through a door STAT!” I said taking Felix’s elbow, but he quickly shrugged me off.
“Felix let’s go!” Jamal pleaded through the doorway.
“I can’t go on without her,” He smiled sadly at us, “I love each and every one of you like family, but I must stay here with her.” Once every one left the room, I gave him a slight nudge on the shoulder.
“Catch you on the flip side brother.” I smiled weakly at him.
“No… you won’t.”

And just as I exited the room and turned to face him one last time, he was gone. I placed my hand where the door used to be and prayed that whatever had just happened to him it was fast and painless. I held in a sob, took a deep breath and turned to face the remaining four. Jamal was comforting Krissie, while Becca was kneeling down next to Jade who was now sitting and hugging her legs while rocking back and forth crying. I went to the settings on my phone and set a timer to go off every five minutes, one minute before we were supposed to be hiding and before a door would disappear.

“Get away from me,” Jade hissed at Becca, “How can you say something like that? Nothing is going to be ok! Pat and Dayna are dead not to mention that Felix just magically disappeared with her! Screw you guys, screw this house, screw this ‘game’, and…” she was cut off by the sound of my phone beeping.
“What is that for?” Jamal asked.

“I set it so we don’t get caught off guard when the time to hide comes,” I stated looking to my phone, “We need to hide now.”

“No,” Jade objected, “I told you guys I’m done with this stupid game! I am not hiding!”

Jamal reached for her arm but she instantly shrugged him off. We all started shouting at her telling her she was being unreasonable and that she needed to calm down. She just cursed at us and began to make her way to the study. As she did so however I began to hear the whispers again.

“Do you guys hear that?” I asked hoping it wasn’t just me.
“The whispers,” Becca pointed out, “yes I do.”

“Good it’s not just me,” Jamal chuckled before calling out to Jade, “Jade we don’t have time for this you need to hide!”

She stopped then in the entry way of the study and we sighed in relief that she finally came to her senses, but my relief was quickly replace with horror once the counting started.

“Pat,” She whispered loudly, “is that really you? Who is that with you?” She turned around and began to scream once they counted down to zero. She started to run toward us but as she made it half way down the hall way four figures shot out of the study, grabbed jade and drug her in by her ankles. We quickly sprinted down the hall and into the study only to find that she had been impaled on a knight statues spear, with hundreds of cuts covering her body. I swore loudly and smashed my hand on the studies desk living a large crack going through the center. I immediately regretted doing so however as my hand began to throb from the pain and began to swell. Becca put her hand on my shoulder to comfort me.

“You can make it through this Jay bear,” Becca crooned, “You’ve been through too much to let this defeat you.”

I immediately calmed down, but I couldn’t help but feel something off about Becca. She never used my nickname Jay bear, mostly because she knew I didn’t like it when my mother coddled and embarrassed me with it. Then again it helped to relax me a little.

“We should get moving.” Jamal suggested. We all nodded in agreement as we made our way to the new door in the study. We all took a deep breath before opening the next door.

We were now in a large ballroom. It kind of reminded me of the one in that Stephen King movie Rose Red, except the mirrors and such were all replaced by closed doors and there were four long rows of tables with fancy cloths and silverware laid out. There were six doors in total, but one was open and led to a large hallway, located at the very back of the room.

“Why couldn’t our prom have been here,” Jamal joked, “Oh wait, there is a creepy supernatural entity killing us off. If you ask me that would be a total buzz kill.”

Then, right on queue a banner fell down at the center of the room, which read:

Doors now disappear every two minutes!
Have fun!

“You have got to be kidding me!” Krissie screamed in protest.
I immediately added another alarm to my phone, and as I did so the door behind us disappeared. We needed to get moving.

“I say we go through the open door before it disappears,” Becca offered, “There seem to be more doors to choose from.”

“True,” I agreed, “but there is also less hiding spaces which would mean we would have to open another door in hopes of finding more, which could be risky.” As soon as I finished that thought the alarm went off. We all hugged each other and I whispered to hide under the tables and crawl our way to the front, and if they hear the countdown start, run for the open door.

Once we all were under the tables we slowly began to make our way to the far end of the room. Once I was half way I stopped as a foot came down fairly close to where I was now kneeling. I had to hold back from shouting Felix’s name as I could recognize his favorite pair of shoes anywhere. Idiot even wore them to prom. I was three quarters of the way there when I heard a loud thud under one of the tables, followed by the counting.

“Run!” I shouted as everyone got out from under the tables and began sprinting for the door. I made it to the door first, turning around to see the other three right behind me, and right behind them looking exactly as they did when they had died were our other four friends and another older looking gentleman I couldn’t exactly recognize, and there were sprinting… a lot faster than the living ones. I swore to myself as I thought quickly about what to do. I ran to the nearest door and got ready to open it as soon as everyone was through. Jamal and Becca made it through first but krissie had slipped just before the door way, and the other five were closing fast. Jamal quickly sprinted over to her, picked her up and threw her through the door way. He then turned to sprint but realized it was too late.

“Open the door James,” Jamal shouted, “I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of catching me!” I nodded and quickly opened the door I was holding, and an instant later the ballroom was gone.
“Jamal!” Krissie screamed, falling into Becca’s arms sobbing uncontrollably. Becca rocked her back and forth for a minute passing her fingers through her hair before turning to me.

“What do we do now?” Becca asked, looking teary eyed her-self.
“We have no choice but to move on.” I sighed. As Becca and I made our way through the door I had just opened I heard another door open up behind us. We both spun around to see krissie opening up random doors.

“What the hell are you doing?” I seethed. She turned to face me with with a scowl.

“I’m ending this nightmare! Maybe if it’s just me left I will win the game! Then I can get out of this hell hole!”

Becca ran quickly to the door behind us and opened it but nothing happened.
“Don’t just stand there,” she beckoned, “we need to get rid of her before she gets rid of us!” I took her hand and began running through random bedrooms, kitchens, and bathrooms. I stopped after the twelfth floor, turning to see that the door we had just gone through had disappeared. I sighed in relief and wrapped my arms around Becca, kissing her on the forehead. We had barely just caught our breadth when my alarm started to go off once again. I clenched my jaw, knowing that no matter what happened this would probably be the last time I would see Becca.

“Becca I just want to let you know-,” she cut me off before I could say anything more, with a kiss and I kissed her back.

“We should probably start running.” She stated eyeing the only room in front of us.

“You make sure you stay as close to me as you possibly can, okay? That way none of us can get left behind.” She nodded and kissed me on the cheek.
“Let’s go.” She stated as the whispers began to count down once more. I took her hand and we took off to the nearest door way. Door after door, room after room we went , but they kept coming. Never stopping once, never letting up their pursuit. I could hear Becca starting to get winded and we slowed down to a jog.

“We can’t keep this up.” She uttered between breadths. As soon as she said that I opened the next door and… it was a dead end. We looked to be in the attic now, with the large rounded glass window. I turned to see the others only seconds behind us. I turned to the glass to see that it was full of cracks and seemed like it was ready to break. I turned to Becca.
“Do you trust me?” I called to her.

“Yes!” She shouted as she followed my gaze. I grabbed her, wrapping my arms around her head and waist, leaping backwards so that I could break her fall. If I had remembered correctly it was almost 3 stories. I could survive that I told myself. As soon as we broke through the window everything seemed to move in slow motion. I could see the glass around me light up like fire flies as the sun light shone through them. I could feel Becca’s tight grip around me, and behind her were 7 hands reaching out toward us. Just as we were about to hit the sunlight, I could feel her grip loosen around my waist. I Scream out as loud as I could, reaching for her, her reaching for me as I fell and she was dragged up through the window. A jolt went through my body and I could hear a loud crack as my head banged against the sidewalk. Immediately my vision began to blur. I could feel the warm stickiness of blood forming around my head. I looked up one last time to the attic window to see all eight of them staring down at me. I turned towards the sun and closed my eyes, and everything went white.

Literally something was so bright that all I could see was white, but as quickly as it came it was gone, and all I could see was a blur of figures moving around me and muffled noises of what seemed like people talking.

“James,” called a familiar voice, “James if you can hear me say something.”
“I can hear you just fine.” I muttered. A few people began to cry, and as my vision cleared I could see people hugging each other crying tears of joy. Where exactly was I?

“James I can see you are confused,” stated the voice I now recognized as Pat’s father, which was weird because he worked in a hospital. I am pretty sure there were no hospitals in heaven, “James you have been in a coma for a month now, how are you feeling?”

“Wait what,” I spat in disbelief, “How? Was it from my fall?” I asked. Everyone there just stared at me mostly with grief or sorrowful expressions.
“James there was no fall,” Pat’s father explained, “A month ago you were in a car accident. You were on your way to a friend’s house after prom. On your way a drunk driver was driving on the wrong side of the road and struck your limo head on.” He paused a moment to let it sink in and as he did so he pulled out photos of the wreckage. What I saw completely shocked and horrified me. I stared at the pictures in complete shock, and I could see it was equally as tough for Pat’s father as well. The first photo was of Pat who had been flung from the vehicle, snapping his neck on impact. His body was covered in cuts caused by flying through the windshield and sliding across the road. The next photo was of Dayna who was also flung from the car but her head was crushed as the limo rolled over her. The last photo was of Jade, who had been impaled by what looked the exhaust pipe of the vehicle, and she was also covered in cuts made by glass. I stared at the last photo in disbelief. The photos matched the wounds that had killed his friends in the house almost perfectly, but that didn’t explain what had happened to the rest of them.
“What happened to everyone else?” I asked reluctantly.

“Well after the car struck the limo, it caused it to flip on its side and roll tossing the first three and yourself from the vehicle,” Pat’s father began, “The vehicle then rolled off the side of the bridge you were all driving across. We were able to locate two bodies inside of the limo, which had fallen into a river. The other two remain missing in the river.”
“So who were the ones found in the vehicle?” I asked having a good idea of who they were, as I began to connect the dots.

“Felix and,” he hesitated a moment as he saw me begin to tear up, “Becca.”
I stifled a sob, and nodded that I was ready for the rest. He handed me a tablet with a video on the screen ready to play.

“This was recovered from the limo. It’s footage of what happened in the limo at the time of the accident.”

Everyone’s eyes were on me as I played the video, as I watched there was one part that hit me the hardest. As the limo was struck, I lunged straight for Becca, wrapping my arms around her just as I had done before jumping out the window. I watched though as we bounced around the vehicle a few times before I went out one of the windows, and Becca’s dress got caught on the glass dragging her back in. Then a few moments later the car jolted and the tape went black.

I asked everyone to leave to give me a moment to take it all in. As everyone left I cried. It all finally made sense. They say you hear things when you are in a coma, and all the weird things everyone had said to me made sense now. “It wasn’t my time”, Becca calling me Jay Bear, that was my mom talking to me. They also say when you’re in a coma you can get stuck in the in-between. Which would also explain some of the comments they made to me about making it through the night, and me already doing my best to protect Becca. It finally all made sense. I took a deep breath to calm myself down, and once the tears had stopped I opened my mouth to call out for everyone to come back into the room but was cut off… I turned in horror as my phone alarm went off signaling that it had been ten minutes. I was in my own room so that meant that there was only one door in the entire room. I had to check. I reached out grabbing the curtains around my bed, took a deep breath and flung them open.

Game Over…?

Credit To – Blake L. Patrick

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August 31, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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We ended up going to a place I knew. John had no idea if the bars he used to frequent were still cool, or even open. The cold air shocked him back to his senses, some, and as we stumbled through a labyrinth of back streets you could tell he was thinking we might not even be going to a club. How well do you know your old buddy Charles these days? Suspicion prodding him with questions he should have asked long before setting foot outside his front door.

But the lure of the good old times, no matter how rose tinted, were too strong.

We swung off into the front yard of somebody’s house. Somebody who’d once had kids but maybe not now, maybe not for a long time, and John grunted and tripped on toys scattered across the concrete square. Either way, the parents’ hadn’t had the heart to get rid of their things.

Reaching the miniature swing set I sat down and swung back and forth a little, grinning up at John smugly. The entire structure creaked and groaned alarmingly.

‘We’re going to need the Jaws of Life to cut your ass out of that seat,’ John observed unkindly. ‘Ages four to twelve it says on the side. What are we doing here, Charles?’

Giggling a little I struggled up but the seat came with me, chains rattling. ‘Oh crap, I am stuck.’ A brief moment of panic before John managed to help prise the four to twelve seat off my adult backside.

‘Shh!’ John looked at the house nervously, though all the lights remained off. ‘You’re going to wake the family.’

‘Not bloody likely.’ I wrestled with one of those little rocking horsey things that lurch back and forth on springs, trying to lift it right out of the floor and likely to bust a gut doing it. ‘Help me with this.’

Somebody had to be fired from the toy factory. The jolly grinning beastie inviting some kid to leap into its saddle sported a stubby little horn jutting from its face that must have been quite long and wicked once, before a wiser soul had sawn the plastic down to make it less noticeable.

John loaned his twiglet arms to the effort. ‘Why are we stealing this?’ he hiss-whispered, the way tipsy people think they’re being quiet. ‘It’s not going to match your sofa.’

‘Not stealing,’ I grunted. ‘Push it to the left.’ Which shouldn’t have done anything, the springs seated deep in concrete, but which nonetheless yielded a deep mechanical click.

The entire slab we were standing on grated off to one side and John leaped away with a girlish shriek he instantly tried to cover by coughing.

I bowed, gesturing him down the revealed staircase. ‘Welcome.’

‘What the hell, Charles!’

‘Hey, we’re celebrating. What with my suddenly being un-married and all, and you offering to share your spooky secret I’m gonna treat us to something special.’

The dimly lit space we dropped down into could loosely be called a bunker, although the remains of brackets on the walls attested it’d been
machinery that had once cowered down here, not people. Now the space was crowded with any old paraphernalia that somebody had thought looked cool, glass fronted cabinets springing up all over, busting at the seams.

‘Chaar-leei!’ the bartender hollered, a stringy little fellow with less gristle to him than John and not even as tall, he could scarcely peep over his own bar.

‘Sanjay!’ I boomed back, shoving my way to a bar stool and bringing John along for the ride. ‘I’m treating my friend to the good stuff tonight, Sanjay. We’re off to see a ghost.’

‘Ghosts, now!’ Sanjay rolled his eyes. ‘What excuse for a good drink’ll you think up next? Armageddon?’

The obligatory pretty young things pulling drinks to either side of him, a lass and a lad, smiled weakly. Flashing cleavage was a cheap trick to get the sad bastards lining up on a mission to drink themselves into believing they might be in with a chance, but it was the same worn out dog of a trick everyone used. If you fell for it, more fool you. At least Sanjay ensured these kids learned their stuff, they could leave to run their own establishments someday from books to stock. And he kept them more virtuous than his own children.

‘Bric and Brac,’ Sanjay indicated with a flip of his hand, not handing the adolescents’ real names out to anyone, even regulars. ‘When you want the best drink in the city this is where you come.’

Bending to a spout he filled two grimy glasses. ‘Some say that a sip brings immortality, you’ll live to see the end of days. I’ve had men and women in here swear it gives sleep without dreams, a far more precious commodity. I call it “tears of fools.”’

I accepted mine eagerly. John merely stared at his own set down on the bar in front of him so I prompted, a little annoyed. ‘You’ve never tasted anything like this, mate. It ain’t cheap.’

Sanjay squinted through the labial light at John’s face. ‘Your friend is nervous of the yellow death. He’s a good lad to take care of his liver, you should treat it like your old mother.’

‘I do!’ I protested merrily. ‘A sherry tipple every night and shandies on Thursdays.’

‘Let Bric set your fears at ease.’ The improbably comely lad who had to be skirting the minimum for responsible service, unless they handed them out at kindergartens these days, drew a tiny amount from the tap with a spoon. Taking a tealight candle from the bar he deftly lit the spoonful with the tiniest “woomph.” Delicate blue flamelets flickered and curled across the surface.

After a moment of holding it for inspection Bric flicked it into the sink with a curse, shaking scorched fingers where the spoon had heated up.

‘Run it under cold water,’ Sanjay instructed absently. ‘You see, friend? Red means dead, just like my ex-wife’s stare but this burns blue as my girlfriend’s beautiful eyes. Spirits. What better drop to toast the paranormal?’

‘Ghosts don’t exist,’ Brac asserted from her half of the domain, having that rare ability to work and track the conversation at the same time. ‘The city would be wall to wall ghosts by now if they were real.’

‘And how would you tell?’ I wriggled my fingers at her, booga-booga style.

‘You’d know,’ Bric asserted. He figured his hand all recovered by now but Sanjay thrust it back under the running tap.

‘You know the rules. Ten minutes minimum for a burn, even a bee’s dick of one. And don’t let me catch you sticking ice on it like last time, either. Just damages the cells more.’

‘You believe in ghosts?’ Brac asked Bric curiously. Just went to show, you could work with someone ever so long and still have things to learn.

‘Used to live next to one.’

‘I call bullshit.’

‘No, really. You don’t have to see it to know it’s there. It makes everything … horrible. My family went all weird. I was off school for weeks, just staying in my room and it was like they hardly noticed.’

Sanjay in the middle looked unimpressed but Brac’s peepers were big and round, an expression that wound her age back at least another four years. Back to the age of never checking under the bed or in the closet, because it was better not to know.

I was delighted, really jonesing on the whole paranormal shtick. ‘Well come on. Don’t spare us the juicy-oocy.’

‘Dunno about “juicy.”’ Bric muttered, finally winning free of the tyranny of the sink, the spoon now cool enough to pop in the dishwasher. ‘It was my Mum started acting weird at first, and no-one except me seemed to notice.

‘I read up on it and apparently if you’ve had a loss the ghosts, well, they seem to just get at you more. My uncle, Mum’s brother passed away that year and although I’d never known him I think they were close when they were little. She’d been thinking on him a lot, going through photos and such. Said it made her realise how important it is to appreciate family, but her behaviour sure didn’t back that up.

‘One day the meat in my sandwich was raw. Just … just raw and cold, slapped between two slices of unbuttered bread and I bit into it before I realised. That was one hungry day. When I took it home and showed it to her she laughed in this vague, distant way and said, “What a silly Mummy.” That was for sure: I opened up my lunchbox the next day and she’d put a rock in it! Just … a rock. And she’d buttered it, maybe ‘cause I pointed out the bread thing along with the raw meat.’

Brac stifled a laugh behind her hands, although her eyes said clearly it wasn’t funny. Bric nodded his head. ‘Sounds silly now but I cried so
hard, all those other kids sitting around eating lunches from parents who loved them and there was me with a buttery rock.’

Now I snorted too, but I hope my face was full of sympathy.

Sanjay clapped Bric on the shoulder. ‘Lad, anytime you’re feeling peckish on my watch just say the word. Nobody does good work on an empty stomach.’

‘Much less a kid – I certainly wasn’t getting much out of school. Stopped even looking in my lunchbox. Safer to just hold it open over a bin and turn my face away from whatever came thumping out. But it got worse when Dad started acting up too. I don’t even know what he was doing: might be brushing his teeth or something, and suddenly he’d start trying to do it backwards. Had his lips sealed over the drain trying to suck back all the toothpaste foam.

‘He’d ask me to do something but if the words came out in reverse and I couldn’t understand he’d get angry, this horrible garbled back-wise yelling. He started watching me at night, too. Just sort of stood there in my bedroom in the dark, watching me. He stood in different places but his eyes were wet and I could always seem the gleam from the little light that crept under the door, staring at me. On those nights I don’t think he ever blinked.

‘That’s when I started staying home. I slept during the day so I could stay up all night and stop Dad coming into my room. I couldn’t stand him staring at me. And that’s when I felt it. Cold, a big blast of cold coming right through the wall from next door. But you could only feel it here.’ He put a hand on his chest, over his heart.

‘I know it sounds bizarre but it was the biggest relief when I realised. It meant my parents did love me after all. It was the ghost doing this to them.’

‘And ..?’ I urged. ‘Then what happened?’

‘That morning come daybreak I marched straight to my Dad and told him we had to move, there was a ghost next door and it was messing everything up. He nodded in his slow underwater way, but must have already known something was wrong and was just waiting to be told which way to jump. Before that day was out we were all in the car with everything we owned, heading off down the street. Looking about, it was obvious to see that all the other neighbours were gone. We were the last to leave.

‘I glanced back out the rear and I swear, next door’s street facing window had two handprints on it. Handprints outlined in frost.’

Sanjay gave a low whistle, shaking himself to work the shiver loose from the back of his neck. ‘Well that’s about the most disquieting thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘Cover your ears, then.’ Bric shook his handsome head miserably. ‘The worst was when we made it to our new house. Mum and Dad were already shaking it off: they did a lot of hugging ‘til the air was all squeezed out of me. Dad got started on a special dinner right away to make up for all those missed lunches and Mum, well for days I couldn’t open my mouth without her trying to cram food in. I ought to have been happy.

‘But there in my new room, when I went to unpack my toys I found that there were these long, old rusted nails driven into the faces of each and every one. Every toy I loved. I did that. And to this day I have absolutely no memory of doing it, or even where I got the nails. None at all.’

Whoa. I would’ve kept that last part to myself – for a while Brac’s big shining eyes had looked ready to bestow the ultimate in tender sympathy but now … now she just looked sick. We were all that bit disturbed and couldn’t settle on where to look, especially not at Bric who might have spilled more than he meant to.

It took a stern sense of reality to return to the hazy friendliness of the bar. Or irreverence. Raising his glass, John toasted a whey-faced
Sanjay. ‘Salut. To ghosts, hey?’ The others scowled but I raised my own drink enthusiastically. The tears of fools scalded like fire, going down.

Credit To – BP Gregory

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August 17, 2015 at 12:00 PM
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“There lies a darker world under us. An eversion of all there is. Though, I wonder if that place is more real than ours…” -Unknown

I wake up to darkness. I might as well not have woken up, considering that closing your eyes has the same effect… I move the palm of my hands in vast circles and see only the outer edges; this makes me breathe out of my nose at the sight.

The drone of the alarm continues as I blink and my eyesight begins to adjust to the dim glow in the room. I slam my hand out on the table next to me and silence the alarm.

I try to fall back into the void of sleep, for those evanescent dreams had more of that substance— I don’t know what it is called— that I can see and enjoy… dancing to and fro in joyful delight unheard of on this world.

Yet I can’t sleep; I have to get up. The whisper tells me to get up.

So I raise my body and crack my back (I have to keep going…). I look around my room with its corroded walls, makeshift stands that you might call tables, and a TV that has a crack in the middle. I scratch my head and place my bare feet on the festering floor.

The day begins. The whispers begin their sounds. Like air, they are constantly there; like air, they are always near me.

I start with the daily grind. I use the murky shower water that is centuries old to wash myself of yesterday’s grime with new grime. I then go into the kitchen and eat the stale cereal, and place on myself my moth ridden clothes.

As I put on my clothes, I hear the whispers telling me to leave; this is a reminder that I am alone in the house, and I take greater time to leave. I then splash some water on my face and blink three times. I inhale and exhale, and the daily grind is over.

I put on my shoes and let in the cold air outside. I do not have to squint like I have to do in my dreams, for the clouds always made sure that the atmosphere was nothing but broken hues of the gray scale.

“I’m going!” I cried out to the empty house.

I hear a slight sound that approves my going (very well, it says, carry on), and I move my feet over the threshold. A few steps forward, I turn around to get a quick reality check on my surroundings. I see my apartment all ravaged and bear, and the paint peeling off in a myriad of angels. The shingles of the roof are torn off, and I can see weeds going through the cracks of the apartment’s foundation. The decimated glass of the window is the newest thing on the building, and even they were beginning to fade from their old splendor.

Yup, business as usual!

I crack my neck again and move through the broken parkways and on the sidewalk. I would take the streets since they would be a more direct path towards the school, but I can still hear the whistle of car tires and I am fearful for some reason that they will come and hit me. So I keep myself on the sidewalk and continue until I reach the crosswalk that leads to the Dead Field.

The Dead Field is a vast expanse of pale grass that connects the school to my apartment, and I use it to cut time on having to looking at anything near me. It is been there since the day I was born, if I recall. Trees— I’ve been told— once dotted it and created a tranquil aura around it that made it pleasant to walk through. But now it was just a husk of its old splendor; dead grass is all that dots the patch of the decaying. Dead grass always swaying in defeat, instead of tree leaves swaying in splendor. Dead moving perpetually, full death, forever.

The best part is that this field is the one with the most life for miles on end. It is the most fertile, and the most luxurious; though it was still not pleasant to the eyes. If it weren’t for these features, I would be taking a much longer path towards the school; for even after all these of years of living in this place, it is still discontenting to see the city in its now ravaged state.

I hear a whisper, and I move on from these reminicsent thoughts.

As I reach the crosswalk, I wait for a moment for the whistle of the tires to cease. I pretend that when the whistling stops, the cars and the people inside them also stop and let me through. It makes feel less forlorn in this desolation and creates a sense of filling in the empty space of the roads. When the whistles finally held their cries, I walked out through the faded crosswalk and quickly took a right towards the field.

I looked around to see that the clouds above were not moving—as always—and that the dead grass was swaying back and forth with the wind. Everything above and below was placed in the same spot of motion; it was as if everything were stuck on repeat.

Again, business as usual.

I placed my hands in the pockets of my faded jeans and calmly walked through the field. Usually, it takes me around five minutes to get to the end of the field and another five to reach the school—seconds slugging by as I draw closer each step.

All of this, like I said, has been that way for as long as I can remember the clouds being overhead.

You can call it a tragedy; it wouldn’t be a hyperbole in the least. One teen with no one but himself—one teen in a society long forgotten and left there barren and naked—and one teen that doesn’t even have the privilege to have angst over anything that is living. That there—in the deplorable world—is nothing but I. A lovely, simple, understanding of “tragedy” in most wild aspect.

just… “I”.

It’s almost romantically poetic— and it makes me think.

All of it makes me think, really, and I stop in my tracks. I hear a whisper tell me to go on, but I ignore it. For the first time in quite sometime, I think of the burden that I have been going through. Contrary to the above romance, this “Tragedy World” anything but it. When I feel this burden, I think—and when I think, I become aware.

And when I become aware, I see the world and become insane.

“This is bad,” I whisper. “If I see, I will be taken away! I must never think of my surroundings and how bad I have it! Stan, why are you thinking?! STOP! STOP! STOP!”

Yet even with those words, my mind continues to whirl. In that horrible moment, the world opened up through eyes that were not glaze—so sudden was that revelation of sight that I almost lost my balance; my mind now so clear that it was almost hazy.

I was completely surprise at my sudden lack of apathy to my surrounding. In horror, I suddenly realized how overcast the clouds were— as if they were something from a dream that was turning into a reality.

There, with glazed eyes wide open, I could hear the wind shriek like a woman running for her life—as if a man were chasing her down a hall. There, with trembling hands, I could see the grass fall flat as the shrieks, and a far off beating of thunder, grew louder. There, right there, I let go and let the elements take me in their torrential rainfall.

How many times I wish to let go and fall— to let my body go on the ground and disappear along with my soul. I would let the soft rain come in this world (as a man from a story once said), and lightly place their finger tips on me. I know, I make it sound like a nice little dream, but that’s where I want it all to be: a dream. In my dreams, I do not have to be in an eternal death sentence.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be the wayfaring stranger. All I want to be is a kid who doesn’t need to think. A kid who doesn’t think in grand exuberant words to calm himself, but in colloquial bits and phrases. I don’t want to be, but I am…

Through this torment, I feel a wave of warmth blast me and push me away from those sounds and sites of the world. I grasped my heart and wavered in a place where time did not exist and yet motion did. I became dazed. Mind spinning… endlessly spinning… eternally spinning. Eventually, my legs unfroze and I fell over.

As I laid dying, I heard a faint cry from someone; it was almost familiar in its tones… Like it was someone I knew from a long time. In fact, I could’ve sworn there was a name to that voice… Kyle? No… I’m almost.

I stopped listening to it anymore. I ignored the voices and whispers, and I let myself fall into an eternal sleep where I would never wake up.

No… no… he is going into another seizure, but this one he is not shaking it off!

“Stand up!” I cry. “Wake up! Stand up! Do something for Christ sakes!”

I’m right next to him, yet he does not hear me. He is scrambling and crying and moaning in a fit unparalleled to any of his others. Just a few seconds ago I was walking him through the crosswalk, and a few minutes ago I was getting him out of bed.

How can such simple things die out so quickly?!

Now all that is happening to him is a grand mal that is taking away his life. I try to call for help, but in this field there is no signal. Stan’s ramblings were right; this was a Dead Field.

I turn my neck towards him to see a final spasm before he fell silent. I slam myself down on the ground and try to hear his pulse. There is a slight beat, but the beats were so soft that I almost mistook it for mine. I place my ear close to his mouth and feel a tickle of light speaking.

“Free…” he whispered. “Free at last…”

And with that, his breathing stopped. I looked down at him to see that his eyes were closed, and there was a type of serenity to his face. I shake my head and run out towards the periphery of the field, where I finally got a signal. It didn’t take them long for them to find us and take Stan’s body.

As they took him, I stood there, shaking, thinking of his last words. Could it be that, perhaps, that he saw only a morbid form of this world; a form that entrapped his entire being in an eternal hell of loneliness and despair? I cringe in thinking of this idea.

Yet if this was true, he had finally left that awful nightmare; he had left that inside out world and had gone on to a better one. Or, at least, that is what I tell myself as I shiver in that cold…

Still, there is one thing that continues to claw at my mind with cold, dead talons. Was that Eversion that Stan witness throughout his life something not too far from the true stance in this world? Was what I was seeing but a figment of something more cruel and awful? Did Stan’s world actually exist more than mine?

I pray to God that that is not true, and I place Stan’s Earth into the back of my mind to rot to manure and dust…

Credit To – Josef K. Edwards

This is a Crappypasta Success Story – a story that was rewritten with the feedback received on Crappypasta and accepted for the main site. You can see the Crappypasta posting for this story here.

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