Popular Tags:


How The Girl Almost Stole My Voices

June 23, 2013 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.8/10 (213 votes cast)

It was a warm summer night. There was a refreshing breeze entering through my bedroom window, blowing away the still humidity and warmth that stuck to my body like a wet blanket. Despite the cooling breeze, it was far too hot to sleep properly.
It was 2:13 AM, I stared at the ceiling as my heat driven insomnia got worse. It’s times like these where the incessant voices and chatters of my “characters” became restless. I had developed my various “characters” years ago. I’d like to think of them as my council. Each of them are different and ultimately come from a single source, Me. Despite the intimate connections we all share, they are independent from me yet they are ultimately dependent on me. They’re a little hard to describe.
I was kind of a crazy introverted little kid. And so I discovered at a young age that I can willfully dissociate my thoughts and ideas from myself. And soon, I began to dissociate entire personalities, entire characters. Feeding them and watching them develop within my consciousness. I became them and they became me, influencing my every decision as I influenced them.
I never told anyone about them. They probably think I had schizophrenia, and for a while I thought I did. It was something a bit different, it never detracted from my life; it just made it more interesting. I could never imagine living my life without them, I was a part of them as much as they were a part of me.
The girl was on my mind today. Despite, the party going on in my head, I somehow steered my consciousness towards her. It’s not the first time we thought of her.
The girl sat in front of me in a few of my classes back in high school. She was slim, tall and pale. She had long dark hair and had these large abyss-like eyes. She wasn't the hottest girl in school or anything like that, but I thought she was really attractive. I can remember sitting behind her just starring at the back of her head, lost in my creepy guy fantasies. Everything about her just intrigued and made me fall for her.
Growing tired of starring at the back of her head; I mustered the courage to ask her on a date. I approached her and the first thing I noticed were her eyes. Two black holes that sucked all light near it, hell it sucked me in too. So, I stared into her eyes and what I saw startled me. A reflection of every one of my characters stared back at me through the abyss. I continued starring, feeling uneasy by what I saw. A sudden twinge of fear gripped me.
And she said “hi” in a sweet and soft spoken voice, and the fear evaporated as quickly as it came. I quickly broke out of my trance-like state and mumbled something along the lines of “go, you, movie, me”. She enthusiastically said yes and I was like score!
Going to my next class, I couldn’t help but think how I felt when I was looking into her eyes. There’s something wrong with her I thought to myself. Some of them told me that I was overreacting and others agreed with me. Seriously, we all saw that didn’t we. Didn’t you see her eyes, wasn’t that totally creepy. Your mind was playing tricks on you and you barely stared at her eyes. What on earth do you mean, you are my mind. You saw it; you saw all of us in those eyes. I don’t know man; this is what you wanted right. Think about it, it doesn’t really make sense that she can see us all. Logically speaking, how can her eyes reflect all of us? You don’t even know how we look. We’re just you after all. I’m telling, I saw all of you. It was some kind of abstract reflection of all of us, of me. Anyway, it doesn’t matter; we can’t skimp out on the date now.

***

We watched some random movie. Then we headed out for some pizza. I got to know her a little better. She was extremely nice and such an amazing girl. She made me feel awesome and always laughed at my jokes even if some of them were corny. Despite her bubbly personality, she had a bit of a dark and mysterious side to her. It was totally weird but it just made her so much hotter.
We went out more often together and one thing led to another and next thing I knew, I was knee deep in a relationship. I didn’t mind it at all. I absolutely loved this girl. All my strange and fearful doubts about her were completely forgotten.
Everything seemed so well and one day it just went awry. I was driving her home on our way back from the bowling alley. She suggested that we take the back road. At first, I disagreed and said it was already late and I needed to get you home. In the end, she convinced me. It was a much longer route but I wanted to spend more time with her.
Now, the “back road” cut through some random forest. It wasn’t an actual forest; it was more like a large circular radius of trees in the middle of a busy city. Nonetheless, it was really quiet and just a bit scary at night. Plus the road that cut through it wasn’t well lit.
We were driving through and suddenly the girl asked me to stop randomly on the side of the road so she could go pee. I felt slightly apprehensive at first but I caved in. She went out to do her business. And I was in the car starring at her. She ran towards to edge of the “forest”, turned around and saw me looking and gestured me to turn around as I saw her vaguely mouth the word “pervert”.
I turned away for like 30 seconds, but I turned back, not because I was pervert but it was more or less a dimly lit area and I just wanted to keep an eye on her. She was gone. I got a bit worried but I was quickly comforted when we agreed that she probably went just deep enough into the forest so that random passersby on the road wouldn’t see her. Normal sentiment I suppose.
I sat in the car for 10 minutes and I began to get worried. Girls need some time in the bathroom we said, but still we were restless. Another 10 minutes had passed and we all decided that action should be taken. I came out of the car and began moving in the direction she had gone in 20 minutes ago.
The forest floor was wet so I could see the footsteps her flats made as she waded through the mud. I followed them. And followed them. And followed them. Jesus, she went pretty deep in the forest just to take a piss.
I continued walking in the dark forest. It was so weird; there wasn’t even a single sign of life. It was just silence. Silence as far as the ears can hear. I could see the far and feeble light source emitted from my car as I walked through the forest. It continued to get dimmer as I walked away from it.
I walked deeper into the forest, following these footsteps. Why did she walk so deep inside of the forest, one of them told me?
All of a sudden, her footsteps became much deeper in the front than they were in the back. Was she running away? She couldn’t have been chased? Looks like she just broke into a run but running from what?
A chill ran down my spine as I realized how daunting this situation was. This quiet lifeless forest began to evoke a deep fear. The darkness ahead reminded of me of the girl’s eyes during our first encounter. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.
As much as I really didn’t want too, I followed the footsteps and finally arrived into a clearing in the middle of the forest. At the very centre of the clearing, there was a single eerie looking cabin.
We can’t act like an idiot at a time like this I told them. Think of all those scary movies, we need to be tactful. We can’t just rush in. So, I slowly and quietly walked into the clearing. Instead of following the girl’s footsteps towards the door of the cabin, I decided to sneak around the cabin, in hopes that there might be a window that I can spy through. Who knows what dangers lurk within?
I was in luck; the window was on the wall adjacent to the side with the door. I crouch walked towards it. I cautiously stared into it, fearing for my life as I slowly lifted my head up until my eyes were right at the base of the window.
It was dark inside, I squinted my eyes as I struggled to see what was going on. There were candles lit on the floor. They illuminated the pentagram on the wall. And in the very corner of the room, I saw her. It was the girl. Her back was towards me as she stood facing the corner of the room. Her long dark hair stood still as it seemed to suck in the very light coming from the candles. Her pale skin which had always somehow attracted me now seemed deathly in the dim candle lit room.
That girl, it couldn’t be the same person I was with a while ago.
What’s going on in there? It was those eyes one of them said in my head. Don’t you remember those eyes; there was something wrong with them, something wrong with her.
As I watched in fear, I heard chanting from the same corner of the room. An unearthly sound came out of her mouth. A deep growling noise from some ungodly beast spoke in an ancient tongue, chanting and reciting.
I continued to stare inside the cabin, specifically at the pentagram, as the candles around the pentagram began to glow ever brighter. And then the chanting stopped. The candles instantaneously went out.
The silence that followed was so deafening, so fearful. A sudden chill permeated my body, one which emanated from the corner of the cabin. My heart stopped as I slowly moved my eyes from the pentagram towards the corner of the room. There she was. In the corner of the wall, her back no longer facing me. Her face had become deathly pale in the darkness of the room and her dark hair hung limp at the side of her face and her body. The fear prevented my body from moving. She slowly moved her eyes towards the window and looked at me.

***

I woke up, my vision slightly blurry. That was one hell of a dream.
I closed my eyes and reached for the light switch on the wall. My hand simply fell through an area of space where I expected a wall and light switch. And hit the cold grassy ground. Grassy?
YOU’RE STILL IN THE FOREST! I looked up and saw the girl. She was a few arm lengths away. She stood still and simply stared at me as I was paralyzed with fear. Her pale expressionless face gazing into my very being.
RUN, GET OUT OF HERE! Every single one of them screamed in my head. The girl slowly rose one of her arms up.
The fear was so powerful, that I no longer had any control over my own muscles. I found myself running away from her. Perhaps it was the characters, maybe it was me. What difference did it make; I needed to run as far away as possible.
We need to go. Hurry let’s get out. Keep going. What do you think I’m doing? What was that? I don’t want to think of that right now. We need to get as far as possible from her. Just keep going. The trees cleared away as the road came into view.
I quickly jumped into my car, turned the ignition and hit the accelerator as hard as I could. I was so fucking scared. I was probably going 50 km over the speed limit, but I didn’t care, I just needed to escape as far away as possible.
I arrived at my house and crept into my bedroom quietly. The fear clung to me like the sweat against my shirt. What was going on? This is insane. I agree. Maybe if we just close our eyes and sleep we’ll forget all about it.
I couldn’t forget.
I got up, took a deep breath. I walked towards the bathroom. The fear threatened to consume me as I took another step forward in my dark house. Why is the light switch for the corridor on the other side of the room!? I reached the end of the corridor and turned on the light. The bathroom door at the end of the corridor was open and the sudden flood of light illuminated its interior.
I saw her, in the bathroom mirror. The hideous thing followed me. I turned around and did not see her and looked back and saw that she was approaching my reflection closer and closer. Those eyes continued to stare at me.
In sheer panic, I closed the bathroom door and looked behind me. There was no one there.
What’s wrong with you? Why would you look into the mirror? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you how creepy mirrors are? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.
I lay against the bathroom door, breathing heavily as I gasped in air. Then in the corner of my eye, I saw movement.
Something was scrapping the floor. I stared in fear as the scrapes began to take on the shape of letters. It was writing something.
The abyss has no reflection, it is within.
I blinked, and slowly felt part of me die. The writing was gone.
One by one the voices became dormant as my vision went black.

***

I woke up. There were people around me; people with faces I could not recognize nor remember. Get up they told me. We need to get you out of here. We were inside a room. The door was tightly locked with furniture piled high against it. There was heavy pounding on the door. It shook the very foundation of the room. I starred at the shaking door, frightened at whatever was on the other side.
She’s trying to get in. We lost many of them but it’s not too late. They can come back. You need to think of something. In the meantime hide down here. The deeper you go, the harder it is to find you. If you’re caught, it’s all over. Do something; we’ll buy you time.
They opened up some kind of trap door in the centre of the room. Without even realizing it I was pushed down and fell, deeper and deeper until I hit the ground with a loud thud.

***

I woke up in my bed. I had a jarring headache; it was as if someone was pounding on the inside of my head.
The voices were gone, I realized in a panic.
Then, the memories came rushing back like flood. The forest, the mirror, the writing, the room and the girl.
I needed to do something quickly. She’s trying to claw her way towards me. I needed to hear the voices again. They were vital to me. How could I live without them?
I began freaking out and then the idea came to me.
I don’t need to do anything at all; I can just have myself do all the hard work. Dissociate thoughts, ideas and entire personalities.
It’s not too late. I booted up my desktop and decided to research whatever it was that I was experiencing. I googled “how to exorcise demons and malevolent spirits” and I immediately got over 200 million hits. I began to pick the most relevant links. To be quite honest, I wasn’t too sure as too what kinds of people have authority on such phenomena, however, the first hit that wasn’t a youtube video was bound to be something useful.
After hours of doing research, the pounding in my head seemed to get louder and somehow closer. The headache became much worse until the point where each pulse of pain temporarily blacked out my vision.
In the end, I think I figured out what was going on. The insight of paranormal investigators, priests, psychics, mediums and random people who seemed quite knowledgeable about the subject suggested that I was possessed. However, my case of possession was special. It appeared my split yet stable consciousness was preventing the possession from happening quickly. That was my theory anyway.
I sat there, closed my eyes and I thought about everything I just read. I continued thinking until it was no longer my own thought.
A deep voice broke the silence, a voice from within, one much closer than the continuous knocking and pain.
“You have called for me in your time of need. What is it that you require?”
“I need your help to get rid of whatever is inside me.”
“Come join me in the inner sanctum of your mind, your soul”
My vision began blurring as a sudden weakness gripped my body. I began falling towards the desk. Goddamnit, haven’t I passed out enough!

***

I woke up in a dimly lit room. There was a table with two chairs at the very centre of the room and locked door in a corner. A man sat in one of the chairs. He wore clothes identical to mine and he had a face that constantly changed every time I blinked. It was like walking through a crowd of people without really looking at their faces. Each image slowly disappeared to an irretrievable part of my mind as a new one replaced where his previous face was.
It spoke, with an unforgettably deep voice, a sharp contrast to his fluid image.
“It appears that your soul is being plagued by an evil spirit. For reasons unknown to me, your soul appears to be fragmented in many smaller pieces which is proving difficult for her to fully control and corrupt your being. You are probably aware, but, I am one of those fragments. There are many others, however, they have been suppressed by the spirit in an attempt to reach you, the core.”
“What do I do to get rid of it?”
“We must send the entity back to where it came from. We will be opening a gate right here, one which connects this world to hell. You will lure her towards the gate and I’ll force her into it.”
“Okay, what do I do then?”
“Prepare the gate, draw these following symbols on the floor” he said as he handed an old piece of paper with small drawings on them.
A sinister soft knock came from the back corner of the room. I turned to see a door, the handle was turning slowly. It did not open. The door remained locked.
“Hurry, prepare the gate, I’ll hold her off.”
I materialized the image of the paper on the wall in front of me, after all this is my consciousness. The ominous symbol appeared to gaze at me. It was a ringed planet and at its centre there was an eye.
“The symbols are up, what do I do now?”
“The gate should be opening soon. Don’t look inside the gate, turn your back on it, and remember whatever you do, don’t look inside the gate”
His words were entrenched in fear. Don’t look inside…
I quickly turned away from the symbols and I saw that the man was gone. The door opened slowly. Her face was now in state of decay and her skin has become the colour of curdled milk. Her eyes starred straight into me. She slowly walked towards me and the feeling of fright had robbed me of the ability to move.
Where did the man go, I was completely alone.
I begin hearing voices from behind me, dark whispers which called out to me in ancient language. I was unsure which one was scarier. Death was in front of me and a fate worse the death was behind me.
I stood there, knowing that this was the end. She slowly walked towards me, reached out with her pale arms and wrapped her hands around my neck and she opened her mouth. Her cold hands on my neck made me shiver in my skin and the stench of decay poured out of her mouth. Her eyes continued to stare into me and…
The man burst through a random door from the ground (was that there) and lunged at the entity. He ripped her off of me and dove into the gate behind me.
Everything was in slow motion; I starred at the man as he grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her into the gate in one swift diving motion. I turned around as I followed his path into the gate and he looked me in the eye. His face no longer unrecognizable, I was staring at myself.
“I told you not to look inside,” he said with a sinister smile and a wink. A blinding flash of light shone from the single light source in the room, probably an unconscious safety mechanism preventing me from seeing what was inside the gate.
Nevertheless, I had caught the shortest of shortest glimpses. An image which would remain seared in my memory for the rest of my life.

***

A few days later, some police officers showed up at my place. The girl had been missing for a few days. I was one of the prime suspects; however, I was cleared because of the lack of evidence against me. They never found her body. That’s because she materialized in our minds, they told me.

As the voices calmed down in my head, I realized that I was lucky to have gotten away alive. However, there was one loose end. A part of my consciousness, my soul was trapped in the other world, in hell.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 7.8/10 (213 votes cast)

Blackout

June 22, 2013 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.3/10 (338 votes cast)

I hadn’t done anything different that day. It started off very normal, in fact; I awoke to the blaring alarm clock. I brushed my teeth. I fixed a breakfast, and ate it. I kissed my mum goodbye and I dashed out the front door, swinging my backpack with me. I sat on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive. I get there early every day, just to be sure. The only thing different that I recall would be the grass; it looked a little greener.

I entered the bus and found a seat. At my seat near the back of the bus, I rested my headphones on my head and listened to some music. I listen to the mellower songs in the morning.

As time passed, the bus quickly filled up with people. It was a school bus. The children were chattering and teasing and twisting and shouting. They were normal kids. With the headphones, however, all I could hear was the music, the soft piano layered on melodic, spacy harps and horns. I don’t listen to normal music.

We reached the school. With the headphones still on, I get up with the rest of the kids and become a drop in a rushing ocean of children, not eager for class, but eager to arrive.

School was loud and busy. The classrooms, filled with students and teachers, went on teaching all matter of subjects; while the students remained restless and less enthusiastic of the knowledge. I met up with all my friends at recess. I played basketball with Tommy and Michael. They were my closest friends on the playground. After we tired of basketball, we went and dug around the rocks and woodchips that edged the enclosure, looking for bugs and worms.

I distinctly remember the moment just before the blackout. We were taking long woodchips and poking at the dirt with them. I joked with Michael about what we would do if we found a little bug friend. Tommy said he’d squish it, but we laughed, knowing he wouldn’t ever do such a thing. The giggles resided and I shifted my gaze to the dirt on the ground, smiling and stabbing away.

For three years, I’d been having these “episodes,” my mother calls them. They occur every few months or so, just when we think they’re gone for good. To my mom, I just go limp and blackout, waking up 45 minutes later in a hospital bed with doctors around me. My mother knew nothing of my experiences during the 45 minutes of being out.

Imagine a night of sleep where you don’t remember your dreams, where it’s a brief blackness that is ended by your eyes waking up to the morning light or your ears sucking you into reality from an alarm. That’s what I saw, except in that darkness, there is a figure. The face is shrouded and the details are indistinguishable. It didn’t feel like a dream either; rather, this figure has been watching me all my life and I just now peer through another world and meet his dark gaze. He just waits and watches. Nothing had been said, and nothing moved. But I knew he was there; I got that recognizable feeling of another presence with me.

As I stabbed at the dirt, the “episode” began. I recognized that it was beginning as soon as I felt my eyes were about to pop out of my face. But by then, my breathing had already stopped and I couldn’t speak. My fingertips began to tingle; my face and feet begin to burn, hot, as blood pooled to them. A horrible sensation deep inside my stomach wrenched and tore me. At this point, I lost my vision and consciousness. I don’t remember ever hitting the dirt.

I was in my blackness again. This had happened so many times before, that I thought I had become familiar with the figure, as well as the blackness. I was ready to meet him, and to stare into his strange gaze. However, for the first time, I was struck with fear. The figure was there, in the blackness, but I feared it. I hadn’t before. It was strange, but I just wanted it to end.

“Yes…” the figure spoke. I heard his voice with chilling clarity. It was deep and old.

“You are…” he took a deep inhale, as if he’d just completed a long, daunting task. “… done.”

Done. That’s it.

I woke up on the playground. The sun had moved to the other side of the sky, so time had passed. It was dead silent; looking around, the lot was completely empty. I get up, confused. Usually I wake in a hospital or on the floor of the office with the teachers gathered around.

I approached the glass doors to enter the school. Peering through the glass, I saw nobody. I walked inside. In the office, I sat in the chairs by the door to regain my thoughts. I hear the rustling of papers and look up. I see a folder floating through the air, from the main desk and down a corridor.

I quickly got up and followed the folder. Down the corridor, a door opened and the folder drifted in. I follow, and watch as the folder approached the desk. The swivel chair turns and the folder flopped down on the table.

I bolted out of the office, feeling alone and confused. I ran to a classroom and saw a piece of chalk writing a on the chalkboard. I panicked and left the school. I saw cars driving in the streets without passengers; doors opening for no people; gardens being gardened by floating tools.

I couldn’t see people.

After a very long while, maybe weeks or months, I noticed a few things. I couldn’t see my reflection. I could have guessed that. What’s interesting, however, is that I don’t seem to get hungry or need to eat. I just sort of wandered around, looking at things. The boredom drove me crazy. The only thing worse than the boredom, was the loneliness. I kept myself company by talking to myself while I aimlessly wandered city streets, houses, stores, parks, and anywhere my feet could take me. I’d watch as people I couldn’t see went about their daily lives.

The wandering eventually became an interesting task for me. I would go for very long walks during the day, counting the numbers on people’s home addresses. I’d see floating hoses watering lawns and drifting helmets riding bicycles. At night I would sprint through the streets, dashing under street lights.

I came up upon a library. That kept me busy for a long while. I scanned the bookshelves and read almost half the books in the entire place. I just sat alongside other floating books, knowing somebody invisible is getting a good read. I’m able to retain information very well.

I came across a cemetery. I spent a long while scanning the tombstones, reciting the names to see if any rang a bell. I recognized a few last names of my old friends. I would look at the dates and count how many years they lived to be. Sometimes I’d see incomplete dates, tombstones of those yet to die; this humbles me as I ponder those planning for death. I felt sorry for them. Sometimes I’d come back and find the incomplete dates completed; the dirt freshly turned. I’d go along, row by row. At night I couldn’t read them, so I’d sprint through the streets, dodging cars that couldn’t see me.

Today, I was finishing up my cemetery walk. I came across a tombstone with my name on it. The realization hit me hard, but it makes more sense now. The birth-year and the death-year were both engraved. I stared at it for a long while. You wouldn’t believe how upset I was. I thought one day I’d wake up and see my mum again. I thought maybe I was in the hospital, and I’d wake up, get better and go back to school to play with Tommy and Michael. I think I cried, but I understand that I probably don’t have any real tears.

After sitting for a while, an idea occurred to me that hadn’t before.

And that’s how I got here. I know I can interact with the objects in this afterlife, but I also know that the living live among me as well. I went into my old house – it’s more familiar.

I get on my computer and type what I know. I submit it onto this website where hopefully it won’t gain too much attention; creepypasta, where stories like this are abundant, but fiction mostly. I guess I’m mostly just writing this to organize my thoughts about what had happened, especially with today’s realization. I doubt I’d be able to actually send any sort of message to the living world. I had tried before, to no avail. Oh well; it’s not like I don’t have time to waste.

Credit To – Nick Farella

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.3/10 (338 votes cast)

Darkness

June 21, 2013 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.9/10 (529 votes cast)

I think it was several weeks ago when it started. The electronics in my house started flickering on and off. At first, it was just a minor annoyance. I’d be on the internet, and my computer would shut down. Or I’d be cooking something in the oven, and it’d turn off halfway through. I called an electrician, who said that the wiring in my house was in tip-top shape. Not believing him, I called several more electricians, all of whom said the same thing. I tried using less electricity in the house, thinking I was overloading it. Eventually, I learned to live with it.

What sparked my attention was when my co-workers began to complain of the same thing. The woman in the cubicle over from mine confided in me that her iPod had died, with a full battery, then resumed working minutes later. Soon, we were hearing bits and pieces about it on the news. They told us that the problem would be fixed soon, and nothing more. I soon found out that it wasn’t just our area afflicted. Many areas across the country- and, later on I’d find out, across the world- were being affected.

Things began to get worse. By now, many were used to just one or two of their electronic devices not working at once. But when they began to all shut off at once, and then not work for hours on end, the panic grew. There was no explanation. The media couldn’t tell us why, the electricians couldn’t tell us why. Then the generators started failing. Most schools and office buildings, and even some private homes, have generators for when the electricity goes out. The generators were working just fine, and then, like their electronic relatives, they began to not work. Children had to go to school in complete darkness on some days. I even remember having to navigate my way through my office building with a flashlight; before the flashlight stopped working, of course.

When the lights stopped turning back on, people began to panic. No matter what was done, some homes were completely left in the dark. Panic set in. Without any media access, people were quite literally in the dark about things. Then the madness started. People screaming that they were hearing or seeing things. The woman in the cubicle over from mine had a manic episode. I assume that it was fairly bad, because she stapled her own eyelids. Or so I heard, since by then our building had completely lost power.

Society began to break. Electronics keep our species in touch, in the light, and entertained. Without these things we weren’t seeing what was happening in the world. I stopped going to work. No one was really going anywhere anymore; people were staying at home, stockpiling food and survival necessities, and taking care of their loved ones who were suffering from delusions. During the day- the only time where there was light, now- I saw a man collapse on my lawn. I rushed out to help him, but as soon as I got near him, he started screaming and clawing at the air.
“Oh god, the lights! We need the lights! Turn them back on, please!”
I was afraid to approach him. I took a few steps closer, until what he said stunned me.
“They’ll come if we don’t have the lights! Come for us all! Man, woman, child!”
I felt my hair stand up on end. I’m a rational, church going man, but the way this man was screaming, the way his eyes looked, I felt that he may not be just suffering from a delusion.
I would have asked the man more, but he collapsed, his heart giving out to another attack. He lay on his face in the light of my lawn. I didn’t want to leave him there, but I couldn’t call the police, and I’d never seen his face in this neighborhood. I ended up dragging him to the police station across town, even though I knew the cops wouldn’t be there. By the time I made my way back, the sun was setting, its yellow and orange penumbra stretching over the horizon as night approached. I felt my hair stand on end again as I rushed to my house, slamming the door shut behind me.

An hour later, I was almost drifting off to sleep- I didn’t do much else, these days- when a godless shriek of pure agony ripped the air like a cleaver through steam. A bloodcurdling scream, coming from a few houses over. I shot up in bed, and bolted to the house. A few others joined me as we waited to see what was wrong. However, no one came to the door, no one cried for help. One of the men who had come to help decided to check it out. He busted down the door, and disappeared into the darkness inside. A few moments later, we heard his scream, too. But, as we were closer this time, we also heard brand new noises.

The sickening suction and then tearing sound of flesh being torn from bone, of two-toned inhuman laughter, of blood splattering the walls like the canvas of a modern artist.

My next memory is arriving back home. If I think deeply on it, I remember seeing one of them, through one of the house’s windows. Just it’s bright golden eyes, of course. The being itself was black, matching the darkness it lives in. Of course, it did have those teeth. Oh God, those teeth. When it smiled at me through that window, I saw them. Shiny and white and sharp, the entrails of innards of its victims hanging from them like streamers.
And now here I am. I’ve locked myself in my room, only the moonlight from my yellowed circular window to guide my pen as I write this.The panic outside is audible; they’re trying to fight whatever that monster was, but failing. I hear more and more screams as those who were too brave or too stupid (One part brave, two parts fool) to run attack the beast. I’m almost certain that if I looked I would dry heave, the scent of blood was almost pungent in the air, even at this height. Could they really take pleasure in killing these humans? What kind of monster would enjoy that? More crunching of bones, more blood staining the streets. It’s all I’ve had the pleasure of listening to for the past few hours. I’m surprised I haven’t completely lost my goat, yet.
I’ve had time to think, too. This is why we’re afraid of the dark. These things ARE the dark, the worst of it. They’re the reason that children have to sleep with a nightlight on. Light kills them. That’s why they don’t attack during the daylight. Or whenever there’s even the smallest amount of light, even coming from a computer screen. They’re careful about appearing to humans- When it’s not mealtime, of course- but now I know why everyone’s afraid of the dark when they’re a kid. I remember, now, seeing one of them out of the corner of my eye when I was five years old. My mother told me I was just seeing things, that it wasn’t real, that it didn’t exist.

If I can hold out for a few more hours, daylight will come. Maybe help will come. But they won’t be able to attack me. I’ll be safe. But that probably won’t happen, since I can hear them downstairs, now. I can hear them as they run through the rooms searching for their next game. Next kill. Next feast. They’re knocking over tables and chairs, tearing up the walls. They’re coming for me, and that deadbolt locked door isn’t going to hold them off. I’m going to suffer the same fate as those people in the streets.

The quiet thud of my pen dropping onto my bed jolts me upright. I toss the padded paper aside, grabbing onto the Chefs knife that I had taken upstairs with me I wait.

I can hear their claws scraping at the door, tapping the knob and receiving a pleasant clinging noise. Like when you hit a spoon and a pan together. I hear another two toned giggle, one tone as pleasant and innocent as that of a child, the other as dark and as sinister as the devil himself.
I grip the knife that I had stolen from the kitchen on my way up, clutching it with a sense of false courage. I know that this won’t do anything more than the guns did in the street. Absolutely nothing.

My knuckles are white, and I know I should be focused on survival, but all I can think about is why? Why did this have to happen? What turned the lights out? Was it just our time as humans to go? Was it just time for our species to end?

My thoughts were traveling at a speed I could barely comprehend, and then they all stopped as the horrific creaking noise of my door opening slowly tears through my pseudo confidence, my eyes meeting one of theirs. I drop the knife, fingers losing their ability to hold on any longer.

They’re approaching me, moving slowly, their teeth curled in hideous grins. I fumble for the knife, swinging it wildly as they approach. It moves through their bodies like air.

It’s funny, the last thing I remember is my mother telling me that they aren’t real. That they don’t exist.

And you can’t kill what doesn’t exist.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.9/10 (529 votes cast)

The Man in the Road

June 20, 2013 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.0/10 (380 votes cast)

I sat quietly, sipping my glass of wine and wishing desperately that the evening would come to an end. Two of my friends, Brad and Laurie, had been invited to a get together with another friend of ours. He lived across the river in St. Louis and we hardly got to see him, so when he invited us to a wine tasting he was hosting we jumped at the chance, Brad being kind enough to give us a lift. The guests were mostly old friends of the host and as such shared many of his old war stories; stories of his drunken youth filled with all manner of crazy stunts and funny events. I was sitting apart from the crowd because I had very little to offer in the conversation; my childhood, by contrast, was very tame and I always felt a little embarrassed trying to compete.

Something about these kind gatherings always made me very self-conscious, but I was here to visit a friend so I put on a brave face and tried to mingle with little success. Every conversation I tried to take part in was alien to me, tours of duty in the military or one night stands and drunken revelry. I mostly just stood amongst the group and listened, occasionally trying to add to the merriment but only proving, if only in my own mind, how very much I didn’t belong. I eventually ended up sitting by the glass sliding doors that led to the back porch, all around me people where laughing and talking about old times and good friends now far away, and even though I longed to be a part of it I couldn’t work up the nerve. I sat quietly sipping my wine and waiting for the others to decide to go when the lights suddenly flickered and went out. A few people cursed at the sudden darkness while our host fumbled for a flashlight, As I stood up to help him my gaze turned to the sliding door and to a dark figure just outside the fence. I lingered for a moment just staring at him; he was standing just out of the light of the street lamps, which were flickering themselves. I couldn’t make him out in the darkness but I could tell that he was very tall and he was facing the house. The figure stood perfectly still as I watched him and even though I knew I was just as hidden in the dark as he was, I felt like he was watching me. This entire event only lasted a few breaths and as I turned to help find some form of light the power kicked back on; I turned to look back toward the tall figure but he was gone.

Eventually the party wound down and the guests began to leave; Brad, Laurie and I lingered a little and thanked our friend for a lovely evening before departing, I never did mention the strange figure to anyone that night, in hindsight I wish desperately that I had. I sat in the back and talked to my friends as we started through the thick woods that lead us to the highway. The road that passed through these woods had no street lights and the road itself was very narrow, it was a wonder there weren’t more accidents on it. I was sitting in the back talking to Brad, who was driving, and Laure in the passenger seat when Brad suddenly yelled. The car swerved sharply as Brad tried to avoid the tall man that had appeared from nothing in the road and as we screeched past him he was illuminated for a brief moment. All I could make out as the car sped past was that he was tall and wore a black suite but could make out no further details as the car started to roll.

I can’t recall how many times we rolled, I had slammed my head hard against the roof after our first roll and things became very fuzzy after that; I do remember wishing I had buckled my seat belt and the sudden landing. The car made a sickening sound as it hit, the screaming sound of metal on pavement and a thud as one the occupants landed outside, thrown out during our violent accident. Sight returned to me slowly and I found I was half out the window of the overturned car, but I could hear a quite sobbing somewhere in the dark. I looked around and saw the car, mostly whole but many chunks had been torn free almost like it had been gnawed by some terrible creature. I saw Brad lying on his back toward the front, his head was bleeding heavily and his right arm was bent in an impossible angle, I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. The dark woods hid everything beyond the wreck in an inky sheet of night, it may as well been the void of space outside the dimming glow of the headlights. I tried to pull myself up to check on my friends but the moment I tried to move I saw pain, not felt it mind you, saw it flash before my eyes in a spectrum of pale colors as I tried to move; even the thought of movement hurt.

I lay in the road by the car for who knows how long, I was still half in the window trying to muster the strength to crawl out when I saw Brad move. At first I was relived, he had to still be alive if he was moving, but the way he moved wasn’t right. He moved in short jerks, his body slowly turning until his feet where out of the beam of the headlights and pointing at the inky dark beyond. I lifted myself up as best I could to try and make sense of what was happening; Brad’s limp form jerk once, then twice, and then like a bullet rocketed off into the darkness. The movement was so sudden I questioned if I had seen it at all. I tried to move again but was rewarded with those flashes of pain; I only managed to get out of the window and into the street, that’s when I heard the crying grow louder and more urgent. At first the crying was a tired kind of sob not the balling of a child, like a person who had been through too much suffering in too short a time, now it sounded frantic and panicked. I heard a brief scuffling out of sight on the other side of the car then a silence. I held my breath waiting for what I don’t know and after a few short seconds that stretched forever, the night air was pierced by a shrill cry.

To call the stillness that followed silence would not have done it justice, this silence had weight to it and I felt it on my chest as I looked around me and saw the light of the headlights growing dimmer. I noticed then that there was no sound at all, not even the sound of insects or the nocturnal animals of the woods, something was near the wreck, hiding just out of the shrinking circle of light, some unnatural thing that even the beasts of these dark woods feared.

Forgetting my pain I started dragging my body closer to the front of the car, I had the insane notion I would be safe if I stayed in the light. Just as I reached the front of the car a sudden and sharp pain shot through my head, it was so abrupt and intense that my vision blurred into one solid color. My vision cleared quickly but the intense pain remained, as I looked around me I noticed the headlights had dimmed even more in the short time, they were slowly going out, the dark void of the woods slowly moving in on me. It was then that I noticed a faint figure in the dim light, It was just enough in the shadows that I couldn’t see it clearly but it had the shape of a tall man; he stood perfectly still just staring at me. At first I had hoped he was there to help, some kind passerby that saw the wreck, but the longer I looked at him the more wrong he seemed. I could tell he was tall, unnaturally tall in fact and his limbs seemed stretched and oddly proportioned for any normal man. I tried to call out for help, to him or anyone who may hear me I can’t remember, but the only sound that I could manage was a raspy croak; in response to which he only tilted his head to one side. As soon as he tilted his head, the vision blurring pain returned, now more intense than before. My vision didn’t clear completely this time, but still I noticed the man had gotten closer only I couldn’t recall him moving at all, he just seemed to appear closer to me in the brief moment I lost my sight. As he stood in the ever failing light of the car I could see him clearly now, he was clad in a dark suite with a white shirt and red tie, which seemed even more surreal with his inhuman proportions, but as I was soon to learn these where his tamest features. My gaze slowly rose to his face and at first I couldn’t take it all in, my mind reeled at the sight of its face, or lack thereof. Where a face should be was a blank mass of flesh in the vague shape of a human head which was tilted slightly to one side almost quizzically as he looked down on me.

Having seen the whole of him I tried to scream but couldn’t even muster the croak, just then the pain grew even more intense and once again my vision blurred. As before, the tall man appeared closer to me but never moved, he was right over me at this point; my vision stayed fuzzy around the edges clearing at random now. As he stood over me he began to twitch slightly, his faceless gaze never leaving me as the headlights flickered; wispy dark shapes began to form around him and I thought vaguely of smoke as the shapes turned into writhing tendrils. The tall man quickly moved toward me and the tendrils reached out as the head lights finally flickered out; as the inky black enveloped me another sharp cry filled the dark woods, I finally found my voice to scream.

Credit To – Elijah M

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.0/10 (380 votes cast)

The Autopsy of Cole Ryder

June 19, 2013 at 12:00 AM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 6.9/10 (215 votes cast)

“Cole Ryder. Age 23. Death by multiple lacerations to chest, reaching as deep as his lungs. Poor bastard looks like someone cut him open multiple times with a damned sword. No visible signs of struggle, indicating that he was either drugged before hand, or was hit unexpected.” the coroner recorded, working together with the officers to try to piece together the final moments of Cole’s moderately short life.

Cole’s lifeless, blood-drained corpse lay flat on the autopsy table, with the ribbons of flesh hanging loosely – even before the coroner began his work. He was approximately 5’11″ tall, short brown hair, average build, with no tattoos or piercings. The average kind of guy you could walk past every day on the street and never take a second glance at. To society, he was just like everyone else – an invisible person, with an unimportant life.

“How can people do this to each other?” the coroner questioned aloud while removing Cole’s ribcage. As he was about to make an incision to remove the lungs for closer examination something caught his eye. He placed a hand just under Cole’s shredded left lung, and produced a bloody, airtight plastic bag. Removing the bag and emptying its contents onto a nearby sterilized desk produced a USB stick, simply labeled: PLAY ME. Breaking from the procedure, the coroner ran out of the room to the two officers working on the case, handing them this strange new piece of evidence.

“Continue the autopsy, we’ll find out what this is about.” instructed one of the officers. They turned to leave, rushing to the nearby police station to check the contents of the USB. “We’ll be back shortly.”

The coroner re-sterilized and once again entered the room to continue working on Cole’s corpse. Picking up the scalpel, he continued where he had left off, about to remove the lungs.

At the police station, the two officers loaded up the USB and checked the files. There was one single audio file, entitled ‘Current Number’. Opening the file, they could hear a voice, though it sounded slightly different than a human voice. It sounded more raspy and cruel, almost animalistic; though still in English. “Eleven thousand, eight hundred and forty-two.” the voice kept repeating, as if trying to memorise the number.

“What the hell is this?” asked the first officer. The second simply shrugged and they closed the file down. Strangely, however, there was now a second audio file on the USB titled ‘Update’.

“By the time you return, the number will be eleven thousand, eight hundred and forty-three.” It was the same inhuman voice, scratching through the speakers.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” the second officer asked the first. The first shook his head violently and a chill air passed through the room. “I think, perhaps we should return to the coroners office.” suggested the second.

Upon re-entering the coroners office, the metallic sickly smell of blood wafted through the air and a strange laugh could be heard from the autopsy room. Drawing their handguns from their holsters, the two men kicked open the autopsy room door to a scene straight out of anyone’s worst nightmare. There was more blood than paint on the walls and the coroner was completely missing, except for the pair of eyes, slowly rolling across the floor. Cole Ryder still lay motionless on the autopsy table, chest cavity still open and face still lifeless, though he was now caked in the coroners blood. Walking slowly around the room, the two officers stopped either side of Cole’s body, surveying everything and drawing their guns, ready to unload upon the next thing that moved. Some sick fuck had obviously done this… and the officers did not care to be the next two victims.

A spine chilling animalistic laugh filled the room, reverberating off all the walls, making it impossible to tell where the sound came from originally. “More fresh meat!” the voice exclaimed, and both men were impaled by large, sword-like claws.

Cole sat up, withdrawing his bladed hands from the officers chests. Then using his razor phalanges with utmost precision, neatly cut out the sets of eyes from the now lifeless men. Changing the scalpel like protrusions from his fingers to blades like large hacksaws, he then tore at the bodies, ripping them to pieces and splattering even more crimson stains over the walls.

Picking up the pieces of flesh that were now scattered around the room, he started placing them into his own chest cavity and lungs, which while still exposed and cut open, seemed to take on a life of their own. Thrashing around like wild animals, they consumed the raw human meat. Once he was done completely consuming the bodies, he retrieved his ribcage and pushed his chest back together with the sickening crunch of bone on bone, deleted the recording of the autopsy from the audio recorder, picked it up and casually walked back out into the world, speaking over and over into the recorder “Eleven thousand, eight hundred and forty-five.”

Credit To – Uforia

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 6.9/10 (215 votes cast)

Candle Cove: Day of the Dead

June 18, 2013 at 12:00 PM
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.6/10 (309 votes cast)

“Most of the laugh tracks on television were recorded in the early 1950s. These days, the people you hear laughing are dead.”
-Chuck Palahniuk, “Lullaby”

***

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, of course.”

“I thought that’s what your job was about: talking?”

“Actually Mrs. Chelsea, I would say that my job is about trust. I can’t expect people who don’t trust me to talk about sensitive things with me. So this session is entirely in your hands.”

“I’ll talk about it. Therapy was my idea, after all. They said that since there was just the one incident it wasn’t really necessary but…I thought it was a good idea.”

“All right then. Tell me what happened.”

“It was just a drawing on the sidewalk. A stencil, you know? Artists leave them around the city, sometimes, and I was out shopping with my family when my son pointed it out. It was a skeleton wearing a top hat, and it had the word ‘Saturday’ underneath it. What do you think that means?”

“It sounds like Baron Samedi.”

“Who?”

“He’s a loa; a voodoo spirit. He watches over the dead and he’s usually represented by a top hat and a skull. ‘Samedi’ means ‘Saturday.’ So this drawing frightened you?”

“I had a kind of fit when I saw it. They called it an anxiety attack. They even took me to the hospital.”

“And what did they find out?”

“They said there’s nothing wrong with me physically. They talked about stress and lack of sleep. And they said I should take it easy but not to worry unless it happened again. But I’m worried anyway.”

“Has anything like this ever happened before?”

“Once. The same day…that my son died.”

“You said your son was the one who noticed the stencil?”

“That’s my youngest son, Dylan. I had an older son, Jonah. But he’s not with us anymore. He was murdered five years ago.”

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Chelsea. Can I ask if you received any psychological counseling afterwards?”

“No. I was busy with Dylan, you see. Isn’t it strange? The day Jonah died was the same day I found out I was pregnant again. And I guess I just….poured everything into managing the pregnancy. So that I wouldn’t think about anything else. And for years, I didn’t. Not until this week. Should I talk about the murder?”

“As I said, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“I…I’ll talk about it.

“Jonah was fifteen; I had him when I was still in high school. He was very gifted. He played the cello, and the piano, and they made him the organist at our church. That was what got him into trouble.

“The minister was friends with my husband, Jonah’s stepfather, and he loved to hear Jonah play, so he put him at the organ. Everyone loved him. It wasn’t just that Jonah was talented, he was…I guess you could say he had a performer’s charisma. I…I’m sorry, it’s hard to talk about…”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Chelsea. Should we change the subject?”

“No, I’ve already said this much. Something people liked about Jonah, he would always play the hymns but he’d play some of his own music too, before and after the service. He composed his own material; it was very strange sounding, but everyone liked it. Well, almost everyone: One day a man came to us after church and told him to stop.”

“Told him to stop playing?”

“Told him to stop playing his own music. He was very upset. He looked like he hadn’t had much sleep; he might have been drunk. He told us that the song Jonah played that day was…wrong, somehow. That it was driving him crazy. He was screaming at us in the parking lot, telling us that we didn’t realize what we were doing, that he’d spent his whole life trying to get away from that music. It didn’t make any sense.”

“Tell me about the song?”

“It was very odd, now that you mention it. It was…bouncy. It made me think of the circus, for some reason. It made sense if you knew Jonah, though; he was always playing for laughs. I heard him practicing it in his room. It made me feel…unsettled, the first time I heard it.”

“Hmm. And what about this man?”

“Well, that day in the parking lot he just ran off, after scaring the daylights out of us. But the next week, he came back. …with a gun.”

“Mrs. Chelsea—”

“It was the Day of the Dead. November 1st. I remember that. Someone had left something on the organ for Jonah, as a joke. You know those Day of the Dead decorations, the little statuettes of skeletons doing everyday things? Skeleton housewives cooking or a skeleton barber with scissors and a razor or—”

“A therapist.”

“Huh?”

“I have one that’s a skeleton therapist, with a skeleton patient on his couch. A client gave it to me. It’s actually quite funny.”

“Oh. Well, this one was a skeleton playing the piano. Jonah thought it was hilarious. He showed it to everyone. Nobody would admit to leaving it. Then he started playing. Everyone was enjoying it. He was coming to the end of the song, and then that man from the week before stood up. And then…”

“…where is that man now, Mrs. Chelsea?”

“In a mental hospital. I’ve visited him a few times. He cries a lot and tells me he’s sorry, but he says, ‘You must understand why. You of all people must understand why I did it.’ I don’t know why he says that. …but the thing I remember about that day now that I never remembered before is that little Day of the Dead statue. The skeleton was wearing a top hat, you see.”

“Ah. So the stencil drawing reminded you of it.”

“No, that wasn’t it. I mean, I suppose it did, but…doctor, I’ve never told anyone this before, but the day that Jonah was murdered, everyone assumed I was hysterical because of what happened, and I was, but it started before that. It started when I saw that little statuette on the church organ.

“Something about that figure, the skeleton and the hat, it terrified me. It scared me so bad that I wanted to stand up and shout to Jonah to run away from it, but I was too frightened to even move. And by the time I could, the man with the gun had already…he’d…”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Chelsea. …but you’re sure that your fear response started before the shooting? Not after?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Hmm. So the skeleton and the hat: That image upsets you. Do you know why?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Can you think of the first time you ever saw it?”

“Well… when I was a child I used to have a nightmare. There was a little girl in a room—”

“Was it you?”

“It might have been, but it was hard to tell. Whoever she was, she was in a dark room, and she was crying, and all around her there were these…I guess puppets, or dolls? And they were screaming.”

“The puppets were screaming?”

“Yes, all of them, screaming and screaming, and the little girl was crying.”

“Did you have this nightmare a lot?”

“All the time, when I was five.”

“What does this have to do with the skeleton in the top hat?”

“That was one of the puppets. That’s the first time I can remember seeing that image. Well, not seeing exactly, but that’s my earliest memory.”

“I see. What did your parents do when you told them about this dream?”

“They took the TV away.”

“Why?”

“They said that I had the dream because of something I saw on TV.”

“Do you remember that?”

“No. And I didn’t at the time either. But they insisted. It was…actually very strange, now that I think about it. It seemed to scare them, somehow. Of course, it’s hard to remember. I was so young, you know?”

“Of course. Do you still have this dream?”

“No. That is…not until very recently.”

“But you’ve had it again?”

“Yes, just after the stencil drawing, and the anxiety attack. That same night, actually. But only that once. And that was the first time in, oh, forty years, I guess. It’s normal, right, to have that dream again, after seeing something that reminded me of it?”

“We don’t really deal in words like normal or abnormal here, Mrs. Chelsea. I would say that it is noteworthy that you had the same dream after so long. But I don’t think it’s something you have to worry about. Can I ask, was anything different about the dream this time?”

“…yes.”

“And what was that?”

“One of the puppets. It looked like…it looked like Jonah…”

“It’s all right to cry, Mrs. Chelsea. Here, dry your eyes. I can imagine it was very upsetting, but it’s important to remember that dreams are your mind’s way of trying to tell us something. Can you remember any other strange dreams about your oldest son?”

“For a while right after he died I would have one where I was standing on the shore, watching him sail away on a big ship.”

“That’s a very common image.”

“No, not like this; there was something wrong with that ship. Something terrible. And the people on it with him…they weren’t people. Not normal people. I had the feeling they were, you know, kidnapping him. Carrying him away, like they were—”

“Pirates?”

“Yes, that’s it. And I heard music too: strange, jumbled circus music. It sounded a little like the song that Jonah played in church. And you know, come to think of it, he told me that the song came to him in a dream first. It might even have been a dream about a ship. I didn’t pay much attention. I remember I even faked having to make a phone call so I could leave the room and stop listening to him talk about it. Isn’t that terrible? But at the time, hearing about his dreams upset me very much.”

“Let’s move on: Have there been any other incidents lately that have upset you? Anything unusual that’s disrupted your regular routine?”

“I’m not sure what’s important.”

“Anything might be important. We won’t know for sure unless we talk about it.”

“Well, a few weeks ago—this was before the panic attack—I was at a toy store, trying to find something for Dylan. He was turning five that week. And I found this…thing. It was a doll, you know, but not a normal one. It was like a little pirate, but its head was one from a porcelain baby doll, the old kind? It looked like something a serial killer would make in their basement.”

“And that bothered you?”

“Well it was horribly ugly. I asked the owner and she said she’d found it when she was cleaning out the storeroom. She had no idea where it came from. She wasn’t sure whether she should sell it or not. I told her to throw it away. It scared me. I guess it sounds silly now. Why would something like that get to me so much?”

“To grind your skin.”

“…what?!”

“I said, things get under your skin.”

“I thought you said…never mind.

“There was something else too: As I was cleaning my son’s room the next day I thought I saw that same doll in there.”

“Thought you did?”

“As I was cleaning under his bed something caught my eye: It was that red bandana. And I saw that doll’s little face staring at me, with those cracked, painted eyes, and I swear I just about screamed. But when I looked under the bed again it wasn’t there. And I told myself I just imagined it, but…are all these things really important?”

“Oh yes, Mrs. Chelsea. I’d say we’re making great progress. With these sorts of things, you have. To go. Inside.”

“…what did you say?”

“You have to go inside. Of your mindset, you know, inside of your issues.”

“But why did you say it that way the first time?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Doctor, I—”

“Let’s move on. It seems that your anxiety is being triggered by some very specific imagery. Tell me when else it’s come up.”

“I…”

“Tell me, Mrs. Chelsea. Please.”

“…my neighbor, she had Halloween decorations up on her house for weeks. And there was one that was a kind of skeleton that hung in her window, the sort of thing you’d buy at a drugstore this time of year. It startled me when I looked out my window and saw it. It was like it was looking right into my house. It had big glass eyes that were too large for its skull…that bothered me.

“I had such a strange feeling when I saw it. The first time I thought to myself, ‘He’s found me.’ It just popped into my head, and a second later I couldn’t have told you what it means. But that’s not what scared me.”

“What did?”

“My neighbor took all the other decorations off her house after Halloween, but she kept that one. Every morning I’d see that thing staring into my window. And finally one day I mentioned to her, very casually, you know, that it was almost Thanksgiving and she really ought to take that last Halloween decoration down. And she said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about? It’s been gone for weeks.’”

“Was it there when you looked out the window again?’

“No.”

“Do you think it was ever really there to begin with?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“What else has been on your mind?”

“Dylan. He’s a very bright child, like his brother. And they look a like. But he’s not a musician; instead he draws.”

“Has he been making strange pictures?”

“How did you know?”

“A lucky guess. Do go on, Mrs. Chelsea.”

“I feel sick. I feel like…the room is moving?”

“It’s your imagination. Tell me about Dylan’s pictures.”

“They’re of…a sailing ship. But not a normal one. It has a, you know, a figurehead at the front of it that’s too big. And it talks.”

“The figurehead talks?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that, if it’s just a picture?”

“I just know. And he’s been drawing it for weeks and weeks, over and over. And sometimes he draws other things too…strange things…terrible things…”

“But things you recognize.”

“…yes.”

“Where have you seen these things before, Mrs. Chelsea?”

“In my dreams. And…on the television. When I was five years old. The show came on everyday. And I was scared of it, but I watched it anyway. And when I tried to get my parents to watch it with me they said…they said…”

“What did they say?”

“…that there was no show. And I didn’t understand what they meant. And that’s when the nightmare began. And I remember now, that’s where I first heard that song, the strange one that Jonah played. That’s why I was upset when I heard it, because it reminded me of that show. And I though maybe that’s why the man at the church was upset by it, too. I guess as I grew up I kind of forgot about the whole thing, but…”

“But you didn’t forget, did you? You never forget the things that are really important in childhood.”

“I guess you don’t.”

“And we didn’t forget about you either.”

“What?”

“I said, they didn’t forget—”

“No you didn’t. You said ‘we.’ ‘We didn’t forget about you?’”

“…well, it’s true. We didn’t forget. We’ve been waiting for you, Janice. All this time.”

“Dr. Horace, why are you laughing like that? Dr. Horace?”

“I’m not a doctor. And you see this isn’t a doctor’s office at all, is it? It’s the cabin of a ship, that’s why it’s moving, that’s why you started to feel seasick.”

“What’s going on?!”

“You’re off on an adventure on the high seas, Janice, just like the ones on television when you were a little girl. The ones we made just for you.”

“Stop talking like that. And stop calling me that too, my name isn’t Janice.”

“But it could be! You’d make as good of a Janice as anyone. And think how much better life would be if you were? Janice never had a murdered son. Janice never had to worry that she was losing her mind. Janice only had adventures all the time.”

“But they were so awful, so frightening…”

“Well, being a child is always a little frightening, isn’t it? But you won’t be alone here; all of your old friends are onboard. And we have some news ones too. Even Jonah is here…”

“Jonah…?”

“Oh yes. He’s been just the best little crewmember for us. And he’s been waiting for you. Just think about how wonderful it will be to see him again, and to see everyone else too. All one big happy crew together.”

“But what about Dylan?”

“Your other boy? Oh, don’t worry about him. We’ll get around to him, in due time. But do you hear that, Janice?”

“I…I hear a voice…”

“And what is it telling you?”

“I don’t want to listen to it! I don’t want to be here, I want to go home!”

“This is home, Janice. This is the home we made for you, the home that’s been waiting for you, the home that you’ll be in forever and ever. The voice that you hear, why, that’s the voice of your new home. And what is it saying?”

“I…”

“What’s it saying, Janice?”

“It’s saying that…

“I have. To go. Inside.”

Credit To – Tam Lin

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rate This Pasta
Rating: 8.6/10 (309 votes cast)

This website contains fictional content that may be too scary for younger readers. Please verify that you are either at least 18 years of age or have parental permission before proceeding.