Paranoiac (11 page)

I had always
wondered what it would be like to live in complete silence.
Sometimes, more than not, I even wished for it. But this, this was
awful. I felt like I was missing a certain depth to my already
devastated reality. It made me feel weightless and abandoned. I
never realized how much sound comforted me. I couldn’t fathom being
deaf and for the first time I prayed. Inwardly I prayed that none
of this was permanent. Then I hoped. I hoped I wasn’t already in
hell.

I continued
investigating the otherworldly kitchen by breaking random vases and
bowls. When I grew bored of smashing and shattering my surroundings
I started to experiment with the lights. In a macabre turn of
events I couldn’t find any light switches after a few minutes of
feeling around the walls. They were all missing, every single
goddamn one of them. I was doing everything that I could do to
avoid opening the door. It was the door that was supposed to lead
into the spacious entertainment room that was oddly styled to my
preferences. And even though it would make this situation twenty
times worse, I wanted a drink. I wanted a stiff bottle of something
so strong it would have to be smuggled into the country from a
place no one could pronounce. It would make all of this maddening
strangeness a little more believable.

Pacing around
the kitchen I stopped short of the door. It was so hard for me to
continue searching for the intruder and for Molly. If that was even
Molly. This house was turning into a labyrinth and I couldn’t trust
my surroundings. I couldn’t trust anything I was hearing or seeing
anymore. All of the logic known to my tiny, infinitesimal existence
told me this was a hokey imitation. It was all a dream, a nightmare
or some mental breakdown. But some part of me knew or suspected
that this was all real. “It makes me feel like I’m a kid again,” I
said soundlessly to myself still pacing around the kitchen. It made
me feel like I was jumping through those mirrors, into a blissful
exciting new world. Regrettably however I must have jumped into the
wrong damn mirror. Too bad that every mirror in this place was
missing and broken or I’d go somewhere way better than here.
Perhaps to a place that was sunny, with crisp blue water and
beaches filled with soft, white sand. I turned the corner around
the bar, walked towards the door and froze in shock.

The door was wide
open
and at the threshold there was a thick, swirling, palpable
darkness. I couldn’t move, I was way too terrified. It made me feel
even more like a child. I took a forced step towards the door and
for the first time in what seemed like hours, heard a noise. It was
a playful, giggling laughter. Her laughter. I took another stiff
step and I saw something within the darkness. I saw pale limbs, a
hollow pale face and a bright blue dress. Her features were etched
with shadows being casted by a light source that couldn’t possibly
exist. She started laughing playfully but it sounded all wrong. It
was like there were several different people laughing all at
slightly different intervals. Her smile faded, she looked at me
with cold, emerald eyes and said, “Little Zac, come and get me.”
She didn’t sound right at all. Her voice made my skin crawl. I
tried to say her name but of course my voice was dead and gone. I
stared at her in fear and in awe as she seemingly glided back into
the darkness. “If you love me Izzy, you’ll follow me.” I heard her
say behind the veil of shadows.

In spite of my
fear, I abided her beckoning. I summoned up some false courage and
crossed into the abyss of the void. “That’s it, cute little Isaac.
Chase me, like you always have,” I heard her say. I could almost
feel her hot breath on my neck. Reaching out, I grasped in all
directions but she was seemingly nowhere. Everything was black. I
was in silent, cold darkness and wherever I was it smelled like
copper. It smelled of copper and the scent of something sour and
sharp. It was nauseating. The only positive thing was I could hear
again. I could hear my footsteps on the cold, smooth concrete
floor. My fingers could snap and my hands could clap yet still my
voice was lost. I guess the universe was tired of my bitching and
moaning.

It was cold
and disorienting in the bleak room. Stumbling around I felt for a
light switch on the crude wooden walls. I couldn’t find anything in
this cold smelly pit. Wandering around back and forth in
frustration, trying to warm up, soon I had tripped over something.
In a panic I snatched at the empty, dark air and grasped at
something hanging from the ceiling. Staggering I caught myself and
heard a small click fill the room as I pulled on the string hanging
in the air. A low wattage bulb flickered on and dissipated the
shadowy gloominess with an orange-yellow light. I was poised and
stunned by my environs. I was back inside of the shed.

Journal Entry Nineteen

The sourness I
was smelling was the stagnant vomit I left on the floor. I couldn’t
believe I was back inside of this dank hole. Did I even leave this
place? Was I sitting in this rank shithole imagining it all? I
walked over to the workbench and realized I left my duffle bag
behind. If I ever ran off that is. My clothes were still emptied on
to the workbench. I needed to get out of here. Tossing my clothes
and toiletries back into my bag, I slung it over my shoulder. I
sauntered over to the door but as I reached for the cheap latch, a
strong metal-copper smell permeated the air once again. I turned to
the wall of organized tools and dropped the bag onto the floor. The
second I saw what was clinging to that wall I knew this dreadful
nightmare wasn’t over.

The tools that were missing before were back on the OCD ridden
wall. They were saws and hammers. And the saws and
hammers were covered with
thick, dark, coagulated blood
. The saw had chunks of meat and hair
ensnared in its’ jagged teeth. I turned around trying to swallow
back the bile that shot up my throat. My eyes darted around the
shed and I saw bottles upon bottles of bleach and other cleaning
products strewn across the floor, which was what I must have
tripped on when I had clumsily staggered into this hellish dungeon.
I started to shake compulsively and uncontrollably. My muscles
spasmed and my adrenaline pumped and I heard screaming in my
ears.

“
No! No! No!” I screamed in silence, seeing flashes of rich,
red, dripping blood. I clenched my jaw, quivering with a multitude
of crushing emotions. My mind couldn’t comprehend what was around
me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think and I panicked. Trying to
open the door I had quickly realized that it was locked. I needed
to get out of here. I
had
to get
out of here! I kicked and punched and pushed at the door. It was
unrelenting, my heart was pounding, my head was throbbing and I
still couldn’t breathe.

“
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, sorr- “I repeated over
and over again. I still couldn’t hear my voice and I didn’t even
know who or what I was apologizing for. Tears ran down my face and
my lungs felt like they were about to burst. I saw more flashes,
images of thick oozing blood. “Please just stop, just stop,” I
sobbed, wishing I could hear the emotion behind my cries. I fell
onto my knees gasping for air and I kept praying, praying for
death, wanting all of this to be over. I didn’t deserve this, nor
did I ask to be here, to wake up inside this shitty house with
these shitty old memories. Ultimately, I didn’t ask to be born. The
only thing I was begging for was death.

My nerves were
raw and my body felt sore and ravaged. I knew I couldn’t handle
what was coming next. The door cracked open and a sliver of
daylight seeped into the shed. Unsteadily I picked myself up,
stumbled to the door and pushed it open with a shaky nudge. Behind
the door and bathed in light was the room I originally woke up in.
It was my old room, covered in posters, a blast from the
past.

The room was
pristine and looked exactly like it did when I lived here. I knew I
had trashed this room a day or so ago but it didn’t faze me, too
numb and tired for it to shock me. This was nothing compared to the
gore clinging on to those tools in the shed. I stepped carefully
into the room, still shaking, still crying and begging for it all
to be over. I walked over to the bed. It was made up, pressed and
smelled like fabric softener. I ran my hand over the wooden bed
posts, looked down and saw a notebook sitting in the middle of the
bed. It was identical to the one I was recording my horrors in. I
reached for my journal that was tucked into my back pocket but it
was gone. Searching my entire person, but I came up fruitless. I
probably left it in the shed along with my duffle bag.

I sat on the
bed and picked up the notebook. The second I touched it everything
around me calmed. My voice could be heard again. I stopped shaking
and my emotions quieted. This was the end. It had to be. Somehow I
knew this journal held all of the answers and the only question I
had left was, “Should I?”

Half lounging
on the fluffy comforter, I tapped my fingers on the notebook. I
knew I was going to open it, I just didn’t know if I really wanted
to see what was inside. Nothing good has come from this place. It’s
been a few days, maybe longer, and nothing but bad luck has spewed
from my surroundings. This thing wouldn’t make it any better. If
anything it would make everything infinitely worse. I tried my best
not to look at the wretched thing. My addiction only worsened with
each glance. A slave to curiosity, I was the cat and my addiction
would surely kill me, or so the story goes. This bundle of papers
was black tar heroin and I knew exactly what I would do with my
score. I would carelessly inject every single page until I was
rolling on my back, overdosing. Knowing I would OD, I didn’t care,
I just wanted my drug and I wanted answers.

I
popped open the notebook. The spine cracked and I shivered with
anticipation. I looked down at the first page. Only one thing was
written in it. It ominously floated in the center of the
page
. '
Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter'
it read, embedded deeply
into the paper with a ball point pen, in my handwriting. I
hesitated before turning the page. A thousand confusing thoughts
shot through my head but it didn’t matter. I was hooked and needed
to turn the next page. Licking the end of my finger, I pinched at
the corner of the page.

Journal Entry Twenty

The moment I
turned the page it felt like someone grabbed me from behind and
threw me onto my feet. Soon the room around me melted away, the
journal was gone and I was a teenager again. I was standing in
front of a door. It was the door to my mothers' room, the same sick
room she had rotted away in. The door cracked open on its own and
bathed me in a low yellow light. I heard sobbing from within. This
was all too familiar and way too bizarre. I peeked through the
crack in the door. My dad was sitting in a chair on the right side
of her sick-bed. He was holding my mothers' hand and sobbing. I
looked over at my mom and she was staring at me. At first I was
startled until I saw the slack jawed expression on her face. She
was dead and gone. Her body was practically sinking into the bed.
It was a horrific site to behold. Then as I was staring at her
emaciated shell I remembered it all. This was the night I ran away.
This was the real night I ran away. I’ve always lied to myself,
told myself I ran away because of my dad, that I took off before my
mom died.