Another night working late I think to myself as I slide the key into the door and unlock it. Luckily it’s Friday and the week has ended. As I swing the door open I am greeted by a foul stench coming from the kitchen. That’s funny, I could’ve sworn I closed the door on my way out. I really should get around to cleaning up all of that trash and leftovers, but I just don’t have the time, not while I’m trying to finish my book, the thought of getting it published is the only thing that keeps me going these days. I slam the door shut, take of my jacket and slide into my old leather chair in the living room while opening my laptop to continue working. These past few weeks my boss has been giving me nothing but boring and useless stories because he feels like I’m losing it. Can’t blame him to be honest, life hasn’t been well for a while now, but I’m taking matter into my own hands so I decided to pursue a story of my own, one of those creepy, sickening stories, based on a real event.
I’m writing about a guy from around here, Dave Moore, who lost his son, poor kid fell down the stairs and broke his neck. Anyways the man claimed that ever since that dreadful event he can feel being watched during those late nights, that he finds things in strange places and swears he didn’t move them himself. Not to forget the nightmares where his son, or some disgusting, bloody version of him uses nothing but his bare teeth to rip up his ribcage and feast on his organs. He describes those dreams in such vivid detail that anyone listening is bound to get a sickening feeling in his stomach and a long lasting trauma. Because nobody believed those stories and everyone just thought of it as a way for his mind to cope with his loss, he simply stopped trying to convince his friends and family, locked up his feelings just so he wouldn’t wind up in a mental facility. For a while now I am the only person willing to sit down and listen to him talk, although it is mostly research for the book I see nothing wrong in my doing. It helps his poor soul to have a conversation about it from time to time and it helps me reach my goal. Who knows, maybe after I publish my book some people actually give the situation more thought.
The chapter I just finished editing yesterday is by far the most gruesome one yet. It describes the events from no more than the past two weeks, during which things went from bad to worse and from worse to unimaginable for unlucky Dave. This is just a small portion captured from his narrative: “Five nights ago I had a dream, or so I thought at first, of my sweet boy standing in the corner of my room, his body twisting in ways which aren’t humanly possible with a huge grin on his face, and his cold dead eyes staring directly into mine. The figure started approaching slowly, cracking a bone with each step it took and I screamed in terror trying to snap myself awake. At that point the most horrific realization occurred to me. I wasn’t asleep, this, thing, was real, its breath on my face felt more real than anything I have experienced in a long while. I closed my eyes and sobbed uncontrollably until the thing just faded into thin air, leaving behind no more than a harsh smell of a decayed corpse.” After that night, Dave explained, the sight of the boy’s face and his terrifying grin started appearing more and more often, up until the point he could feel it watching his every move from any dark corner of the room.
That’s where I decided this book needs an impactful closure, one that will make anyone reading it sick to their stomach, making them realize how they dismissed the pain of a poor tortured soul. So I placed my fingers on the keyboard and started typing once more: “This will be the last story, the last segment of my life anyone will ever hear about. It’s been days now and the occurrences have started to become more and more frightening each time, I simply don’t have the strength to withstand the fear and torment that’s been building up inside of me. I’ve tried everything, heavy medication, performing an exorcism I’ve even tried attacking it with a blade and all it does is laugh like a maniac as my hands go through his body. This, this entities, or whatever the hell it is, behavior became unexplainable. Although it doesn’t make any physical contact, its torment ranges from just staring at me silently to screaming so loud it hurts or even replaying the scene of my little boy’s death over and over and over for hours at a time. Considering all that has been going on, I’ve finally decided to take matter in my own hands and set myself free from this misery – Dave Moore.
The following day the police report read:
Victim - Dave Moore
Cause of Death – Gunshot to the head/suicide
Time of death – Saturday 2.12 AM”
I closed my laptop satisfied with the story I wrote, took a minute to relax, rubbed my eyes and checked the time. “ 2.11 AM “ I put a gentle smile on my face, turned my head towards the darkest corner of the room and felt a huge relief knowing for a fact that I will never have to see that despicable grin and bloody eyes staring into mine ever again.
All images were taken from Pixabay
This is my original work, copyright restricted
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