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Showing posts from March, 2012

Housemates

I live with Tom and Jennifer, in their spacious home, without their knowledge. Although I’m intimately acquainted with every aspect of their lives, I’m a complete stranger to them. I come and go without detection, I hide in confined spaces, and I’ve mastered the art of being still for long periods of time. Earlier tonight, I hid naked and motionless in their bedroom, waiting for them to go to bed. Once they were asleep, I slipped out of my hiding place, and I hovered over them in the dark. I brought my face close to Jennifer’s and I felt her warm breath on my ear. The sweet smell of her hair filled my nostrils. This is how I feel love. I made my way down the hall, past the room with the empty crib, and I proceeded downstairs to prepare a light meal. As I write this, I’m relaxing in the privacy of a tastefully decorated living room. At around 6:30am, I’ll take my usual position behind the couch as I wait for them to leave for work. I took great care selecting Tom and Jennifer as my hous

Bad Idea

Yesterday, a friend of mine called me. It was a John, an old buddy from high school. I hadn’t spoken with him for years, and we started to reminisce about all the crap we pulled in high school. A few days later I decided to call him back, and see if we could get together, maybe go fishing or something. We talked on the phone for a while, and I said to him “Hey, maybe we should get together sometime.” He first said that that was a bad idea, but then he agreed. I asked him for address, copied it down, and told him I’d see him in the morning. The next morning I arrived at the place he said he lived at. There was nothing but rubble there. It looked like there had been a fire there years ago, but nothing got cleaned up, and the plants never regrew. In the middle of the rubble, I found a old rotary style telephone on the floor, not connected to anything. Hurriedly, I pulled out my cellphone and called his number. The telephone on the floor rang. Once. Twice. A third time. I dropp

Imposter

You’ve all heard some variation of the doppelganger story. A daughter hears her mom calling her from downstairs, only to be pulled into the hall closet on the way down. The woman then claims to be her actual mom. Pretty fucked up and brilliantly scary. Well I’ve been experiencing this for real. Last week my brother was in a four wheeler accident. He rolled seven times after attempting to ride up a steep mountain. He died in that crash. I personally touched his lifeless body before running to get help. Only, when I got back, he was fine. My mom hugged him while sobbing. Somehow she failed to see how lifeless his eyes were. Honestly, I too was relieved to see him up and moving. Then logic kicked in. No one could have survived that crash… he DIDN’T survive it. He was taken to the hospital for he night. While sitting in the waiting room, I told my mom how that couldn’t be him. She grew angry at me for saying something so terrible. "Just look at his eyes!" I yelled. &q

Door in the Attic

When I was younger, just on the cusp of being a teenager, my sister and I were in the attic. We were hunting for some old toys we had stored up there that we wanted to pull out and give a run for their money. It was a simply designed attic; old floor boards, steepled roof, everything bare to the eye. That’s why it was so bizarre when we noticed the small cubby door on one of the walls, logically leading to what would have been the outside of the building. Being the curious creatures we were, we just had to open it. The long and narrow crawlspace we discovered defied imagination; how was it possible for it to be there? It violated everything our young minds knew about space and architecture, and so I ran off to get my dad while my sister stayed and watched it just to make sure it did not disappear while I was away. When I came back with him, he was just as stunned as we were with the discovery. After pondering it for a short while, we all knew there really was not any choic

The Police Can't Save You Now

I was lying in bed by myself, nodding off to sleep, when I rolled over and saw someone standing in the corner of my room. He didn’t even bother trying to hide himself… He just stood there, staring at me. It was too dark to make out a face, but I know the figure of a man holding a knife when I see one. I was too scared to scream, so I just lay there in my bed, accepting my fate. He walked over, his boots on my carpet breaking the already horrifying silence, and leaned down to smell my hair, and caress my face. After a minute or two of it, he walked out of my room. I waited half an hour to get up, because I was too scared to even bat an eyelash. I called the cops, filed a report, and the man didn’t show up again. I had so many questions; was this just a random thing? Did I have a stalker? Am I a murder or sexual abuse target? I went to the police station again the next week in hopes of finding out more, thinking of the atrocities that could be my fate. An officer saw me cryi

My Dad, The Hitchhiker

I pulled over because he looked like my dad, but the resemblance turned out to be more than superficial. The dusty trucker hat. The way his mustache curved around his lips because the sides were always too long. The smell of his Old Spice aftershave. Everything was the same. I know, I know you aren’t supposed to pick up hitchhikers. It’s the cardinal rule for travelers. “What if he’s a serial killer?” and all that nonsense. But you don’t understand, he just looked  so  much like my dad. I had to pick him up. We buried my dad five years ago in Silent Acres cemetery. Liver failure. I always felt that it was too good of a death for that man, that monster. That’s why I had to pick him up. He said I was crazy, said he had no idea who I was talking about. I’m not crazy. I just needed closure. Maybe he wasn’t my dad. But I finally have closure at least. I left him off to the side of the road, out of sight. Maybe the vultures will eat him. I smile as I leave. Closure. As I continue dr

Don't Fight Over The Smallest Thing (A Chinese Tale)

一天女孩過生日,男孩子在她生日的聚會上送了她一只可愛的毛毛熊 ,在各種生日禮物中,這根本算不上是禮物。女孩有些生氣,也許更 多的是憤怒,沒想到自己男朋友這麼小氣,今 天是她的生日,還來了這麼多朋友。 去年男孩在她生日的時候送了她一把很名貴的藏刀,男孩發誓說,如 果有一天他背叛了女孩,女孩可以用刀劃破他的胸膛。 今年,兩個人一直在討論兩個人的未來,這麼多朋友都來為女孩慶祝 生日,是男孩說在生日哪天會給女孩一個終生難忘的禮物。結果似乎 一切都出乎大家的以外,當然主要是女孩! 面對女孩憤怒的眼神,男孩只是壞壞的笑,這份禮物真的讓女孩終生 難忘。女孩在聚會中喝了很多酒,而男孩只是在旁邊静静的喝著可樂 。 聚會結束,他們要回到自己的小家,上了公路,女生一直很憤怒,一 直在埋怨,車的後排座放了很多名貴的禮物,當然還有那只毛毛熊. 女生開始抱怨男孩不愛她,不珍惜他們的愛,男孩只是静静的開着車 ,什麼也沒有說,偶然會有一絲笑在臉上。酒精在衝動的驅使下發作 了,女孩吐了,男孩靠邊停了車,女孩大發脾氣,指責男孩給了她這 樣一個不愉快的生日,說了一些很傷感情的事情,男孩一直無語,只 是一只手拿着紙巾,一只手拿着礦泉水.女孩突然跑到了公路中間, 男孩沒有拉住她,兩個人就這樣在公路上拉扯着.突然,一輛飛馳的 快車直奔兩個人行駛過來,男孩想都沒想的扔掉了手中的東西推開了 女孩,女孩的頭重重的摔到了地上。 等她甦醒的時候,她已經躺在了醫院,頭上綁着繃帶.那輛飛速行駛 汽車的司機,証明是酒後駕車.男孩被撞出了15米,當救護車到的 時候,他嘴裡一邊吐着血一直說着【别管我,看我女朋友怎麼樣?】 到了醫院,男孩已經去了另一個世界,他最後的一句話是毛毛熊,毛 毛熊在他的要求下,被醫護人員帶上了救護車,他在這個世界上最後 的一段路,就是這只小熊一直陪着他。 女孩得知男孩離去的消息,一直在哭,哭的昏过去了好幾次。 一個有心的護士把小熊送到了她的枕邊,女孩再一次從昏厥中醒來, 看着小熊上邊有着男孩的血,似乎有着男孩的體温,她緊緊的把它抱 在了胸前,輕輕的摸著它。突然摸一件很硬的東西,女孩從小熊的口 袋裡摸出了一件東西,一個戒指盒,裡面有一隻漂亮的鑽石戒指,女 孩看到這一切,切底崩潰哭了。 她拼命的哭,用力的撕着自己的頭髮和頭上的繃带,但是一切似乎都 没有意義了。女孩去了停屍間,那是的男孩身上的血

Cold War Chills

I bought a house about 5 years ago, a fixer-upper with a few flaws, but enough charm to override any complications. Mostly all of the work involved was going to be updating old fixtures and clearing out what seemed like a couple decades worth of unattended normal maintenance (mowing, clearing out weeds, vacuuming, etc.). Apparently the story was that the family had gone on vacation sometime in the 1970s and went missing. The brother of the father inherited the estate, and was supposed to upkeep or sell the home but ended up coming to see the house once and not caring after that. It made sense because I bought the home based on price rather than features, and I basically told my real estate agent to, “Look around for something on the market for a while or forgotten about, because I didn’t have the funds to buy something new.” I guess the house was under ownership by the bank or police or something, and probably tossed aside considering it was kind of out in the middle of nowh

The First Eruption

Lin used to be a perfectly normal girl. She was born to a slightly older than usual mother, but with ease and at a very healthy weight. As a child she was subjected to all of the typical vaccinations to guard her from the unseen dangers lurking outside of her body. She had been hospitalized overnight only once, at age eight, for dehydration due to salmonella. The suffering was minor and she had been released after saline drips had replenished her vitality fully. Her resting heart rate was a normal seventy, and she often raised it considerably by participating in peewee team sports. At age twelve, Lin entered puberty. It too came with no major complications beyond the slight stretch marks on her back from growing close to a foot over a short summer break and the severe monthly cramps that made her learn cursing at far too young an age. She developed mild at most pimples on occasion, but there was a slighter, more peculiar change to her skin that accompanied her entry into w

The Mime's Trick

"Oh god….” he muttered, as he noticed the mime performing amidst the crowds of the fair. He was doing the classic ‘leaning on an invisible wall’ trick.”I hate those creepy bastards.” He continued walking, but didn’t get far as he seemed to suddenly freeze in his tracks. "What the..?" he mused, as he turned his head. The mime was now facing him, holding what was presumably an imaginary rope, which he soon started pulling. The man found himself unwillingly moving towards the mime, soon becoming panicked. The crowd moved out of the way, giving the mime space for his performance. He attempted to call for help, after which the mime pretended to seal his lips like a zipper, rendering his cries useless. He watched in horror as he attempted to cry for help, while everyone merely watched in amusement, thinking it part of the mime’s act. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the mime extending his thumb and finger in the shape of a gun. He felt a burning pain in his

I Don't Think I'm Real

5:30 am My Alarm clock goes off. I wake up and hear a tapping noise coming from my window. I turn to it and see nothing but the still dark sky and the other apartment buildings in the complex I live in. I dismiss it as my half-asleep brain continuing its ceaseless quest to make my life a living hell, or as close to it as one can get. I hit snooze, hoping to slip into unconsciousness for just a little longer before beginning the day, but the tapping continues and I eventually get back up to look at the window again. Nothing. Sometimes I hate my brain. I fall back asleep and wake up again at 5:42. I decide today will be a wake-up-late-and-rush-to-get-ready type of day and hit snooze again. I wake up at 5:56 and begin to start my morning routine. I throw my clothes on, brush my teeth, put on deodorant, and grab some pop-tarts to eat in the car. All of this was done by 6:01. I’ve gotten this routine down to a science because I do it pretty much every morning. I go to work and b

Isaiah 65:24

This is a story written by a doctor who worked in Africa . One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died, leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive; as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator). We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates).. 'And it is our last hot water bottle!' she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst

The Scary Man

"Robyn! Come in here!" "What have I told you about leaving lights on in the house? You know whenever you leave a room you turn the light off." "But it wasn’t me daddy, I swear. It was the Scary Man." This should be interesting. Robyn always had an active imagination; ever since she used to pull practical jokes on her toys and invisible friends, I noticed how well she could handle her creativity. It was only until recently that she used this to get out of trouble. "The Scary Man can only get us when a room is dark, daddy. But light doesn’t hurt him. It’s just that he can’t grab us and take us when lights are on." "So you admit to leaving the light on, then? You did it to be safe? From this Scary Man?" "No, I didn’t do it. It was Him! That’s his trick! Whenever we leave a room and turn off the lights, He reaches around and turns them back on. We look at the bright room and get confused because we thought we turned the lights

Regressed Memories Are Meant To Stay Dead

When I was a kid I lived in a beautiful house. My mother and my older sister were artists; they painted, sculpted and danced their way through life, challenging and inspiring each other. They created and scrapped works of art in a constant rotation. Our house was forever changing and evolving into something new like it had an organic, vibrant life of its own. My memories of those days and that house are so very vivid. Our family room was usually some shade of orange (my sister had painted it for me - orange was my favorite color). We had a marble bird-shaped fountain in the middle of the kitchen (which I used to splash my mom and sister), There was a sculpture of a small dancing man on our landing (which I always high-fived), And of course, the hallway that was painted floor-to-ceiling with fish (which I always laid on the floor to “swim” through). And, finally, my favorite thing of all, a staircase that my sister had painted like piano keys (although I’m pretty sure it’s only be

Elevator Safety Guidelines

Due to a number of recent incidents, we request that all customers observe the following guidelines when riding in the elevators. Thanks. The Management. Do not overload the elevator; only ten people are allowed in the elevator at any one time. Do be prepared to give up your space for elderly and disabled passengers. Do not smoke in the elevator. Do not press buttons multiple times. Do not depress and hold the buttons. Do be polite and courteous to all other passengers. Do not attempt to tamper with the electronics or the lighting. Do not hold open the doors. Do know your destination before you embark in the elevator. Do not attempt to open the doors while the elevator is in motion. Do not attempt to open the access panels on the roof or floor. Do not press the emergency help button outside of a genuine emergency. Do not press the fire alarm outside of a genuine fire. Do not bring bicycles or pushchairs into the elevator. Do not bring open food o

His True Name

Although the Jewish omnipotent entity we refer to by tradition as God was first called Yahweh (I am) by the Israelites, legend has it that the high priest of Israel passed from one to another his true name, made up of 72 Hebrew letters that, when spoken, would summon his presence before the speaker. This was required for their annual ritual of asking for forgiveness of the nation’s sins – by asking face to face. So what would happen if you found this combination? And what could you petition? Well, Jesus did provide a warning, “Fear not those who can destroy the body and then do no more…fear him who, after killing the body, can destroy the soul.” (Luke 12:4-5)

Death at 423 Stockholm Street

I’ve told this story three times now. Once to the police. Once to a jury. And once to my psychiatrist. This will be the last time I tell it. We’ve always lived at 423 Stockholm Street, ever since I was a baby. So, there really wasn’t ever a time when I didn’t hear it. And as far back as I can remember, I’ve always known that there was another room on the other side of my wall. When I was a very young child, I thought He was my friend. I would knock and He would knock back, though usually more slowly. I would giggle and He would moan. But as I got older, the noises started to scare me. I slowly realized that He wasn’t friendly and the scratching, moaning and sporadic knocking started to scare me. I told my parents about it, terrified that He would come into my room one night and kill me. My mother rolled her eyes and told me it was mice in the walls. She never listened to me. My father agreed with her that it was animals but he hugged me and told me he would protect me, bec