SERENITY MENTAL HEALTH INSTITUTION
PATIENT ID: 859442193
PATIENT NAME: Annabelle White
INTERVIEWER NAME: Dr. Anthony Martin
ATTENDING PSYCHIATRIST: Dr. Theodore Lin
BEGIN TRANSCRIPT:
LIN: Annabelle? Hello, Annabelle. How are you feeling today?
WHITE: Doctor. I'm feeling well today, I think.
LIN: Have you heard anything lately? The orderlies tell me it's been a pretty good day, no outbreaks.
WHITE: There was scratching in the walls last night and my bed moved.
LIN: Your bed is bolted to the floor, Annabelle. It couldn't have moved.
WHITE: If you say so. I felt it.
LIN: You have a visitor today. He is writing a book and would like to know about your experiences.
WHITE: What is his name?
LIN: His name is Dr. Martin.
WHITE: What is his full name?
LIN: Dr. Anthony James Martin. Would you like to speak with him?
(White nods once.)
(Lin exits the room.)
(Martin enters.)
WHITE: Tony. I may call you Tony, correct?
MARTIN: If you like. I prefer to be called Dr. Martin.
WHITE: Your little sister used to call you Tony. She was a lovely girl. It's a shame what happened to her.
MARTIN: It was. How do you know about my sister, Annabelle?
WHITE: She is with us. Suffering for her sins. Did you know what a whore your sister was? No, I expect not. Perhaps it is best I do not call you Tony, Doctor Anthony James Martin.
MARTIN: Perhaps. Annabelle, can you tell me about the house you used to live in?
WHITE: I never lived in a house.
MARTIN: You did. You lived on 9853 W. Lilly Avenue. Do you remember? It's a lovely house. Painted white with blue trim? Do you remember the house, Annabelle.
WHITE: I never lived in a house. I lived in a gateway. We did rituals there, you know, in the gateway. The place where the world and Hell are thinnest. We were just children then. Did you know that Lucille died? They took her.
MARTIN: Who took her?
WHITE: The demons. They took her to hell where she burns for her sins with your sister.
MARTIN: Annabelle, what did you girls do in that house?
WHITE: It isn't a house. It is a gateway. We found a book in the attic. The book had rituals. Spells to make boys love you, spells to make you pretty, spells to make you get noticed… There were darker things too. Spells to make someone die in their sleep. Spells to make cats suck out the souls of your enemies.
MARTIN: Which of these spells did you do, Annabelle?
WHITE: We called a demon. (White begins thrashing, straining against her restraints.) We called a demon and we took him into our bodies! (Now screaming.) He is inside me! Always inside me!! (White thrashes for a few moments, until she calms down again.)
MARTIN: What happened after you… called the demon?
WHITE: Nothing happened. It didn't come at first. (Singing.) A beautiful dreamer locked in reticence, in the tower of your soul. What lies so deep and undisturbed, fears torment in the world. Lightning flashes warning, to whispers in the rain. The fire climbing upwards, your fortress lies in flames… (White stops singing.) It started with the scratching in the walls.
MARTIN: Like rats?
WHITE: Like something was scratching through… ripping through. Scratch, Scratch, Scratch. All night long, sometimes not in the darkness, sometimes during the day. Scratch, Scratch, Scratch. Then, I'd hear it at school. Scratch, scratch, scratch. At lunch. Scratch, scratch, scratch. In my room. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
MARTIN: What happened after that?
WHITE: Shadows. So dark they absorb all light. They would move, fast so fast. They would watch me at night. They would follow me in the day. Even when I couldn't see them, I knew they were there. Follow me, watching me. I stopped sleeping, they would watch me when I slept. I stopped eating, they would watch me when I ate.
MARTIN: You got weak then. That's when you started seeing Dr. Lin?
WHITE: Dr. Lin. Yes. Doctor Theodore Tseng Lin. I was having black outs. My parents said I would have fits. They brought me to see Doctor Theodore Tseng Lin to fix me. He can't fix me. No one can fix me. There is nothing to fix.
MARTIN: I'm sure Dr. Lin can fix you.
(White closes her eyes for a moment, moving her head from side to side.)
WHITE: There is no help for her here. (White opens her eyes and turns her head to Martin. Her face contorts.) This godless whore is doomed. You are doomed too, Doctor Anthony James Martin. We will have your soul soon enough.
MARTIN: Annabelle?
WHITE: She's sleeping now.
MARTIN: Who am I speaking to now, then?
WHITE: Baalial.
MARTIN: The worthless one?
WHITE: This girl belongs to me. She is worthless.
MARTIN: If she is worthless, what do you want her for?
WHITE: You intend to send people to the gateway, don't you? (White smiles.) Good. I will tell the others and make sure they are waiting for your research team. (White laughs.) Research. You call yourself a scientist, but all you are is a liar. Astaroth will find you, you belong to him. You're team is rife with sin. What do you know of Victor, how many bodies does he have in his closet? Do you know that Lauren lusts for you? EV dabbles with the dead, but she doesn't know that by dabbling with Victor she'll get more closer to the dead than she ever has before. Gazwowski sees things clearly, but muddles his mind with television and drugs. Wade can't save any of them, though he thinks that is why he is there. And Joseph, he's looking through the looking glass, and when he finally sees something other than his own reflection we will be there. (White laughs maniacally and begins speaking in another language.)
END TRANSCRIPT.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Dark Man with Glowing Eyes
Dear Dr. Martin,
I have recently come across the news of your new book, Haunted. I have read a few of your other books and I must admit that I am somewhat of a fan of your work. I'm very interested to see how this new book turns out. I saw the flyer that you were conducting interviews for the research team, and I was wondering if you were also looking for suitable haunted houses for them to stay in. If so, I have a house that may pique your interest.
The house I have in mind was purchased by my brother and his family. They lived in the house for five months before they decided that they couldn't live there anymore. The whole family moved in with our parents as they searched out a new home and this one has been left empty for the past three months.
My brother says that he knew there was something strange with the house almost immediately when they found the advertisement. For the size, location and condition of the home, it seemed to be too good to be true. The house is constructed in the Georgian Colonial Revival style in the late 1800's. The house has four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a great room, living room, dining room, kitchen, breakfast nook and storage room. There is also an added two car garage. The home had been renovated and restored by a previous owner about ten years before it was purchased by my brother. Since then it changed hands multiple times until my brother purchased the home for his family.
The paranormal experiences started with my brother's youngest son. Jeremy is only four years old, and shortly after they moved into the house he started talking about the man in his bedroom. When prompted to describe the man, my nephew would describe a shadowy man with no features and red eyes. My sister in law was unconcerned with the man her son was describing because she assumed that the "man" was an imaginary friend. She saw the man for the first time herself a two weeks after they moved in.
On the first occasion my sister in law saw the dark shadowy man, my brother was away on a business trip. Jeremy had come down with the stomach flu and she curled up in his bed to sooth him as he attempted to get some sleep. She woke from a light doze to the sensation that someone was in the room with them. When she looked over at the foot of the bed she saw what she described as a dark shadow. She said it was only vaguely human shaped, but it was almost six feet tall. It was staring intently at her and her son with eyes that glowed like embers. My sister in law felt cold through her whole body as she stared at the figure, but she was so frightened she couldn't move. She stared at the figure for a good ten minutes before it disappeared before her eyes. She was so shaken up that she woke her son up and took him to her room to sleep.
During the hours that my brother worked were the times that the most activity occurred. After my sister in law saw the shadow man in her son's bedroom she said strange, unexplained things happened almost daily. Glasses would break when no one was in the kitchen. Their oldest boy complained that when he was doing homework after school something would throw his school books across the room. During the day Jeremy would complain that he was being pinched and slapped when he was playing alone in his room.
Though my brother remains unconvinced of the paranormal activity, since most of the strange occurrences happen while he is at work or away I have to admit that I have been witness to some of the strange happenings at this house. One night I stayed at their house. Sleeping in Simon, the oldest boy's room, I was woken by a noise. I sat up and flicked on the light beside the bed, looking around for the source of the noise when I noticed that Simon's books on his desk were moving of their own accord across the desk. I started in horror as the books slid slowly across the entire length of the desk and off the edge, falling to the floor in a jumble with a loud slam! Immediately I left the room, and refused to sleep for the rest of the night.
I'm convinced that the house is haunted and would be the perfect setting for your research team. My contact information is below.
Sincerely,
Amanda Lee
I have recently come across the news of your new book, Haunted. I have read a few of your other books and I must admit that I am somewhat of a fan of your work. I'm very interested to see how this new book turns out. I saw the flyer that you were conducting interviews for the research team, and I was wondering if you were also looking for suitable haunted houses for them to stay in. If so, I have a house that may pique your interest.
The house I have in mind was purchased by my brother and his family. They lived in the house for five months before they decided that they couldn't live there anymore. The whole family moved in with our parents as they searched out a new home and this one has been left empty for the past three months.
My brother says that he knew there was something strange with the house almost immediately when they found the advertisement. For the size, location and condition of the home, it seemed to be too good to be true. The house is constructed in the Georgian Colonial Revival style in the late 1800's. The house has four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a great room, living room, dining room, kitchen, breakfast nook and storage room. There is also an added two car garage. The home had been renovated and restored by a previous owner about ten years before it was purchased by my brother. Since then it changed hands multiple times until my brother purchased the home for his family.
The paranormal experiences started with my brother's youngest son. Jeremy is only four years old, and shortly after they moved into the house he started talking about the man in his bedroom. When prompted to describe the man, my nephew would describe a shadowy man with no features and red eyes. My sister in law was unconcerned with the man her son was describing because she assumed that the "man" was an imaginary friend. She saw the man for the first time herself a two weeks after they moved in.
On the first occasion my sister in law saw the dark shadowy man, my brother was away on a business trip. Jeremy had come down with the stomach flu and she curled up in his bed to sooth him as he attempted to get some sleep. She woke from a light doze to the sensation that someone was in the room with them. When she looked over at the foot of the bed she saw what she described as a dark shadow. She said it was only vaguely human shaped, but it was almost six feet tall. It was staring intently at her and her son with eyes that glowed like embers. My sister in law felt cold through her whole body as she stared at the figure, but she was so frightened she couldn't move. She stared at the figure for a good ten minutes before it disappeared before her eyes. She was so shaken up that she woke her son up and took him to her room to sleep.
During the hours that my brother worked were the times that the most activity occurred. After my sister in law saw the shadow man in her son's bedroom she said strange, unexplained things happened almost daily. Glasses would break when no one was in the kitchen. Their oldest boy complained that when he was doing homework after school something would throw his school books across the room. During the day Jeremy would complain that he was being pinched and slapped when he was playing alone in his room.
Though my brother remains unconvinced of the paranormal activity, since most of the strange occurrences happen while he is at work or away I have to admit that I have been witness to some of the strange happenings at this house. One night I stayed at their house. Sleeping in Simon, the oldest boy's room, I was woken by a noise. I sat up and flicked on the light beside the bed, looking around for the source of the noise when I noticed that Simon's books on his desk were moving of their own accord across the desk. I started in horror as the books slid slowly across the entire length of the desk and off the edge, falling to the floor in a jumble with a loud slam! Immediately I left the room, and refused to sleep for the rest of the night.
I'm convinced that the house is haunted and would be the perfect setting for your research team. My contact information is below.
Sincerely,
Amanda Lee
Friday, May 15, 2009
Gaz-FunkyFresh Night 1
What up Buttpuppets!
The Gazinator here with some Mr. Spooktastic campfire stories fo' all da lil' chillins. On a dark and still night in a old and haunted farm house. In the middle of a Children of the Corn style corn field. Jack Gazwowski sat at his computer typing into the night..... bored out of his fucking gord!!!! Ok so I totally thought this was like going to be awsome. right. but like everyone here is like a total buzzkill. K. I'm gonna beak down for yall. #1 They all act like this shit is real. I mean come on people. haven't you ever seen the original haunted hill. This is a fear experiment dudes. Stop peeing your panties man the house is rigged. Which is awsome btw. #2 No one here parties dudes. And they frickin go to bed at like 9 o'clock. I'm like ghost hunting with the frickin Osmonds. First There's the hot little bitchy girl who can only comunicate by rolling her eyes. She invited me up and smell her room. Don't ask me dudes I've never undersood women. Next there's this Slick as shit badass dude who's like a CSI or somthing. He's all metro and shit and has fucked up nightmares. Aside from the nightmares the dude is all Johnny Depp smooth But Johnny Would have totally toked out with me. People who don't smoke out are just asking for life to be hard. One hit of the Whacky Tobacky and Johnny Slick would sleep like a fucking baby but what do I know he probably gets laid like all the fucking time. Next there's this EMT guy who is there to make sure we don't die and shit. Me I think he's just here to freak us out more. Ahh man wouldn't it be awsome i he was the fricken professor doing the study on us all frickin Jigsaw style. like in the end he all gets up and is like this was all a scam but noone can ever find out! and like locks us in a basement and like makes us like cut off our fucking feet and shit. Dude... I need to watch that guy. Ohh fuck I just typed that and he could read this and fucking take me out. Where's the fucking backspace button on this thing. Man Am I stoned. ... Then there is this hot Gothy girl as if that wasn't a horror movie cliche' that dudes like me wackit to all the frickin time. Wait! What if this shit's being put on fucking Youtube and shit. All fucking Big Brother style. I was just joking up there about the whole weed smoking thing. Those are just cigarettes that i'm smoking on camera. Fuck I'm hungry. I'm gonna go get more of that chicken.............
Ok I'm back. Where was i ...ok Goth Chick. I would totally hit on that but I don't hit on Goth girls since Nixon Suicide kicked me in the beans at a Toadies concert 2 years ago. Besides I think she's totally fucking Johnny Slick. Then the shinning hope of this Horror story Doc Joe. Doc Joe is like this badass ghost hunter dude and homeboy knows how to party. Dude parties and hunts ghosts. how fucking awsome is that. Dude I wonder if he believes in our underwater ally Nessie. I'll ask tommorrow. Dude what if he's a ghost. What if their all ghosts. Dude I'm Freaking myself out. I'm Gunna go make some pancakes.
The Gazinator here with some Mr. Spooktastic campfire stories fo' all da lil' chillins. On a dark and still night in a old and haunted farm house. In the middle of a Children of the Corn style corn field. Jack Gazwowski sat at his computer typing into the night..... bored out of his fucking gord!!!! Ok so I totally thought this was like going to be awsome. right. but like everyone here is like a total buzzkill. K. I'm gonna beak down for yall. #1 They all act like this shit is real. I mean come on people. haven't you ever seen the original haunted hill. This is a fear experiment dudes. Stop peeing your panties man the house is rigged. Which is awsome btw. #2 No one here parties dudes. And they frickin go to bed at like 9 o'clock. I'm like ghost hunting with the frickin Osmonds. First There's the hot little bitchy girl who can only comunicate by rolling her eyes. She invited me up and smell her room. Don't ask me dudes I've never undersood women. Next there's this Slick as shit badass dude who's like a CSI or somthing. He's all metro and shit and has fucked up nightmares. Aside from the nightmares the dude is all Johnny Depp smooth But Johnny Would have totally toked out with me. People who don't smoke out are just asking for life to be hard. One hit of the Whacky Tobacky and Johnny Slick would sleep like a fucking baby but what do I know he probably gets laid like all the fucking time. Next there's this EMT guy who is there to make sure we don't die and shit. Me I think he's just here to freak us out more. Ahh man wouldn't it be awsome i he was the fricken professor doing the study on us all frickin Jigsaw style. like in the end he all gets up and is like this was all a scam but noone can ever find out! and like locks us in a basement and like makes us like cut off our fucking feet and shit. Dude... I need to watch that guy. Ohh fuck I just typed that and he could read this and fucking take me out. Where's the fucking backspace button on this thing. Man Am I stoned. ... Then there is this hot Gothy girl as if that wasn't a horror movie cliche' that dudes like me wackit to all the frickin time. Wait! What if this shit's being put on fucking Youtube and shit. All fucking Big Brother style. I was just joking up there about the whole weed smoking thing. Those are just cigarettes that i'm smoking on camera. Fuck I'm hungry. I'm gonna go get more of that chicken.............
Ok I'm back. Where was i ...ok Goth Chick. I would totally hit on that but I don't hit on Goth girls since Nixon Suicide kicked me in the beans at a Toadies concert 2 years ago. Besides I think she's totally fucking Johnny Slick. Then the shinning hope of this Horror story Doc Joe. Doc Joe is like this badass ghost hunter dude and homeboy knows how to party. Dude parties and hunts ghosts. how fucking awsome is that. Dude I wonder if he believes in our underwater ally Nessie. I'll ask tommorrow. Dude what if he's a ghost. What if their all ghosts. Dude I'm Freaking myself out. I'm Gunna go make some pancakes.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Perfume and Gold
Lauren wakes to the overpowering smell of perfume for the third night in a row. The sickeningly sweet floral scent is so pungent she has to open the window to keep it from choking her. Her lungs burn as the fresh air wafts into the room, releasing her from the flowery prison once again. She inhales deeply, looking across the backyard at the moonlit fireplace below her.
It is old and broken, the red bricks starting to crumble with age. Ivy had wrapped its way around the frame, holding all of the desiccated pieces together. She goes to her suitcase to get her camera. If anything, she can get some really interesting photographs of the site.
Still feeling the burning sensation in her throat, she decides to head down to the kitchen to get something to drink. No doubt someone will be up meandering the common quarters. She walks down the hallway, padding softly on the hardwood floor. Joseph’s door is closed. No doubt he has turned in early to curl up with the stolen books he now has in his possession. She wonders if Dr. Martin is aware of his habitual thievery.
The light in the living room is on again and she pops her head in to see who may be up at such a late hour. No one is there. She glances at the clock. 12:38 am. This is the third night that someone has left the light on in this room. Maybe Joseph is afraid of the dark? She shakes her head at the private joke, crossing the room to turn off the lamp that sits next to the large sofa.
Darkness fills the house again. Feeling her way along the floor to the hallway once more, she heads into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. As she gulps down the cool liquid, she can feel the ache in her throat subsiding. She decides it will probably be a good idea, not only for her health, to switch rooms. But that can wait until morning.
She wonders where the smell could be coming from. Maybe someone had spilled a bottle of perfume down the vent? It would make sense that every time the air conditioning kicked on or even the heater that the smell would overpower the room. She will have to do some investigating in the daylight.
When she gets back to her quarters, the smell had all but disappeared. She is too exhausted to do anything but climb under the covers. The chilly night air drifts across her face. It feels good, so she doesn’t mind the window being open. Lying back into the cool sheets, she closes her eyes and sighs deeply. She curls one hand under her chin and buries the other under the pillow.
It is then she feels something cold and hard under her palm. She pulls out the object. It is the ring that had been beside her laptop when she’d come into the room the night they had found the dress. She swears that she had put it on the dresser.
She places it on the nightstand by her head, pondering its whereabouts for a few more minutes before her exhaustion takes hold and she can’t keep her eyes open any longer.
It is old and broken, the red bricks starting to crumble with age. Ivy had wrapped its way around the frame, holding all of the desiccated pieces together. She goes to her suitcase to get her camera. If anything, she can get some really interesting photographs of the site.
Still feeling the burning sensation in her throat, she decides to head down to the kitchen to get something to drink. No doubt someone will be up meandering the common quarters. She walks down the hallway, padding softly on the hardwood floor. Joseph’s door is closed. No doubt he has turned in early to curl up with the stolen books he now has in his possession. She wonders if Dr. Martin is aware of his habitual thievery.
The light in the living room is on again and she pops her head in to see who may be up at such a late hour. No one is there. She glances at the clock. 12:38 am. This is the third night that someone has left the light on in this room. Maybe Joseph is afraid of the dark? She shakes her head at the private joke, crossing the room to turn off the lamp that sits next to the large sofa.
Darkness fills the house again. Feeling her way along the floor to the hallway once more, she heads into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water. As she gulps down the cool liquid, she can feel the ache in her throat subsiding. She decides it will probably be a good idea, not only for her health, to switch rooms. But that can wait until morning.
She wonders where the smell could be coming from. Maybe someone had spilled a bottle of perfume down the vent? It would make sense that every time the air conditioning kicked on or even the heater that the smell would overpower the room. She will have to do some investigating in the daylight.
When she gets back to her quarters, the smell had all but disappeared. She is too exhausted to do anything but climb under the covers. The chilly night air drifts across her face. It feels good, so she doesn’t mind the window being open. Lying back into the cool sheets, she closes her eyes and sighs deeply. She curls one hand under her chin and buries the other under the pillow.
It is then she feels something cold and hard under her palm. She pulls out the object. It is the ring that had been beside her laptop when she’d come into the room the night they had found the dress. She swears that she had put it on the dresser.
She places it on the nightstand by her head, pondering its whereabouts for a few more minutes before her exhaustion takes hold and she can’t keep her eyes open any longer.
King of Spades
Victor turns the weathered playing card over and over between his fingers. The lines and colors are scuffed and faded with age, the corners tattered, showing signs of having been shuffled countless times.
It's late and quiet. Everyone else has likely drifted off to sleep, leaving Victor awake and alone with whatever ghosts haunt this house.
The king doesn't look off to the side, but straight ahead.
Victor isn't sure what the kings mean, but he doesn't think it's good.
He's glad that things seem relatively normal in this house, though they did in the other house at first, too. At least Joseph has started behaving a little more civilly, though it seems more out of necessity than sincerity.
Marcus's replacement seems nice enough, though she seems to take people apart with her eyes. Victor imagines Lauren thinks she probably has a pretty good poker face, but she's not all that adept at hiding when she's analyzing someone. Given enough time and practice, and Victor is sure her eyes will sweep over someone with the practiced gaze of a criminal taking in all the details needed to make an assessment and move forward with the plan.
EV remains her indomitable self, though she seems to have gotten a little more reserved. Victor can see mixed signals fluttering across her pretty face when he's near, and he's pretty sure she's attracted to him but doesn't want to show it. In different circumstances, he might be attracted back, but the there are too many uncontrolled variables for it to be feasible.
This country house has just as many mysteries as the Victorian one did; it's just as full of locked trunks and books, jars and bottles, crates, cabinets, stairways and shadowed corners. The wedding dress intrigues him. Why was it chained into the armoire? Was someone afraid it would escape?
On a sudden impulse, Victor rises from his bed and crosses the room, opening his CSI bag and retrieving a slide. He walks down the hallway in his shirt and underwear, into the strange room with the armoire doors standing wide. The dress gleams white in the moonlight, and the unsightly stain running down the front is as black as ink.
It flakes off the fabric like old blood, onto Victor's slide, caught with expert precision. He covers the sample and carries it back to his room, ready to solve this mystery at least.
The king of spades watches from the bedside table, impassive, and yet seeming to anticipate what events might come next.
It's late and quiet. Everyone else has likely drifted off to sleep, leaving Victor awake and alone with whatever ghosts haunt this house.
The king doesn't look off to the side, but straight ahead.
Victor isn't sure what the kings mean, but he doesn't think it's good.
He's glad that things seem relatively normal in this house, though they did in the other house at first, too. At least Joseph has started behaving a little more civilly, though it seems more out of necessity than sincerity.
Marcus's replacement seems nice enough, though she seems to take people apart with her eyes. Victor imagines Lauren thinks she probably has a pretty good poker face, but she's not all that adept at hiding when she's analyzing someone. Given enough time and practice, and Victor is sure her eyes will sweep over someone with the practiced gaze of a criminal taking in all the details needed to make an assessment and move forward with the plan.
EV remains her indomitable self, though she seems to have gotten a little more reserved. Victor can see mixed signals fluttering across her pretty face when he's near, and he's pretty sure she's attracted to him but doesn't want to show it. In different circumstances, he might be attracted back, but the there are too many uncontrolled variables for it to be feasible.
This country house has just as many mysteries as the Victorian one did; it's just as full of locked trunks and books, jars and bottles, crates, cabinets, stairways and shadowed corners. The wedding dress intrigues him. Why was it chained into the armoire? Was someone afraid it would escape?
On a sudden impulse, Victor rises from his bed and crosses the room, opening his CSI bag and retrieving a slide. He walks down the hallway in his shirt and underwear, into the strange room with the armoire doors standing wide. The dress gleams white in the moonlight, and the unsightly stain running down the front is as black as ink.
It flakes off the fabric like old blood, onto Victor's slide, caught with expert precision. He covers the sample and carries it back to his room, ready to solve this mystery at least.
The king of spades watches from the bedside table, impassive, and yet seeming to anticipate what events might come next.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The taste of salt
She realized she was dreaming when she looked down and saw the small child at her side. Pretty child with eyes so dark they looked like she had no iris at all.
“Hurry…She’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Mommy.”
EV tried to move but the acanthus leaf pattern in the rug had grown around her legs holding her in position. She pulled at the grasping vines, but they kept tangling themselves around her.
If this is a dream, why do I feel this?
She felt the heavy thuds before she heard them. The floor vibrating with a weight that was so much more than any human could weigh.
“Hurry…She’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Mommy.”
EV looked up and opened her mouth. Instead of a scream, salt poured out of her mouth in a steady stream to pile at her feet.
EV awoke with a start. The sheets were bound around her feet and she was shivering despite the fact that she was sweating profusely. She could hear voices in the other room. Joseph was going on and on as usual, the girl was talking as well, only EV couldn’t make out what they were saying. She heard Victor’s voice. It was calm and steady. Controlled. She took a deep breath and relaxed. Her lips tasted salty.
Why do I feel safe around him?
He was a little weird…a little obsessive. He was always looking over his shoulder. Even before the shit went down. He wasn’t like Joseph. He didn’t want to use her for some hidden agenda, some grasp at fame or fortune or whatever it was the “good doctor” was after. EV was used to guys wanting to use her. Victor looked at her differently. He was almost sad when he looked at her. Like he could see something she couldn’t. Or that he knew she was dying of some horrible disease and didn’t have the guts to tell her she was doomed.
She kicked at the sheets and finally untangled herself from their anaconda-like grip. She pulled at them and tossed them into the chair. She couldn’t seem to muster the strength to get up. You would think that after a nightmare like that, a person wouldn’t want to sleep again.
Why do I feel so tired?
She drifted off again.
A soft knock woke her up.
“EV?” It was Victor.
“Yeah?” she said groggily.
“Can I see your keys?”
She reached into her pocket and tossed them blindly at him. He caught them.
Fast hands.
She rolled back over and fell asleep as the door clicked closed behind him.
“Hurry…She’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Mommy.”
EV tried to move but the acanthus leaf pattern in the rug had grown around her legs holding her in position. She pulled at the grasping vines, but they kept tangling themselves around her.
If this is a dream, why do I feel this?
She felt the heavy thuds before she heard them. The floor vibrating with a weight that was so much more than any human could weigh.
“Hurry…She’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Mommy.”
EV looked up and opened her mouth. Instead of a scream, salt poured out of her mouth in a steady stream to pile at her feet.
EV awoke with a start. The sheets were bound around her feet and she was shivering despite the fact that she was sweating profusely. She could hear voices in the other room. Joseph was going on and on as usual, the girl was talking as well, only EV couldn’t make out what they were saying. She heard Victor’s voice. It was calm and steady. Controlled. She took a deep breath and relaxed. Her lips tasted salty.
Why do I feel safe around him?
He was a little weird…a little obsessive. He was always looking over his shoulder. Even before the shit went down. He wasn’t like Joseph. He didn’t want to use her for some hidden agenda, some grasp at fame or fortune or whatever it was the “good doctor” was after. EV was used to guys wanting to use her. Victor looked at her differently. He was almost sad when he looked at her. Like he could see something she couldn’t. Or that he knew she was dying of some horrible disease and didn’t have the guts to tell her she was doomed.
She kicked at the sheets and finally untangled herself from their anaconda-like grip. She pulled at them and tossed them into the chair. She couldn’t seem to muster the strength to get up. You would think that after a nightmare like that, a person wouldn’t want to sleep again.
Why do I feel so tired?
She drifted off again.
A soft knock woke her up.
“EV?” It was Victor.
“Yeah?” she said groggily.
“Can I see your keys?”
She reached into her pocket and tossed them blindly at him. He caught them.
Fast hands.
She rolled back over and fell asleep as the door clicked closed behind him.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Postmortem Assessment
The inside of the hotel room measures twenty-seven by forty feet, roughly, including the bathroom. The balcony is an additional four by eight feet.
The room is surprisingly clean. The sheets are freshly starched, without any stains revealed by blacklight. The mattress is less than pristine, but not drenched in forensic evidence. Victor can't find traces of blood anywhere.
There are thirty-nine sheets of hotel stationery left, along with three ballpoint pens emblazoned with the hotel's logo. There are two room service menus, one on top of the desk, one in the bottom drawer on the left.
There are six towels: two large, two medium, two small. There are two washcloths, one folded into the shape of a fan, the other draped over the towel bar.
There is one television in the room.
There are precisely zero explanations for what happened in that cursed fucking house.
Victor has been a pragmatist his entire life, despite the superstitious protestations of his Orthodox grandparents, the stories about the evils in the old country, the gilded icons and myriad saints. When he was a child, he always looked askance at fairy tales, myths about men who achieved greatness, Santa Claus. None of it ever seemed realistic.
He took great comfort in mathematics, though. Victor has always been fond of counting things. Four molars knocked out of a woman's mouth with a mallet. Two minutes before the police arrive to assess the situation. One hundred eighty eight droplets of blood left behind over three hundred sixty four square feet of terrain after a crime, roped in with yellow tape, CAUTION DO NOT CROSS.
What happened in the house can't be quantified with numbers or explained with science and forensics, which is quickly unraveling Victor's view of the world.
Can his senses really be trusted? They seem to be in working order now: the hotel suite is precisely seventy-eight degrees, and he weighs one hundred fifty seven pounds, naked on the sleek white scale left in the hotel bathroom by a previous guest.
He's still been sleeping with the lights on; he doesn't want to have to relive the memory of the terrifying silhouette in the cellar, the panic that drove him to shoot the lock of the cellar door with a bullet that materialized out of nowhere.
There are sixty-seven-and-a-half ceramic tiles on the floor of the bathroom, and no way for Victor to explain the fear that drove him to break the house's window with a chair, shattering glass like a barbarian.
He needs bullets for his gun. He's not sure how to get them; he doesn't want to venture out in public for fear of being spotted by the wrong person. He's mostly sure he's safe, but without knowing how much of a trail he's left behind, Victor isn't willing to risk it.
The more he thinks, the more he counts, the more he attempts to reason, Victor becomes increasingly certain that he will never be able to explain what's happened, and that thought is fucking terrifying.
The room is surprisingly clean. The sheets are freshly starched, without any stains revealed by blacklight. The mattress is less than pristine, but not drenched in forensic evidence. Victor can't find traces of blood anywhere.
There are thirty-nine sheets of hotel stationery left, along with three ballpoint pens emblazoned with the hotel's logo. There are two room service menus, one on top of the desk, one in the bottom drawer on the left.
There are six towels: two large, two medium, two small. There are two washcloths, one folded into the shape of a fan, the other draped over the towel bar.
There is one television in the room.
There are precisely zero explanations for what happened in that cursed fucking house.
Victor has been a pragmatist his entire life, despite the superstitious protestations of his Orthodox grandparents, the stories about the evils in the old country, the gilded icons and myriad saints. When he was a child, he always looked askance at fairy tales, myths about men who achieved greatness, Santa Claus. None of it ever seemed realistic.
He took great comfort in mathematics, though. Victor has always been fond of counting things. Four molars knocked out of a woman's mouth with a mallet. Two minutes before the police arrive to assess the situation. One hundred eighty eight droplets of blood left behind over three hundred sixty four square feet of terrain after a crime, roped in with yellow tape, CAUTION DO NOT CROSS.
What happened in the house can't be quantified with numbers or explained with science and forensics, which is quickly unraveling Victor's view of the world.
Can his senses really be trusted? They seem to be in working order now: the hotel suite is precisely seventy-eight degrees, and he weighs one hundred fifty seven pounds, naked on the sleek white scale left in the hotel bathroom by a previous guest.
He's still been sleeping with the lights on; he doesn't want to have to relive the memory of the terrifying silhouette in the cellar, the panic that drove him to shoot the lock of the cellar door with a bullet that materialized out of nowhere.
There are sixty-seven-and-a-half ceramic tiles on the floor of the bathroom, and no way for Victor to explain the fear that drove him to break the house's window with a chair, shattering glass like a barbarian.
He needs bullets for his gun. He's not sure how to get them; he doesn't want to venture out in public for fear of being spotted by the wrong person. He's mostly sure he's safe, but without knowing how much of a trail he's left behind, Victor isn't willing to risk it.
The more he thinks, the more he counts, the more he attempts to reason, Victor becomes increasingly certain that he will never be able to explain what's happened, and that thought is fucking terrifying.
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