Paranoiac
Authors: Attikus Absconder
Tags: #Fiction, #thriller, #horror, #gore, #macabre, #brutal, #psycholgical thriller, #psycholocial horror, #psycholigical suspense
Copyright © 2015 by Attikus
Absconder. All rights reserved. This eBook or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the
express written permission of the publisher except for the use of
brief quotations in a book review.
Isaac, a thirty something
novelist awakens from a hellish nightmare only to find himself lost
inside of his childhood home. With no memories of how he got there;
Isaac compulsively searches for answers through his fragmented,
tortured life. The only problem is, Isaac may not be
alone.
Chapters
Prologue
I lay in bed
staring through the grand windows in front of me - like I tend to
before drifting into a sweet, deep sleep - enjoying the cool spring
night as the trees sway back and forth. This had always comforted
me, almost as much as the moon. "No moon tonight," I murmured
softly. This meant no calming, pale, white light casting long,
dramatic shadows into my room. How I wished there was a full moon
tonight, it’s tendrils of ethereal light licking the star speckled
sky, calling. No reaching out for me and only me. Oh, how I longed
for that full moon, my partner in crime, my spectral
mistress.
I sat in bed
unable to sleep, staring blankly at the few posters on my wall that
remained from my teenage years. And it suddenly dawned on me the
terrible taste in music I had in those long ago adolescent years.
All of this felt like some horrible window into my past. Hours
passed and my mind raced while I sat in the dark. I couldn’t help
but listen to the cracks and moans of the old house. It’s as if the
room was trying to sing me an eerie lullaby with its chorus of
shifting wood and electrical clicks.
I found myself
drawn to the other side of the room. I sat for a long while staring
and studying the shadows that must have engulfed half of the room.
Shadows so dark they seemed almost tangible, like thick, black
curtains draped and sprawled against the walls and floor. I started
to feel unsettled and uncomfortable in my little sanctuary.
Gradually becoming paranoid like a child staring into a closet
terrified of what might be behind the door, or in my case, the
darkness. I sat up wide awake intensely gazing into the corporeal
void and I had a sneaking suspicion that it stared right back at
me. "Why do these shadows feel so menacing?" I asked myself
inwardly.
"Possibly the
unknown?" The darkness replied with a deep, calm voice.
"Who was
that?" I yelled out only to be answered by the swaying elm trees
that knocked against my red bordered window. I sat paralyzed, my
entire body tense. Sweat was rolling down my brow and soaking into
my t-shirt. Everything in my room became monstrous; my large red
oak desk stared back at me with seething malice. The books sitting
inside the glass case of my bookshelf whispered deviously behind my
back. I imagined my old oriental rug slithering across the wood
floor and underneath my bed. I leered at the old posters and
convinced myself that they were crawling like caterpillars across
my walls and ceiling. My eyes were open so wide my vision seemed to
vibrate with fear. Sweat dripped from every pore of my body causing
me to kick off the heavy blankets. Once again I felt like a
helpless child.
"Hello?" I
finally called out, feeling stupid yet relieved when only silence
answered me. Again, I sat in bed for what seemed like an eternity
before I finally convinced myself that the voice was all in my
sleep-deprived head. Groggily, I started to slip into a comfortable
daze. The darkness seemed to enclose around me. Only a thin layer
of soft light illuminated my bed. Just as I was slipping into
sleeps' sweet, warm embrace I heard his deep velvet laughter
emanating from the shadows.
I
quickly jolted awake. The laughter decayed slowly but the damage
had been done. “Show yourself you coward!" I proclaimed trying to
sound firm and threatening. Again, there was nothing but silence. I
sat rigid, staring into the shadows without blinking. A rattling
noise came from across the room. A low hum was ringing in my ears
as I perched quietly in my bed. Then, as if in slow motion
a large, ornate chair
scraped and screeched
across the wood floor peeling up the rug as it pushed closer to my
bed. The chair stopped at the foot of my bed with a mind of its
own. My body started to shake uncontrollably in a pool of my own
sweat. I was speechless at the spectacle in front of me, my
thoughts erratic and non-sensible, again the soft laughter
ensued.
I violently
backed up against my head board smacking my skull on the hard wood,
fear numbing the pain. Pale white hands morphed out of the thick,
noxious shadows and grabbed the top of the chair, "Why are you so
afraid of us Isaac?" It endearingly asked me.
"Who the hell
are you!?" I demanded trying to sound authoritative and demanding
with my quivering voice.
The ghastly
figure quaked with its thick, smooth laughter, "That's no way to
talk to yourself! Have you no respect?"
"Get out!
Leave me alone!" I choked out before the pale creature began its
deep chuckling again.
Silently and
slowly the ghastly figure emerged from the dark, smoky miasma and
situated itself into the chair. “NO! NO!" I screamed, terrified and
immobilized by what I saw before me.
“Oh yes! Yes!"
he mocked back, his shoulders bouncing up and down as he chuckled.
The room started to distort strangely around him and the humming
ring in my ears escalated.
My mouth
dropped open, tears oozing from my eyes, "But how is this even
possible?" He smiled crookedly and then in an instant it morphed
into a grimace.
“It just is,
Isaac!" He remarked, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Do we really
have to go through this again? Or have you forgotten you silly
boy!"
“But how can
you be me?" My teeth chattered as I stared back at what I could
only describe as my pasty skinned twin. "It's impossible! Who are
you?"
“I am you. We
are Isaac. Do we really have to do this again?" He
repeated.
"But - but?
No!" I stuttered out.
“Oh poor us...
It doesn't really matter they'll be coming to get us soon anyhow,"
He said, relaxing into the chair and crossed his legs. I watched as
he played with his auburn hair that he stole from me.
"Who's coming
to get us?" I questioned my pallid brother taking into note that he
wore the same boxers and t-shirt as I.
"Well Isaac
we've gone and done it!" The deviant doppelganger stood up from his
chair and quickly grabbed my shoulders with a tight grip. His hands
where cold like ice and as hard as stone, “I’m so proud of us! We
finally did something we'll be remembered for! We should
celebrate!"
He began
shaking me back and forth effortlessly, his grip too powerful for
me to fight off. “Leave me alone! Why can't you just go away! I
hate you! I always have!" I screamed out while kicking back at my
sickly, death-like imitation.
“I’ll always
be stronger than you silly boy! You ridiculous boy!" His cackling
embedded a look of complete terror on my face as he continued to
shake my body. The murky, black darkness formed horrifically morbid
faces as it whirl-winded around my bed, closing in on me. My
screams were being drowned out by the pallid creatures' roaring
laughter that was now being joined by thousands of contorted
expressions trapped in this smoggy whirlwind. Lost in blackness, my
senses became violated by images of deformed and distorted
countenances. My ears echoed with pin pricks of pain from the
sounds of crying women, children and unintelligible screams of
anger from men. But above all else was his laughter. Abruptly I
lost all sense of up and down; I became weightless and then there
was silence.
Journal Entry One
I awaken
suddenly in a cold sweat. A dream? Yes, a dream. Thank god, it was
only that. Night after night since I was a child I have had these
dreams. The only thing that they have in common is that pale, white
skinned double of mine. This dream has me more troubled than any of
the others, but what really has me troubled now are my
surroundings. I seem to be in my family’s excessively large and
beautiful vacation home. I haven’t been here since my teenage
years. How did I get here and why can’t recall a single thing? The
last thing I can remember was talking on the phone with an old
friend back in Chicago but it’s all so fuzzy. Even more disturbing
is the fact that the room in which I sit is the very same room from
my horrid little dream. In fact as I write in this journal I seem
to be sitting at the very oak desk from the dream. I inspected the
ornate drawers of this red oak, Victorian era desk and found a
large notebook filled with paper and a few pens. I sit here
dictating my thoughts only to make sense of them. I have so many
questions that need to be answered and this is the best way I can
ensure that. My hands are shaking, my body is tired and sore but I
can’t remember why and it’s maddening. I swear I will not leave
until I make sense of it all.
After a long moment of pondering I decided to inspect the
room, my room. I quickly realized that the room in which I awoke
was the same room I stayed in as a child. My old posters of long
forgotten bands were curled and tacked to the walls near my old
four poster bed. I hated this house as a kid. It was so
extravagant; the Victorian architecture didn’t match its modern
interior. My parents always wanted to buy the biggest and best even
if they barely used it. This towering three story home had seven
rooms, four closets, two kitchens, a spacious wine cellar and four
bathrooms. Mom and Dad were always about luxury. They bought this
monstrous place as a summer home. I hated how unnecessarily large
this place was for only the three of us. Yet, with all of our money
not once did we ever hire any maids or caretakers to help us with
cleaning, cooking or repairs. Not even when mother got sick. After
I turned eighteen I ran away to Chicago and stopped talking to
them. They hated how I decided to become a writer rather than a
lawyer or doctor. I guess I was the only thing they couldn’t
control or buy. I especially ran away because of my father. He was
an awful bitter man who swallowed more alcohol than air. Every time
the man was drunk he would wail on me and he was always drunk. Oh
well, Mom is dead and Dad is surely on his way to reunite with her,
it’s all very sad but that’s life. I do regret not talking to Mom
one last time though but
C'est
la
vie
.
