Monthly Archives: January 2017

Can’t Sleep?

I’ve never had a problem sleeping at nights. Not until recently. For the past week, I swear I’ve heard this scratching sound. But I passed it off as raccoons or such. Too bad I didn’t have a pellet gun.

One particular night was my same routine. Got home from work. Ate dinner. Watched TV. Went to bed. I yawned as I checked my phone. Close to midnight. That was late for me. I paused. Remember when I used to pull all-nighters just to play a video game? That was the price of adulthood, I supposed.

I entered my bedroom and turned off the light. My legs prickled for some reason, and I all but jumped into my bed. Knocking a pillow off the other side. I sighed. Rolled onto my stomach and slid my arm between the mattress and the wall. Something scaly grabbed my arm and pulled. Yelping, I yanked my arm free. Sat in the middle of my bed. What the–? The pillow could stay down there for tonight.

The covers were more inviting anyway. I crawled under them, leaving my shoulders and head exposed as always. The feeling of my arm being touched finally went away. I drifted to sleep. Something tapped my shoulder twice. My eyes flew open. Two more taps. I rolled over. Nothing was there. Except for my fallen pillow. My heart raced. No, there was nothing or nobody there. My pillow must’ve never fallen. That was possible. And I had rubbed my arm against the wall. No big deal. I situated myself again.

After some time, I grew hot. Having the covers off proved too cold, so I resorted to only having one leg out of the covers. Satisfied, I fell asleep. Dreamed of wading through a pleasant beach. Though my dream was sadly interrupted. Stretching, I rolled over. Closed my eyes. Snapped them open again. Was something…licking my foot? Crying out, I kicked hard. Sat up. There was nothing at the end of my bed. I touched my sock-less foot. It was covered in sticky slobber. I didn’t own a dog. Or any pet for that matter. I couldn’t reason this incident in my head.

I was too scared to get out of bed and turn on the lights. Was this some sort of prank? By who? I lived alone. I had no friends. My breathing quickened. No. No, this had to be my imagination. It was too many hours after my bedtime. I had been sleeping lightly. My brain was tired. That was all. After a peptalk, I curled back under the covers. Closed my eyes. But sleep never came. Even though nothing else happened. I sighed. This was old already.

Seeing how I was awake, I opened my eyes. Froze. Two white, glowing orbs peered at me from a corner of darkness. A pair of eyes? My gaze remained transfixed. Until the orbs moved and crept closer. I squeezed my eyes shut. Remained huddled beneath the blankets. A presence hovered at the edge of my bed. I prayed it would be day soon.

I have hardly slept since.


Closed Door

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What lurks behind the door
Life, Death
Something more
What waits behind the glass
Dusty, dirty
Tinted black
What is only a handle away
Sprites, spirits
Golem clay

Patiently waits the door
Faded, rusted
Copper ore
Time is on its side
Sealed, buried
Contents hide
The glass temptingly glints
Legends, secrets
It hints

Curiosity takes the reign
Groaning, creaking
Open again
Light floods the darkness
Beings, creatures
Unknowns hiss
The door is left behind
Freed, rampant
Evil kind

What lurks behind the door
Death, destruction
Something more

*Author’s note: The above picture is one I took of a mausoleum in a cemetary near a friend’s house. I wanted to peek in the glass, but I never did. Just in case something was actually in there.


Please

Please don’t leave me. I need you to come back to me. I am so sorry. I need you to come back. 

My hands shook as I hit send. As they had been shaking for the past two weeks. I had sent similar messages over and over. Hoping for a response. I wouldn’t receive one. He was in a hospital bed because of me. That’s why they wouldn’t let me visit.

An hour passed. No response.

Rubbing my face with a hand, I unlocked my phone. Opened up the messages.

Please come back to me. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please don’t leave me.

Send.

I love you more than you know.

Send.

I buried my phone in my pillow. Hugged myself as tears fell. I didn’t think I still had the capacity to continue crying.

My phone chirped, nearly sending me off the bed. Kept chirping. A call? My heart raced as I slid over the accept icon. “Hello?”

“Look,” it was his sister’s voice, “the only reason I’m calling you is because he’s dead.”

Everything inside me screeched to a halt. The phone slipping from my fingers.

Her choked voice lined with hatred. “Yes. He’s dead. We will be having services, but you’re not invited. If you show up, we will call the police. This is your fault. You need to know it.”

“I love him more than any–” The call ended. I stared at my phone, jaw hanging open. What? Why? How…? In a blind rage, I rose and hurled my phone across the room.

Three days passed.

I stared at the cracked screen of my phone. Opened up the messages.

I refuse to believe you’re dead. Please come back to me. They wouldn’t let me visit. It’s my fault. I love you. I’m sorry. Please come home.

Send.

Sending.

Incomplete.

A red message appeared: This number is no longer in service. Message will not be sent. If you believe this to be an error, please call our support line.

Sinking to the floor, I sobbed into my phone. “No!” The device fell from my grasp. I held my chest. Barely able to breathe. “Please don’t leave me! Please….”


Remembering Sunny Days

We’re in the middle of an ice storm where I live. Besides being nestled in blankets, I like to think of the sun to keep warm. 


Don’t Shoot the Messenger

The damp air is disturbed. Boots slap wet pavement. A cigarette burns red. A man emerges from the dark alley. Newsboy cap tilts to one side. Hands in tweed pockets, easy strides carry him to his target.

A bus stop shelters one occupant from the cold. The onlooker nestles further in his coat. Checks his watch. The bus is late. Per usual. As long as it provides meager heat. He hears steps but thinks nothing of it.

Not until worn brown boots come into his down-cast vision. He lifts his head. Dim gas lamps and fog barely making the visitor visible. Though he knows his fate has been sealed, he scrambles behind the waiting bench for shelter. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a message for you.”

The waiter for the bus shakes. Not because of the cold this time. “From who?”

“Tommy Boy says you owe him for a job. He also says if you don’t give me the money, he’ll send me after that darling family of yours.”

“Do I look like I have the money on me?”

“I don’t know what you’re packing under that coat.”

“Indeed.” The debtor pulls a pistol and fires a couple rounds.

But the contract killer expects this course of action. He drops before bullets reach him. Cursing when he drops his smoke. Reveals his own weapon. “Looks like I’ll be paying your wife and daughter a visit.”

One shot kills the other. He corrects his newsboy hat and stashes his pistol in his satchel. His lips curl in disgust at the body he leaves where it fell. Lights another cigarette as he walks away from the lonely scene. Breath curls into the air.

“You don’t mess with the Message Man.”


Out

Tears flood the floor
Drown me in suffering
Where is the door
I need out
Out of my mind
Blood flows free
Is this even real
I’m on my knees
Begging for a way out
Out from this bind
Sickness takes hold
Darkness covers me
This charade is old
Please let me out
Out of what makes me blind
My demons give chase
Infect my thoughts
Promise death’s embrace
I must find a way out
Out of the evil kind
Another day comes
Everything loops
Beating me as drums
Is there a way out
Out of this grind
Tears flood the floor
Drown me in suffering
Where is the door
I’m desperate for a way out
Out of my twisted mind


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