This Was At One Point A Dream Blog, Right?

I had the most normal dream ever last night. My class and I were at a haunted house that was part of our school, and then we were at Disney World. That seems…fairly normal, by my standards.

But then at one part the little sister of a girl in my class was collecting blankets but she wasn't going to send them to the troops (Apparently this happened during WWII…?) because they had enough and she instead was going to cut them up and give them to the poor. Yeah.

But then there was the part where we were eating Fritos but were for some reason calling them Doritos, and I was able to fit a whole bunch of them in my mouth, which impressed/weirded out some of the guys.

But then there was the part where I ran around the Disney store shouting about sweaters and then my dad tried to set me up with an 8-year-old girl, albeit jokingly. Because that's not creepy in the slightest.

You probably shouldn't read into this dream that much, unless I want to end up on a psychiatrist's couch.

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For most of yesterday evening, if you wanted to calculate the center of a triangle made by points A-throwing up, B-crying, and C-falling asleep, all you would have had to do was attach a interdimensional triangulation thing to me, as I was balancing on a knife's edge in the center of said triangle. However, a source of great angst for me over the past few weeks has turned into something wonderful, so I'm cool.

Now if only I could translate these great passages into my novel…. My characters are eating cereal. I have an outline, goshdarnit!

Look! More Writings!

So…I know I said 'probably' on that elevator story, but this is so much more interesting! Next bit comes tomorrow, for Hallowe'en.

Look! It's like Choose Your Own Adventure, but you don't get to choose! And it's not very adventurous so far! You're just in a room! And weird crap happens! YAY!

Yeah, Fright Night went well, we had to kick out the seventh graders, and I escaped without concussion. Candy for everyone!

You are in a room. You are sitting on a wooden chair. Your hands are tied behind your back and your elbows to the chair, the ropes chafing your wrists. In addition, your head aches something awful. You aren't sure, but you think you might be bleeding, up there, near your hairline. There is a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, but it is off. The only light source in the room is a small window high on the wall to your left, dim light glistening off the damp stone walls. It is nighttime outside. You can hear children laughing and shrieking in delight outside. 

How can this be? you think. You don't remember anything past getting into bed last night. Was that last night? You're not sure. You don't know how much time has passed.

There is a reinforced wooden door in front of you and to the right. It creaks open. You tense, causing the ropes to scrape against your wrists again. You were expecting someone there, but apparently the door has merely opened of its own accord. Just as you start to relax, a tall, thin figure appears in the door. Shadows hide their face, but their clothes are clean, but simple and obviously old. Loose, faded jeans and a gray sweatshirt.

"Time's almost up," the figure says. They have a touch of a Dixie accent. You can't tell if it's a man or a woman. You should be able to tell, shouldn't you? You secretly like to think you're rather good at figuring out people, but you can tell absolutely nothing about this person. If it's even a person. Creepy. 

"Time? What time? How much is left?" you cry, your ragged throat scratching as you speak, but the figure has already turned and left. The door swings shut with a sharp crack. A few moments later, you are able to discern the sound of footsteps thudding methodically up a flight of stairs. 

You let your chin fall onto your chest. Stuff like this is only supposed to happen to other people. Besides, they're not even doing it right! Do they want ransom? Well, won't they be disappointed. Is it just the one person? Hmm, you might be able to take him, her, it. 

Not like this, you won't. Even if you weren't tied up, even if there wasn't blood leaking into your eye now, even if you knew their techniques, you still aren't up for a fight. You're far too weak. Your limbs are like lead weights and you don't feel like you could even lift them, let alone take a swing at someone.

Your arms are starting to cramp, being held in a position like that. You wiggle your arms and, miracle to end all miracles, the ropes start to loosen. Honestly, a Boy Scout could tie you up better! 

Okay, that might not be fair to the BSA. Or, rather, whoever tied the knots. The rope is still secure, but now you've got some wiggle room. Unfortunately, that brief action has tired you out. Your shoulders, back, arms, chest—they're all aching now. 

You start to plan your escape. You'll probably be able to squeeze out that window, even if it will be tight, but can you even get it open? Well, you'll burn that bridge when you cross it. The important thing now is to get out of these ropes. Bondage just isn't your thing, at least not right now. 

Oh no! Footsteps! You quickly settle back in your chair, hoping whoever it is won't notice the ropes sagging around your arms. They certainly don't sound like the one who was here before—wait, no, it's two people! Two sets of footsteps. Fudge on a stick. 

The door creaks open again, and the two people enter. The one on the left is the one who told you that your time is running out. Definitely a woman, as you can now see the shape of her chest. Her head is still obscured in shadow, all but her chin. She seems very particular about that. The one on the right is dressed similarly to the woman, in a gray sweatshirt and jeans, but he wears slightly tighter jeans. He's even taller than the woman, and his face is completely hidden by darkness.

For a long moment, all is silence. You can practically hear your nervous heart fluttering.

"Well?" you ask. It's all you can manage at the moment. 

The two figures cross their arms, the woman smirking. 

"Well is not the question, hon," she says. 

"The question is," says the man, "whether or not you're feeling brave enough."

They both step into the light, and you can't help but scream. You jerk away, and the force of your motion sends your chair crashing backwards. As your ears begin to ring, the world fades to black. 

Horror Story

Okay, I was a bit lazy and didn't write part 2 of the elevator story. I'll do that tomorrow, probably. In the mean time, enjoy a short horror story that I was required to write for class. ("We get to write and critique our own horror stories over the course of a month? And we can make it as scary as we want? Come on, guys, why aren't you giving a standing ovation?!")

I really do hope the teachers won't actually be analyzing this, since I basically unleashed my utterly sadistic side on the paper ("Why, Omnia, you have a sadistic side? I never would have guessed!") and let it run wild.

Anyway, enjoy!

It was a dark and stormy night. A shot rang out.

I cursed my stupidity as I unbuckled my seat-belt and grabbed the windbreaker off the passenger's seat. I had only gotten the thing last year, but the service light had been blinking at me for weeks. I should have gotten it taken care of before attempting a three-hour drive back to my parents' house. How could I have been such a complete idiot?

I've never been much of a mechanic. Staring down at the slowly-cooling engine, I couldn't have begun to tell you what had gone wrong with the car.

So much for leaving work early, I thought as I slammed the hood shut and shoved my numb hands into the pockets of my windbreaker. Now I would never get there in time. I had been so looking forward to dumping my stuff by the front door and curling up on that familiar couch with a mug of my mom's cinnamon hot cocoa. My mom makes the best cocoa.

As I leaned against the icy hood, I took out my cell phone. It powered on with a series of melodic pings, showing the humorous quote that I had set as my wallpaper. I wasn't expecting there to be a signal, since service is always spotty on this stretch of road. I wasn't wrong. Still, I wasn't about to bounce up and down like an idiot, holding my mobile up to the heavens and praying for a signal. No point.

I was about to go see if I could get the engine to run again, thinking that maybe it had just been the deep gray slush dampening the whatever it was on the underside of a car that you shouldn't get wet, when I noticed a light down the road. The kind of warm, mellow light that comes from Christmas lights shining through curtains. Aha! If there was a house, then there must be a phone. If there was a phone, then I could call a tow truck, call my parents, tell them I'd be late. Maybe I could get to my parents' before midnight after all. Hey, a guy can dream.

How wrong I was. How very, very wrong.

I should have known what to expect just from the front walk, overgrown with ropes of dark green ivy that snagged at my pants. It was just the sort of house in which Johnny McKillemall murders his victims to draw some shrieks from the audience. Unfortunately, I only had eyes for the towering emerald Christmas tree in the front window. The light glistened off of silver tinsel, creating a magical effect. Sure, I thought it was a little odd that the slippery steps were overgrown with weeds and the driveway hadn't been shoveled; sure, I noticed the dingy, cracked windows on the second floor, like the dull eyes of a Lovecraftian monster; sure, I wondered at the general eerie feel of the place. But I was cold, exhausted from work and driving, and more than a little upset about my car. That stuff really didn't matter to me. I finally did realize that something was wrong when the front door creaked open at my knock, letting out an odor of ancient mildew and cats. My overbearing curiosity got the better of me, and I stepped inside.

When I went into that house, I wasn't thinking about all the bloody slasher movies I'd seen. I wasn't scared of dying in that place. Why should I? I was just wondering why they left the gosh darn door open. Had something terrible happened to the people who lived in the house? Could I do anything to help? As soon as my eyes adjusted to what little light there was, I saw why the door had been left unlocked. No one was left to lock it.

I stood motionless for several long seconds, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Soon, I could see vague shapes, which then began to form solid objects. To my left was a gaping black space, a doorway that led to the room where I had seen the tree. No tree there now, and not a speck of light. To my right was a wall hung with faded photographs. A young girl in a flowery sundress and silken hair ribbons smirked at me. A tall boy in a yellowing tux leered nearby as he leaned against the hood of a white limo. An empty silver frame next to them stood out from the dark stripes of the wallpaper.

Shuddering, I looked away from them, towards the center of the room. A wide staircase dominated the center of the space. In front of that was a gaping patch where the floorboards had rotted away, leaving the oubliette down below out in plain sight. Tiny snowflakes spiraled out of a matching hole in the ceiling and drifted down, down, down… I was mesmerized for a minute.

Well, this was a huge waste of energy. Time to go.

A noise behind me made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It was a high-pitched giggle that swung down the register to a hearty guffaw before returning to spasms of shrill giggles. It stabbed into my soul like a knife. It was a noise I had heard before. I knew that laugh, and the person that belonged to that laugh.

"Hi, friend."

I froze, too scared to respond. How had he gotten to me? The medication was supposed to work for twelve hours, and I had taken some as I left work. Two hours. Just two. Then again, it had been less effective lately. I'd been meaning to ask the doctor if he should up the dosage.

But that voice.

"Go away, just go!" I said without turning around, unable to keep a squeak of hysteria out of my voice. "You're not real. You can't be here."

He giggled again. I flinched at the sound.

"Stupid!" he said in that nasally, sing-song voice as he wagged a finger at me. "You shouldn't have come here tonight. I thought you were smarter than that, friend."

I grit my teeth before replying, "I had no reason not to come." Luckily, no one else would ever again hear me try such a stupid comeback. Not that that was preferable. He snickered at me, and I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment and more than a touch of anger.

Just try to focus on something else. Take a deep breath and focus. That'll work, won't it? It have to think, think…. Christmas! Christmas trees, candy canes, neatly-wrapped presents…family, my parents, my siblings….

"You won't get rid of me that easily. Come on, friend, just have a look," he coaxed.

"No! You're not real! There's absolutely nothing there!"

"Look at me."

His voice didn't usually have that tone to it. I couldn't help myself; the voice got into my head and compelled me to obey. I kept my eyes on the floor, however, studying my shoelaces for as long as I could hold out. With another command from my hallucination, I let my gaze slide up.

A hallucination. That's all he—it—could be. A misfire in my brain. But to look upon him was to know true madness. Despite his eyes—heavily-lidded pools of deep darkness unlike my blue ones—and the snappy tux, which I would have avoided like the plague, we could have been twins. The same dark hair, the same stocky frame, the same freckles and the same anemic skin tone. That's what scared me most of all. Was this sadistic madman a part of me? Could I be capable of what he'd done?

Was he me?

"Hullo, friend," he said in that impossible-to-pin-down accent. French? Russian? Scottish? There's another difference between us.

He grinned, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm not your friend!" I spat. "Just leave me alone, you sick clown."

He lowered his head slightly but still kept his eyes on me. I felt my heartbeat quicken. He meant business this time.

"Make. Me."

A dare. He wanted me to try to defeat him, almost win in time for him to bounce back and strike me down. He had done it before, but he hadn't managed to kill me—yet. Until now, I had never beaten him. Still, it never hurts to try. Perhaps today would be my day.

Stupid. How stupid.

I dipped my fingers into one of the pockets of my cargo pants and drew out the orange capsule, the vessel carrying the round white means to my life and sanity. I popped the lid off with my thumb, while not looking away from his face. He nodded encouragingly The lid fell to the floor and skittered several feet before slipping over the edge of the dark breach in the floor.

"One, two, three," I whispered, tipping two pills into my trembling left hand, "four, f—"

Mere inches away from my mouth, my fist opened without my consent, letting the pills slip to the floor. I flexed my fingers, horrified at what I had just done.

"What did you do?" I demanded angrily, curling my hand into a fist, ready to strike. "I swear--"

He giggled again, cutting me off.

"Threatening violence, my friend?" he said. "Ha! You can't do anything to hurt me."

Something inside of me snapped then. I lunged forward, ready to rip his throat out…then stumbled and fell to the ground. He shook his head condescendingly as he placed one foot on my chest, pinning me to the floor. I gasped for air, but he pressed his foot down harder.

Oh, this is gonna suck.

"You stupid, stupid, stupid little boy. You just don't get it, do you? I've always been the dominant one. The one in control. I can make you do anything. Don't you see it now, friend? You're just a puppet to me. Someone to be manipulated, forced into submission, and then dealt with most elegantly. Heh. I've spent the past twenty-three years working on step one. Finally, I've completed step two. Now, on to step three—dealing with you. With elegance."

With a sharp shove and a snigger, he sent me rolling across the floor. I only managed to stop myself just in time. Had I rolled any farther, I would have gone off the edge of the dark pit. As I scrambled to my feet to face him yet again, he looked up at me, grinned, and tapped the floor gently with the toe of one shoe. Almost instantly, the floorboards beneath my feet gave way, sending me down, down, down, screaming like a banshee…I felt like I would fall forever. Like I would fall through the center of the earth and out the other side, and continue falling past stars and planets in an endless voyage across the cosmos that would make Carl Sagan jealous. It felt so peaceful, just falling, falling, freezing air burning past my face...so peaceful, I could almost fall asleep if I had the time.

But my fall was not destined to last. It must have only been seconds before the breath was abruptly knocked out of me. There was a terrible cracking sound and white-hot searing pain shot through my spine, my shoulders, the back of my head. How could I have let this happen? I was so stupid. So stupid, stupid, stupid.… Disembodied laughter floated down from above, adding gratuitous insult to egregious injury.

As I stared up at the patch of gray sky I could see through the hole in the roof, I began to laugh with him. Our giggles mingled in the cold December air, drifting out the roof and into the night. In the end, I've heard it said, all you can do is laugh. How true. Tiny snowflakes swirled through the air, melting as soon as they touched my body. But then they stopped melting, and I was slowly covered in a thin blanket of ice. The laughter had long since receded into white noise in the background. I was alone, all alone. No one would find me, not for years. Perhaps some young ragamuffin hoodlums would come across my remains someday. I would be long dead and decomposing by that time.

No one was coming. No one would save me. No one could comfort me. I was all alone.

May I rest in peace.

[WARNING: Contains egregious in-jokes.]