Coffins For Robots

Dreamselling

My most recent short horror story.

Word count: 748

TW: Existential horror/dread

To sell your dream.

Dreamselling

Sold dreams

Someone decides their dreams impossible and sells them to someone without dreams

"I've had it!" I yell: "Mine is just simply unachievable!"

My colleague laughs: "Some dreams just are that way, many people here sell them, here there's no need for them anyway. Dreams just get in the way of getting finished."

We're sitting inside the grey lunch room of our workplace.

I turn to him and lean back: "Did you sell yours?"

A proud smile crosses his face: "Of course I did, daydreaming doesn't get you anywhere and I earned money with it too!"

I shake my head: "I don't think that it's the right thing to do."

"Why not?" He looks surprised.

A colourful memory comes back to me, one from very long ago, when I was still a child. I was playing in the green grass of my grandmother's garden. In both the bright yellow of the sun and the shade of an old tree from which the pink leaves almost seemed to glow.

That day so many years ago I told her my dream, the one I still hold to this day.

"That is such a wonderful dream, don't ever give up on it okay?" My grandmother told me after listening to it. I was so happy to hear those words, she wanted me to achieve that dream.

"So, why haven't you sold it yet?" My colleague asks again, taking me out of the blissful memory.

I shrug.

He continues: "If you do, you don't ever have to complain about it anymore. Life is so much lighter and happier without it."

"I know, I know... Live in the moment, right?"

He nods proudly: "I knew you would come to understand it."

The bell buzzes, letting us know that it's time to go back to work.

Back in my spot I think back about the conversation, should I do it? Should I not do it?

Honestly the dream hurts, I'm far from the place where I truly want to be.

As I get back to my apartment I find a bill lying on the floor by the door.

Damn, I guess I'll be losing a big chunk of my loan again.

Hesitantly I open the letter and look pained towards the many numbers.

Will I have enough to escape during the holiday? Or not?

I let out a long sigh and head to bed.

Closing my eyes I only find nightmares to haunt me, to taunt me.

This dream of mine is really that bothersome... isn't it?

After another day of work I feel more and more overwhelmed. Should I make the appointment? Would that bring happiness in my life?

It takes a while before I finally decide to go through with it...

"Please." The doctor gestures towards the bed and I lie down on it.

He notices that I'm a bit hesitant: "Don't worry, you will only come out a better person." He tells me in his kind voice.

I nod in response and the doctor pushes the bed with me on it into the machine.

There really is no going back now.

By the memory of my grandmother's words I start to quietly sob.

I'm sorry grandma, I'm really sorry, but I can't live with such an unachievable dream. Only to see others that have already achieved and others that already live that life that I want. It's better for me to leave it behind, to burn it, to let it be eaten by the flames. To leave it for another with a better chance.

The following years I work hard, get promoted multiple times and climb into the highest ranks. It's not because I want to go there, it's just because I don't care. Once you do something good enough you get faster at it too.

A colourful scene appears before me once again, it has been so long and yet in a way it also seems to have the same dull and grey look as the rest of the world.

Do I remember it correctly?

This is what I originally wanted, right?

Why do I feel so empty?

I've achieved that what I once dreamed of.

Oh, right... It's because I sold it... right?

I don't dream of this anymore, so it's simply useless.

It doesn't bring me happiness.

It doesn't bring me joy.

Because I left it behind.

I left it for another. Something better with quicker satisfaction.

Why did I even decide to sell it in the first place?

I feel strange.

Is that the feeling of regret?

This thick, slowly slithering snake, showing me the emptiness of my heart.

Was it really just a dream that I sold? Or was it more than that?

Was the money that I received from it really worth it?

The puddle

A short horror story I just finished writing:)

Word count: 469

While waiting outside, I spot something strange.

A puddle lighted by a street lantern moving in a rather strange manner.

It doesn’t take long for me to notice that it’s probably just the wind playing with it, just as the wind is playing with my hair.

Blowing it in and out of my face continuously, almost like a small child that just got its hands on a new toy. Tirelessly as if to signal that it will never bore.

Again my gaze wanders back to the puddle.

It ripples in a strange manner, almost as if something alive is in it.

But I know for certain that it can’t be anything, since it should be as shallow as any other small puddle on the neatly tiled streets.

Perhaps an inch deep at most, but most likely even more shallow.

The water starts to move around quicker and more wild, making me almost believe there to be a fish flopping about.

Perhaps it is a bird, who knows.

As I start to feel the slightest bit of guilt, of possibly letting some small animal die, I get up.

I slowly stand up from the cold bench and walk over to it… slowly… very slow.

Now the water seems to almost be dancing, dancing inside the small puddle.

Up and down it goes, now I’m sure the wind doesn’t have the power to do something like that.

As I gaze into the dark puddle, I can’t seem to find the bottom of it.

Is it just too dark outside already for me to spot this?

No, I can see inside the other puddles perfectly fine, the many lines of them neatly in rows.

Before I know it the darkness inside it seems to grow, the puddle has gotten larger and larger..

It can’t be!

I try to take a step back, but it’s as if the puddle itself has taken me within its cold gaze, staring back into my very core.

Nothing I can do about it, I stare back, into the cold wetness of its never-ending insides.

Something deep and dark is within it.

Would I seem possessed to those around me?

Well, I’m sure I’m alone though. It’s too late for someone to see me, for someone to stop this staring contest.

The water has calmed down again, as if seeing me has made it sink deep into thought.

Calmly it ripples again at the rules of the wind.

Then rapidly something comes out of the puddle.

An arm.

A human arm.

Grasping in the air for some unknown reason.

Perhaps for help.

Without thought or perhaps still possessed by the water I take it, trying to take it out of there.

It’s coldness seeps deep into my body as it grabs my arm with full strength.

For a moment nothing else happens, just me staring at the body part clenching me.

With a quick yank it suddenly pulls me closer.

Closer and closer.

Until I too am taken into the darkness of the puddle

The library

Books are scary...

A story I wrote about someone stuck in a strange library.

TW: Psychological horror, gore

Only darkness.

No memories.

No thoughts.

No feelings.

No 'me'.

All of a sudden a bright light fills the place.

It is so bright that I can't see anything.

I?

Me?

As my eyes adjust to the light, I notice that I am in a library.

It is not a normal library, the bookcases look like trees, with their branches reaching far up.

Their leaves, all different, give the room a dreamlike feeling.

The roots which are growing all over the floor are connecting all the trees together.

The floor where I awoke is covered in a beautiful mosaic.

The light is coming from two big windows with stained glass, one above me and the other on the wall I'm facing.

It is not like how it is in a church, the stained glass is in much more colors and the image is something I can't really understand

It looks really vague, but maybe that was the intention.

Carefully I stand up and walk towards the nearest bookcase.

There are many, many books.

None of them seem to be sorted in any way, the genres couldn't be any more different and none of them are in alphabetical order. Not the titles or the writers.

It's a bit of a mess honestly, some of the books aren't even placed properly on the shelves.

As I walk around the room, I notice that there are no doors present.

How did I even get here?

I have no bruises or wounds and I don't remember being kidnapped, so that probably isn't it.

But neither do I remember coming here out of free-will...

I should investigate more.

As I look around I notice one other strange thing, it's one of the bookcases.

Just like the others it looks like a tree, but it looks like it has been dead for a long time. There are no leaves on the finger-like branches and it almost looks like it has been burned.

Still it is connected to all the others by the roots.

When I take a step closer, I can unexpectedly feel something...

Something bad.

An emotion?

A memory?

I don't know, but for now I shall leave it be.

I walk to another bookcase, this one has many children's books.

From bedtime stories, to those of wild adventures.

From fairytales to informative books.

And then there are the books without an author.

Carefully I take one out.

It is heavy and rather dusty, so I clean it off and open it with care.

It is someone's childhood.

Mine maybe, but it could also be someone else's.

I just don't know.

The pages are filled, everything is written to the furthest detail.

Every day, what happened, what they ate, people they met.

As careful as I took it out, I place it back in the bookcase.

I take out another, but similar book, again it is about the same child. Most of the other characters in it seemed to be the same as in the last book.

I can see now, why there are this many books, they must all be about this person's life.

So all these books are sorted! Not by genre or writer, but by date!

Quite proud of myself for figuring that out all by myself I continue on to another bookcase.

In it are a lot of schoolbooks and a couple of story books, these don't look as much for children as the previous. Most of them are too difficult or scary.

And again I open a random book from the ones without an author.

It is about a teenager, I think this might have been the child from the other bookcase before.

The same as before, everything is written to the finest detail.

The places they went to and the lessons they learned.

The bookcase after is about an adult, whom most likely has been the child and the teenager at some point.

This is by far the one with the most books, they must have enjoyed reading very much.

Same as before, the authorless book I take of a shelf is written into the smallest details.

About where they traveled to where they bought a house.

About losses and new lives.

I truly wonder who could have written these and all I am left with is the ability to wonder about who all these people are or were.

Although all of this is quite nice to read, my curiosity grows towards the 'dead' bookcase.

It has started making noises.

Scratching.

And something like speech.

I can't understand it though, it is all too muffled.

Quietly I walk towards the tree, step by step I get closer.

When I am close enough, I can see that none of these books have an author.

As I stand close enough, the sounds suddenly come to a halt and I place my hand on one of the books to take it out.

Slowly and with as much care as the others I take it from the dead tree.

This book is different from the rest, it is way heavier than it looks and the cover has been all scratched up. I am not sure if it was done with a knife or fingernails.

Or maybe it could have been teeth?

Vigilant of anything I can think of, I open the book.

As soon as I do, the scratching starts again and the muffled noises sound more like screams.

In this book are bad memories.

Fear.

Discomfort.

Sadness

Jealousy.

Pain.

Hate.

The handwriting in this book is terrible, more like someone scratched it in.

As I try to read what the words say, the tree starts to shake.

Quickly I take a few steps back.

Veins start to appear in the tree, filled with a strange growing color.

The roots of the other connected trees start to die, causing them to all drop their leaves.

Before they hit the ground they turn red and then turn into blood as they fall, splashing and making the mosaic disappear underneath the dark liquid.

Suddenly the first bookcase catches fire, burning all books with it in an instant.

Then burns the second and after that the third.

Before I can do anything, all the bookcases have been burned to ashes.

The blood washes over them, making even the last bits disappear.

All the books are gone and now I am only left with the dead tree.

The roots grow rapidly and start to cover the windows, until I am back in complete darkness again.

Only this time with all the awful memories.

The walls are bleeding

My most recent short horror story.

Word count: 724

Trigger warning: Blood (who would have guessed)

It was just half an hour when it happened.

I had come to the decision that my house was in need of a rather intense cleanup.

Starting with the living room, I took out all the junk and other stuff and then started cleaning.

I glanced at the wallpaper, pained by how ugly it truly is without any of my stuff cluttering around it. This wallpaper had belonged to the previous owners, it hasn't been too long ago since I had moved in and I hadn't really taken the time to change it.

So what's a better time than now?

I walked towards one of the walls that was facing away from the windows, took a chair to stand on and placed my fingers over the paper's exterior.

It was a strange sensation, is this really paper? I thought to myself.

I hesitated.

Lowering my hands again and just stared for a moment.

Then other thoughts started to convince me to continue: This must be some kind of fancy wallpaper I don't know about. Fancy, but ugly, that explains the texture. I should remove it.

No, it needs to be removed!

Again I raised my hands and started by putting my fingers in between the wall and the wall at a place where it was already slightly loose.

Suddenly I noticed that I was touching something wet and sticky. Something of which I was certain that it couldn't be glue.

I swiftly retrieved my hand only to find the tips of my fingers to be soaked crimson red.

There's no doubt about it...

It's blood.

I immediately got down from the chair and ran towards the phone.

I need to call the police! Was the only thought running through my head.

Dialling the number, it luckily didn't take long for someone to pick up. I told them about the situation and that it was making me fear for my safety. I was told to wait by the door and open it for them.

A little later the doorbell finally rang, I felt a bit underwhelmed when I saw that they had sent just a single officer to check in on me.

Had they thought me mad?

"Good morning sir, Please show me what you found." He greeted me.

I took the man into my living room and showed him the spot.

"Good God..." He murmured.

He reached for his walkie-talkie and pressed a button.

"This is officer Green... Send to the bleeding house alert. I'm in need of backup. Over."

Some white noise left the small object, but nothing audible.

"This is officer Green. Does anyone copy. Over." He seemed to be slightly panicking.

Drip...

Drip...

I heard something coming down from upstairs and it didn't sound very good.

"Sir, I got to check something real quick." I said to the officer, though I don't believe he heard me at all. He seemed to be caught up in the buzzing of his communication device.

I ran up the stairs.

The dripping seemed to come from the bathroom.

Opening the door I found something horrifying.

Instead of water, blood was dripping out of the faucet.

Slowly filling up the tub with the dark coloured liquid.

I tried closing the faucet, but it only got worse.

Blood started pouring out.

I left again quickly, closing the door thoroughly behind me, trying to forget about what I had just seen and proceeded to my bedroom.

This wasn't in any way better.

I felt cold when I stepped into a lukewarm puddle of the sticky substance.

It was coming down from the walls, dripping, colouring and messing with all the furniture in it.

Entering the small hallway again, the walls had taken a colour of dark red as well.

Careful not to slip, I made my way back downstairs again.

"Sir, have you reached your colleagues yet?" I frantically ask the officer standing facing the wall quietly.

Something is wrong though.

Something about him seems so much different than how he was before.

The air around him...

In his hands he's holding a big piece of wallpaper and he's covered in blood.

Without looking my way, he starts talking.

"Perhaps this is its way of cleansing itself."

His voice sounds different too.

"What the hell do you mean?!"

"Usually when a wound is bleeding, it is in a way cleaning itself. The bigger the wound, the less chance of infection. The dirt will be washed away by the blood itself."

I feel anger and panic boiling up in my body: "Are you trying to say that I'm the cause of this?!"

For a moment there's silence, but then he shrugs.

"Nah, I wouldn't know that."

Cursed town

I've been pretty busy lately, so here a post showing that I'm still alive:)

It's a story I wrote a while back, but I hope it's still enjoyable.

Word count: 1745

TW: zombies

Am I cursed or did I become the curse?

I do not know the answer to that question that has been lingering in my mind, keeping me awake during my darkest moments.

Why did it even happen? Why me?

I probably don't make any sense to you, but I will try to help you understand.

Where do I begin?

Hmmmm....

Probably at the beginning, but where is it...

Ah, I will tell you about my village's famous cave.

The cave that gives this small town most of its money, by being a tourist spot.

It is not that well known, but for the real seekers it is here.

And it so happens that there are still quite a lot of those real seekers.

During summer almost everyone you will see here is a tourist, well also because there aren't that many locals.

I can't really call myself a local either, I moved here when I had just finished school.

I actually come from a city about 2 hours away by car.

I really miss that time, the time when I still had my freedom and strong will.

When I still had the feeling of adventure in me.

I'm not sure when it all started to change, but if I had to guess just the moving part was already a grave mistake.

I regret it, I really do.

Every night I keep wondering 'What if...', but that is even more useless.

Well continuing with my story, the cave is most famous for its beautiful system and mystic history.

It is said that it used to be home to a sorcerer. One very powerful and whom met an unfortunate end.

He was said to have been killed in his own home in a very strange manner.

No one knows why or how, but it certainly did happen.

Not just the archaeological findings show it, but I know it.

I have in fact seen him and have had a conversation with him.

Now I do have a clue about what happened.

J-just stop it and listen, for now this is what it is.

I'm telling you all this for a reason, so please just bear with me.

Okay, so when I moved here, not everything was this bad yet.

When I moved here, with my naivete, I thought it would be the place of my dreams.

That is what it was in the beginning, but after a while it became a living nightmare.

I bought my first house here.

I learned how to drive here.

There are just so many memories here.

I befriended the locals rather quickly, thanks to my appreciation of culture and history.

It was of course an old town and most of the people who live... sorry I mean lived here where the elderly.

I always loved to listen to their stories.

But unfortunately,

that is all lost now.

Again I really don't know everything that happened, but from what I gathered: People have been getting more and more annoyed about me. For my city attitude, like locking my doors in a safe town or my friends from out of town staying over.

At least, thats what I think happened...

All this they never told me, building up their irritation. Making it way worse than everything actually was.

Then one day they decided that it was enough, and basically went on a manhunt for me.

All of this was rather bizarre, I did not expect it at all. It was almost like they were possessed, like they thought I was the devil himself.

Their anger poured down on me like a heavy storm.

There was more anger, that didn't all have to do with me. They seemed to have combined everything and pushed it onto me.

I had to flee.

I ran for my life and tried to leave town.

I couldn't get through any of the entrances of the town, there were people looking for me everywhere.

So I hid in the caves, in the hope that they would stop their searching.

I locked myself into what used to be the sorcerer's home and hid in a dark corner.

After just a few minutes they found out where I was and were trying to break down the door.

Panicking, I looked around the room to find a better hiding spot.

Then through the banging of the door I heard a voice behind me.

"Here... over here... You can hide... You can be save."

At first I didn't see it, the sound came from a small butterfly sitting on the carpet.

Without thinking I removed the old carpet to find a secret well-hidden hatch.

Quickly I went in making sure they couldn't see that the carpet had been moved.

As I went into the dark and dusty room, I could hear some of my former friends and neighbors burst into the room.

I could hear them stomp on the floor, looking frantically for me. Breaking part of their precious museum.

Were they still them? I wondered leaning against the cold wall's and unknown objects that filled the room.

The air in that room was different, how long had it been since someone last had been there?

Could it have been years or even centuries?

But how? This room wasn't even so hard to find?

I sat down when I heard them leave the room upstairs. Quietly, so I wouldn't alert them.

After a while I suddenly heard the voice again, speaking softly: "Are you okay?" asking with the much needed kindness in his voice.

I shook my head and buried it in my hands.

"We are alike." It continued.

I whispered a thank you, feeling warm tears gently roll down my face.

All of the things that happened have just been too much for one day.

We remained silent for a while, until I felt a little better: "Are you the sorcerer?"

A cold breeze blew in my face.

"I have never been a sorcerer." The voice answered.

"Sorry, that is the only thing I ever hear about this place. If I may, why are you still here?"

"I can't leave until my job here is done, until I have helped someone like me... I have waited for so long."

Unsure of what to say I decided to remain quiet.

"The villagers can make you disappear, you know. They do that to most outsiders that end up staying too long."

I just nod.

"Do you want to end up like that?"

"No, preferably not."

"All right, then I will help you."

I could feel a cold hand touch mine and then I never heard the voice again.

Softly I called out for him, but he never answered again.

By the time that I decided to leave, it had gotten so cold and quiet. I couldn't hear anything from outside anymore.

The commotion outside had completely stopped, but it got strange when I finally got outside I couldn't even hear the birds.

So carefully I went and as quiet as a mouse I slipped out of the cave.

It had already gotten dark outside.

The wind blew in my face, still a bit warm for the beginning of autumn.

For the first time that day I felt pretty good, now I can finally leave this terrible place.

But of course all that hope was short lived.

I couldn't leave town.

No matter how hard I dried.

It was as if someone had built an invisible wall around the whole thing.

And since then... I am still stuck here.

After a while of trying until I was too tired I gave up.

But the weird thing was, that no one tried to hunt me down again.

Had they given up too?

When I had gathered up some energy, I decided to see what was going on.

I was even more surprised when I finally noticed that no one moved anymore.

All of them just stood, like they were frozen in time.

Like a bunch of dolls left after a child had to do something else or got bored.

On closer inspection, I found out that they did all still breathe, but there was something strange with their eyes.

All of them had these strange green-colored eyes.

Since I wasn't sure if they could wake up I hid myself in the library until the morning came.

I woke up the next morning from the sun, there still wasn't any noise outside and when I checked all the townspeople all still stood where I had left them the previous night.

I have never been more confused and it was worrying me, I was not like them and did not wish for them to die. Even if they did want me to.

Worried I went by them all, they were all covered in morning dew and ice cold, but still breathing and their hearts still beat.

The first thing I did after was to return to the library, but the search was fruitless. There aren't many books about the history of the town nor this thing I decided to call a curse.

Not only did the library's books have little to say, the internet was down too.

So I am stuck with no way of contacting the outside world.

Outside I tried to talk to one of them.

I asked what he was doing.

No answer.

I asked if this was some kind of joke.

No answer.

I asked if I could do something for him.

Again no answer.

Stressed out and angry at the man ignoring me I yelled at him.

I begged him to please just do something, to show that he was still alive.

He moved his head.

That's all.

He had moved it to look in my direction.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I wasn't sure if I had imagined it so I asked him if he could point to the nearest building.

He did.

Although it was a bit robotic and obviously lacking humanity and individuality.

Then I asked him to go back to his house.

And again he did, meanwhile I followed him.

When we arrived he just stood in front of the door.

It was like one of those old zombie stories, they did nothing if I didn't tell me to do something.

All of this was very shocking to me.

Suddenly I had all this responsibility.

Suddenly I had to care for an entire town in which I actually really didn't want to be.

Stuck with them.

Stuck with a bunch of brain dead corpses.

I used to have hope for them, but little by little I lost that.

Days went by, where I tried to keep them all alive and well. Telling them everything they needed to do in order to stay alive.

But today someone still died.

I wonder if there will be a day when I have to bury more than one.

When I have to bury the rest of town, while I will be left all alone.

I guess that when you curse someone, you mostly have to live with the pain yourself of having done something as terrible as that.

Now, have you written it all down? All that I have told you? Then people might find this message and know what happened.

Just nod if you did.

Do you remember?

I hope you all had a great christmas!!

Here is another short horror story I wrote recently, that I thought to be fitting:)

Word count: 362

TW: horror

Do you remember?

The falling snow?

The warmth of the fire?

The kind smile on your mother's face?

That day we met... do you remember?

That day, many, many years ago.

When you came by and we became fast friends.

You were so kind.

I didn't have any friends, but you wanted to be mine.

I have always really appreciated that from you...

Your kindness.

Your openness to whomever, whatever...

Remember when we first played outside together?

The crunching of freshly fallen snow underneath our feet.

The woods surrounding your house, slowly getting darker and darker.

That day we completely lost track of time.

That day was truly amazing.

Remember that day when there was a snowstorm outside?

We couldn't play outside, so we sat by the warm fire in the living room.

We played with your toys and told each other stories.

I still remember all of them.

Do you?

Do you remember our first sleepover?

We talked and talked, until your mother came to your room, telling us to be quiet.

At night it would start storming and you tried to keep me from getting scared.

So warm, so gentle.

But now... you've changed.

You've... gone cold in a way.

Still breathing, yes, but you feel like a colder person now.

Do you even remember who you used to be? What you used to be like?

Has it really been that long?

Is there something I should remember?

When you just looked at me, you made a face like you were looking at vermin.

Remember the crunching of snow, remember the crackling of the fire, remember our laughter from those many, many days gone by.

I guess it's time.

Nothing else to be done other than this.

If I leave you like this...

You're going to be wasting away.

You're going to rot.

You're going bad.

You'll be spoiled before long.

I guess to you I might not even be vermin, I honestly think more that you might see me as a monster.

I'm different from you.

I scare you.

I scared your family.

Well I might be truly a monster to your kind.

Hiding in the shadows.

Eating creatures that are still alive.

Drinking their blood.

Most of your kind don't do that... right?

Or perhaps they do in some other way?

Do you remember?

Because I don't.

My head is too busy thinking.

Thinking about how I will stop playing with my food.

Yes, you guessed right.

You are.

Because if I don't... you'll expire.

Seashell

Here's the most recent short horror story I wrote:)

Word count: 772

TW: Gore

Many years ago the harsh summer heat had killed most of the crops needed to feed a small town.

All were coloured brown and mushy even before being picked.

Autumn was quickly approaching and the people had to come up with a solution in order to save up enough to be able to live through the soon to arrive winter.

The town had gathered to speak of the matter and to find a possible solution.

"Maybe we should ask the other towns for help." One of the men offered.

"No, their crops have all perished as well. If not they must have the devil in their grounds." Another shouted, refuting the other.

Idea after idea was being turned down with refutes like 'too dangerous' or 'against all that is holy' or 'just plain stupid'.

This conversation that existed mostly of panicked yelling continued on for a bit, almost turning into a fight.

"Maybe we should try the sea?" A young child offered, it was a wonder that they were even heard. Their tiny voice was so soft, yet somehow still being audible to the people.

The room turned silent.

Perhaps it was the idea itself that had spoken the loudest, attracting everyone's attention.

The town usually fished during winter, but perhaps this was their only option right now.

Without food, they just wouldn't last.

And thus the decision was made.

All the capable men of the village would be sent out with the few ships they had, one to fish and another to travel further.

It didn't take long before departure.

Women and children stayed behind and wished the travellers 'See you soon'.

One of the families that was split that day was that of the shoemakers. The husband and oldest son went on the ship, while the wife and four other children stayed behind in the village.

The oldest son was about fourteen, back then seen almost as a grown-up and had to help at the ship like everyone else.

Their ship was the one traveling further.

At first all seemed to be going well.

For food they fished and in their first catch, the shoemaker found a beautiful seashell. He immediately knew that he wanted to give it to his wife when he would return, so he hid it in his pockets.

A couple of days went by and then it all went wrong.

A storm had caught the ship and its crew before they could flee.

Waves as high as castle towers threw themselves at the ship, causing the ship to make an eerie hollow sound at first and then the sound of something breaking could be heard.

One wave after another crashed the ship further, making it move sideways, causing the big wooden construct to lie down in the water.

The panicking crew ran around, tumbling, screaming.

The shoemaker dropped the shell he had found and tried to jump after it.

Just in time he caught it from falling off, but a piece of splintered wood impaled him and dragged him into the hungry ocean.

He was not the only one to succumb to this fate.

On the golden beach the shoemaker's wife looked towards the dark clouds in the distance.

Are they okay? She wondered, would the crew come back all right with a solution for the winter?

The woman stopped walking, while the wind gently blew her hair and skirt into a dance.

She bowed down, something in the cold, wet sand had taken her attention.

Something stuck out.

It was a beautiful seashell, one foreign to the village people.

It glistened welcoming in the sunlight, its smooth service almost seemed to reflect herself back to her like a mirror would.

There was just something soothing about the object lying before her.

The woman reached down for the shell and felt the cold touch her fingers, she was going to take this with her.

Would the sea take it back if she didn't take it?

Or would another be captured by its beauty and take it with them?

The shell had appeared before her and only her, so it's hers now.

Arriving back home she placed it above the fireplace in the living room.

As she put it down, she heard something strange.

Was it the rain?

She quickly glanced outside to the darker growing sky, yet no drop of water had shown itself.

Was that the sound of wood breaking?

The woman looked around, but found nothing breaking. Neither by child nor wind.

The dark clouds started to swallow the land.

The woman picked the shell up again.

The shell was making the sounds.

She held it next to her ear.

At first she heard nothing.

But then she heard the voice of her husband.

"Dearest, the ship went down." He spoke as if he was in the freezing cold.

"Our son is still at sea."

"If not saved quickly, he too will join the rest of us."

The diver

Another short horror story I wrote.

Word count: 2339

"Are you ready?" Bob asks us in an excited tone.

I nod anxiously, but in truth that simple action is an enormous lie.

We have never been this deep before, no one has and the things we might come across at the bottom is a mystery to us.

Still, we have been training for this for months now. I should stop worrying and just dive down with my team.

Our heavy diving equipment gets their finishing touches and we are ready to go.

"Alright, you guys know what to do if something goes wrong, right?" James asks us.

"Yes." I answer, just nodding won't do it now. They won't be able to notice it with my helmet on.

The others let him know they know as well, it's just pressing the red button after all. Then James and the rest of the crew, still above water, will get us out.

If something does go wrong however, it will take a while for us to get back.

But I don't want to think too much about it.

With a loud splash my group and I jump into the water, slowly they let us down with the ropes attached to us.

I peer out of the small window in my helmet, watching everything slowly growing darker and darker the deeper I go.

Fishes rush away from me, while the seemingly unending plant greets me to come further down.

"Liam, You good?" Bob asks me.

"Yes, I'm okay. You?"

"That's good to hear. I really wonder what we will find down there." Bob still sounds as excited as before. Really that man knows no fear.

As it gets darker, we turn on our lights. But even so, there isn't much we can see except for each other.

Finally my feet touch the ground and we decide to look around to put everything we see on film.

We fasten the ropes to some rocks that seem sturdy enough, our suits are made especially for us to spend longer underwater.

Not only has it gotten darker, it has gotten much colder as well.

"Guys, you should come see this." I hear Kimberly say through the radio.

"What is it?" Asks Kyle, while walking towards her. I carefully follow them.

Finally I see what Kimberly wanted to show us.

It's a building.

A building made of old bricks, taken over by nature, but still standing in great condition.

A building underwater.

Unfortunately it's too dark to make out what kind of building it might have been.

"This is so strange, the robots we sent before didn't show anything like this." Kimberly says, astonished.

"They could have missed it, but I guess we have to call for archeologists now before we can continue." Kyle sighs.

"It shouldn't be a problem as long as we don't enter it." Bob suggests.

As we make our way around it, I take notice of the fact that there seems to be no fishes down here. Only plants.

"Hey, did you hear that?" Kyle suddenly asks, clearly afraid of something.

Bob looks around: "No, I didn't hear anything." If it wasn't for his heavy suit he would have probably visibly shrugged.

Quietly we move our flashlights around to see whatever Kyle could have heard.

"Where did it come from?" Kimberly asks.

"I-I think it might have come from the building."

"Ah, not used to the sounds of old buildings underwater yet?" Bob shares, but gets no answer except an annoyed silence from Kyle.

I look around further, letting the light of my flashlight slowly pass over all my surroundings.

There are more buildings.

A lot more.

And on the ground.... This almost looks like an asphalt road... like one used nowadays.

I call the others over to inspect it.

"Creepy... it looks just like above.... But wrong." Kimberly says reluctantly to go further.

"Yeah, I think we should go back." Kyle agrees, not trying to hide his fear anymore.

Something is wrong.

Not just this place.

But where the hell did Bob go?!

I look around.

The other two seem to have noticed as well: "Did you think he went inside one of the buildings?"

"Goddammit! We can't just leave without him. If he is just pranking us, I will-"

"He is not that kind of person." I answer quickly, I've known Bob for a while now. He might like to joke around sometimes, but this is beyond him. Something must have happened!

We search for our lost friend and call out to him, but no matter how well we look, he just doesn't seem to be around.

"Alright, I'm pressing the button." Kyle says, already holding the thing in his hand.

Kimberly agrees: "Yes, I will try to get in touch with the ship."

Then I can suddenly hear Kimberly saying in a panicking tone: "Guys... I can't contact them."

Kyle starts to panic as well: "FUCK, I knew this was a bad idea!"

I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel it as well, but there was something else that took my attention from the two.

I think I know this place...

These buildings... They are so familiar.

Carefully I walk towards one, the one that gives me this feeling the most and shine my flashlight just above the doors.

It's in a language I can read.

And it clearly reads 'Hospital'.

"Guys." I mumble to them, but they are too busy arguing.

A sudden idea enters my mind.

What if I enter? And go to the highest spot I can get... will I be able to get into contact with the others on the boat again?

I walk towards them: "Hey, I think we can still get help."

I explain my plan to them and at first they think it's ridiculous, but there isn't really any other option.

We have to enter.

The doors to the hospital are open, so getting in isn't difficult.

An eerie feeling creeps over me as I see the interior.

It looks just like the hospital I know, one I would rather not remember though.

"I think I know this place." I mumble to the others.

"You know this place? There is no way. This has been down here for god knows how long." Kyle answers me.

I turn towards him: "Couldn't you read the text above the door? Or really any of these nameplates?"

He looks at me confused: "Man, is your oxygen tank already malfunctioning?"

So they don't see it? But I can see it all so clearly.

"Liam, are you okay?" Kimberly asks.

"Yes, I'm fine."

I hate that they doubt me so much, but if I think about it, I would probably doubt me too.

Even so, I take the lead and thanks to me seeing the things they don't, find the stairs without problem.

It doesn't take long for us to reach the second floor.

"Bob?" Kyle suddenly asks.

"Wait, did you hear him?" Kimberly looks around.

"I'm sure of it. I heard him over there!"

Before we can stop him he walks towards where only he heard it come from.

"Kyle, did you hear his radio? Or his voice?" I ask, but receive no answer in return.

We follow him quickly.

Kimberly stops for a second to check if she can contact James again, but seemingly to no avail, as she continues on soon after.

As I turn back to look where Kyle went, I don't see him anymore.

"Kyle?" I call out to him.

"Shit, did he leave without us?"

We run towards the place we had last seen him, but it doesn't matter how many doors we open.

He is not there.

"Bob! Kyle! Where are you two?!" Kimberly yells.

"I think we should go further to let the others know." I tell her as we have searched the entire floor.

She sighs, but follows me back up the stairs.

We skip the next floor, since this door does seem to be locked.

I wonder how many floors this building has...

"Hey, Liam... I think I smell something..."

"What?"

"It smells like blood."

"We are really deep underwater right now... how come? Did you get wounded somehow?"

"No, I'm fine." She mumbles as I check for blood.

This is so strange... Kimberly smells things here, Kyle heard things here and I see everything different from them... just why? Are we all going crazy?

"Let's skip this floor then... it might be something dangerous."

"No, Kyle and Ben might be in danger! We have to find them." Before she can run ahead of me I stop her.

"Alright, but I will go first. Otherwise we will lose each other as well."

Luckily she seems to agree and we walk to the place where she smells blood.

"It's here." She whispers as we stand by the door.

"Alright."

Carefully I open the door and shine my light inside the dark room.

"Bob? I-Is that you?" I ask the man sitting slumped over on a chair, wearing a familiar diving suit.

"Liam..." Kimberly tries, but I ignore her and step into the room.

"Hey, wake up. We gotta go!"

I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a hard shake.

His head slowly rolls off and falls onto the ground, leaving me in a dark cloud of red mist.

"Liam!" Kimberly yells, but I can't locate her.

Blindly I stumble around, until I can clearly hear something break from beneath me.

I curse loudly, as I can feel something stab me and fall down.

I fall pretty fast, but water is still water, so it's at least a little bit slower. Yet not slow enough to fall multiple floors down.

As I finally stop falling, I open my eyes, cursing the fact that I'm still alive and that this isn't some terrible nightmare.

This place is awfully dark, just like the rest of the bottom.

It luckily doesn't take long for me to find my flashlight.

"Hey Kimberly! I'm okay!" I yell at what I think is above.

I shine my flashlight around me, is this... a morgue?

It sure looks like one.

Did I fall into the basement?

And are the floors that weak?

Then I hear a noise.

Something behind the table.

For a moment I hold my breath, something is there. I know it and it might be dangerous.

In the dark I hear the moving of a creature.

Quickly I shine my flashlight towards it.

It feels long that I'm standing here, it's slowly getting colder.

The creature seems to have stood still for a while, but then it moves into the light.

Out of the darkness appears a young boy, about ten years or so, teddy bear in his arms.

No diving suit, nothing that could help him breathe. He slowly walks towards me, not even swimming as if there is no water here at all.

But even stranger than all that is... I know him.

I know him.

Why? From all the people that it could have been... Why does it have to be him?

Carefully I take a step back.

"But... you're not here anymore..." I utter.

The child before me takes another step closer to me and I another back.

"Are you scared of me?" He asks in a rather sad tone, somehow also sounding as if we are above water. The expression on his face is one of deep sorrow.

"Y-yes." I answer honestly, but my answer makes me feel guilty immediately.

I can't think straight anymore, am I really underwater? Or was that a dream?

Is that child before me really...?

No that can't be...

Ronan has died long ago, I know it, I was there when it happened.

I wonder what would have come from him had he survived.

Would he have been taller than me?

Would he have become the person he wanted to be?

"Is something wrong?" He asks, this time without getting closer.

Suddenly I feel a burning sensation on my lip, I must have been biting it and causing it to bleed.

Without thinking my hand goes up to my helmet, I want to loosen it.

"DON'T!" Ronan suddenly yells at me while rushing to me, trying to pull my hand down: "If you do that, you will certainly die!"

I push him away.

"Don't you even remember me?" He asks in tears.

"Of course I do, I'm sorry... just how...?"

"I can't answer everything, there is something here. A monster. And I need to save you." Ronan puts on a brave face.

I shake my head: "Why? Just why? How can I be certain that you will? For all I know, you might be the monster."

For a moment he looks down, but quickly he turns his face back to me again: "Because I promised I would protect you."

"When?"

"Always! Since you were a baby. I always said that I would protect my little brother!"

"But now you're-"

"Yes, I know! No need to remind me. I'm sorry I left so early, but even so, I never stopped caring for you or watching over you! You don't deserve to die down here!"

Before I know it my vision gets all blurry from my tears.

It's really him.

How could I forget that determination from him?

But with the good, the bad memories return too.

The reason why he went to this hospital.

"Liam, we need to hurry." Ronan pulls me back to the present.

"You're right."

"Please take this." He says as he hands me his teddy bear.

"Thanks... but why?"

"It was meant to be given by me on your birthday, but you know I couldn't."

I don't answer, I just can't.

"So... will you trust me now?"

"Yes." I whisper as he takes my hand.

.

.

.

A search has started for the missing group.

Even the police and the army have gotten involved now, searching desperately.

As the sky slowly turns dark, there is still no sign of the divers.

Despairingly James helps with the search, checking every second for one of the missing to send an SOS. But even the location sharing that should have worked just fine has stopped functioning.

Adding insult to injury, there even seems to be a storm approaching.

"Goddammit." James curses quietly, frantically looking for another way to be useful in helping.

As the first few drops of rain come down, they are still searching.

"You still haven't heard anything?" One of the officers asks James.

"No, I haven't. I just hope those guys down there are okay."

"They have been down there for more than six hours, right?" He asks: "Sorry to say this, but it would be a miracle-"

A loud beeping suddenly interrupts the officer.

James rushes towards the machine.

"We found them! Or at least one of them."

An hour later they pull out one of the men of the group.

They remove his helmet to see that even though he is wounded, he is still breathing.

Though there is something strange about him.

He is holding an old teddy bear in his arms.

Writing for the lost

A short horror story I wrote a while ago.

Word count: 2096

I've always wanted to be a writer.

I've always so desperately tried, to then always fail.

I've written stories about dragons, stories about strange civilizations, and yet it seems to be that all my hard work has been for naught.

I grasp to every chance to write something, be it a competition or just for others.

And I always end up getting hurt, again and again and again and again and again.

Perhaps they've been right all along, I just don't have any talent.

That my stories are mere imitations of the great ones.

Well, they might be, for all I know they might all be damned.

Perhaps it would be better to stop, to call it quits, but I can't.

I can't.

I just can't.

As the thing I've been working towards my entire life, I can't let it go now or I will really have lost.

I work jobs I don't like in order for me to be able to purchase the things to write and to give myself time to read.

But a masterpiece is something I will never be able to write.

I remember once entering a competition just to be told that my writing lacks emotion and originality. Well I've been told worse before.

But still, I try and try again.

Probably until I can't anymore.

Until even breathing is something too difficult.

Recently I moved to a new house, it's old.

It's also difficult to keep clean, but the rent is dirt cheap.

I might be able to stay here for longer than half a year, so I'm pretty happy with it.

Perhaps it's time to hire a maid, though I would need to work even harder to afford one... Yeah, I should just do it myself.

Even though this house is in a bad shape, it feels almost as if it has a soul.

Like the house is a whole character in itself.

In a way it makes me feel less lonely.

The paint is slowly peeling from the walls and not all the lights work, but in a way it speaks to me.

Like something I've long lost or have yet to gain.

In all truth, there is something amiss with this house, something strange, but I dare not call it wrong.

The first night I sat by my mattress on the floor and took out one of my old notebooks.

"Alright, I think I'm going to write now." I said to the house, I said to myself.

Speaking aloud is something I do often when I'm alone, so I did not expect a response.

"What will you be writing?" a voice echoed through the house, entering my bedroom.

I was quiet for a moment, listening to the suddenly eerie atmosphere that had entered the room.

After a long while I finally mustered the courage to answered: "A story"

"What is this story about?" The house asked.

"I-I don't know yet..." I whispered.

I could feel my hand holding the pen tremble, but I didn't dare to run away, I didn't even dare to look behind me.

"How about you write a story about me?" The voice asked slowly.

"I-I can do that, please t-tell me." I hated the fact that I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.

"Hmmm..." The voice seemed deep in thought: "How about we write it together?"

I could feel a cold hand touch my shoulder, to then enter my body.

It was truly a strange sensation, nothing I had ever felt before.

But I guess I can say, I got possessed.

When I came to, I had written almost an entire book, my hands covered in blisters were sore as can be and I felt like I had had the strangest dream.

I dreamed that I was someone else.

I dreamed of the feelings they felt.

I dreamed of the pain they had to have endured.

As I looked at the pages written in a handwriting that wasn't mine, I could remember the dream more vividly.

I looked up to find an almost transparent man before me.

"Not enough." He mumbled: "Not enough."

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.

"This is simply not enough..."

I let him think in silence for him, afraid of what would happen if I were to anger the spirit before me.

"It's not the whole story yet." He finally answered: "It has yet to be finished."

As I tried to get up, holding up my arms for him, wanting to tell him that he can try again, dark spots start appearing in my vision and before I know it I fall over.

"That must be the problem." I heard him say: "You are too weak."

The words sound harsh, but I also know that they spoke the truth.

I was weak... No I still am.

I can't do anything.

I have no talent for anything.

I am useless.

Somehow the ghost decided to take pity on me and sat next to me.

"You gotta eat something, my friend." He said in a kind voice.

I could feel an ice cold hand on my shoulder, so cold that it felt like it could freeze my body and turn it into solid ice.

Slowly I got up, my 'friend' following closely behind me, making sure I wouldn't fall over.

He helped me sit down at the table, where I reached for some of the fruit in the basket.

I took a bite and only then noticed that it had long spoiled, still I continued until I had finished it completely.

"What is it that made you so obsessive over writing a story?" My friend asked.

"Good writers live forever within their works, good writers never leave this earth."

"What caused you to think like that?"

"People disappear often, swiftly and without much noise. I don't want to go out like that."

My friend hesitated and then answered: "I see." I think he said it because he didn't want to invade my privacy.

"So, why do you want to have your story written?"

He shrugged: "I guess it's almost the same reason as for you to write. I don't want my story to disappear. I came to my end in a way I don't wish upon my most feared enemies."

"Why not find someone stronger and more talented than me?" I asked out of curiosity.

"You're the first."

Just what does he mean with that?

"The first that was able to allow me to write to speak out my anguish."

As I have regained some of my energy I carefully stand up, this time not falling over nor seeing dark spots cloud my vision.

"Alright, let's work together." I offered and my friend nodded in agreement.

Days went by in which I took better care of myself and had a moment in which my friend could take up my pen.

Day after day, more empty pages got filled with a story, the story of him.

As the final day grew closer, I could feel his frustration slowly ebb away.

Then it came.

It arrived much too early for my taste to be completely honest.

After all, I made a friend, a good one at that, someone that only I could hear and see, someone that told me different from my dark lingering thoughts.

"May I request something?" He asked kindly like always.

"But of course, anything that may be of help to you."

His face turned serious.

"I would like it if you were to publish this, under your own name."

Shocked, I looked at him: "But this is your story, yours and yours alone, you can't leave it to me! If you want it published so badly, I can bring it to a publisher and say that you, my friend, are the writer of this masterpiece."

He looked down.

"But you wrote it." He silently protested.

I immediately shook my head: "No, you did, you did it, you wrote the story of your life."

Then he slammed his fist on the table.

"Dammit! I want you to take it, you have been nothing but kind to me. I have worn you out to have my last wish be granted through you. Most people would run away if they ever were to even lay eyes upon me. You are the only one to understand me, so please... just listen to me."

Shocked by his sudden burst of anger and frustration, he reminds me that his last day is coming closer.

This time I look down: "Fine." I mumbled: "I will publish it under my name, but I will tell everyone that I wrote it with the help of a friend."

A sad smile crossed his face: "You better do."

And thus I went to the publisher the very next day.

It was one of those that had refused me before a couple of times, but this was the closest one to my house.

As I knocked on the door, I was greeted by the man that owned the company.

"What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?!" His voice was stern, perhaps angry even.

"I've come to show you something."

"Again?! You know I ain't reading anymore of that garbage that is written by you!"

"I wrote it with a friend."

"Oh, yeah, who ist?"

"He... he prefers to remain anonymous."

"Anonymous? Bah, the only thing I smell here is bullshit!"

"It's because it's his personal story."

A mailman walks by giving the owner a couple of letters.

At first I wasn't sure, but I noticed that one of them had something like 'EVICTION' written on it.

He then confirmed it to me.

"Look pal, there is no story big enough to save this company of mine. Rent is due and there are mouths to feed."

"Please..." I begged him: "Please just read, even if it's only the first page. No first half of the page is good enough."

He sighed.

"Fine then, but this is your last chance. If it's bad again, I will never allow you to enter this place anymore."

Thanking him, he let me inside.

Carefully I handed him my manuscript as he sat down on a chair.

"Half a page you said?"

"Yes." I nodded.

To my delight, as the owner started reading the story, he almost seemed to get absorbed in it.

He didn't read half a page at all like I had requested, page after page he read.

At some point I could see tears well up in his eyes, at another I could see the frustration in him like that of the protagonist of the story.

And then he closed the last page.

It had already gotten dark outside and he had read every word, not skipping anything.

With a satisfied sigh, he wiped his head and then looked at me.

"Well that certainly is how you do it, son."

I bowed and thanked him.

"I-it's truly almost something close to a miracle."

"Could you publish this for me?"

The man nodded: "Yes, yes. Of course."

It didn't take long before I could find my book in the local bookstores.

But I didn't take the time to celebrate this victory.

My best friend was gone after all, his place felt empty.

I couldn't care less about my income or the fact that I could finally live somewhere else that was cleaner or in better shape.

I visited his grave often, even talking to him, knowing full well he wasn't there to listen anymore.

Then one day another one came.

A spirit.

A lost soul.

Someone in need of my help.

Like before I wrote them a book, I wrote their story.

And in time they left me again too.

I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote and wrote.

Somehow in time I had become somewhat of a best-seller, people would even recognize me in the streets and ask me for an autograph. And I would always tell them that I never wrote a story alone.

I always told them that I shouldn't get all the praise.

Eventually I started noticing myself growing weak again.

Weaker than I had ever felt before.

Though some spirits would try to take care of me, I got sicker and sicker.

It wasn't something a doctor could cure.

It's my curse after all.

My curse is sucking away at my life force.

My unnatural talent is killing me!

Scared, I look up, dropping the pen from my trembling hands, spilling small drops of ink over the floor, my hands and on some of the pages.

"Are you okay?" The man, or rather ghost, before me looks worried.

"I...we..."

He looks down with eyes filled with regret: "Yes, you and I are the same. We both have the same curse, if you're not careful enough, death will come to get you earlier as well."

Iris Coldon

My most recent short horror story:)

Word count: 761

TW: psychological horror

From the moment I closed my eyes to the accident I had gotten myself into I knew that it would never be the same ever again.

Never would I have guessed though, that I would survive pretty much unharmed.

Well… that’s still a bit of an understatement.

My arms and legs work the way they’re supposed to.

But my mind… not so much anymore.

I’ve started to see things.

The world and the people have changed since the moment I woke up.

It’s almost as if I’ve entered another world entirely.

But I know better now… or at least I believe I do.

It’s the same world, I’m just wrong.

It has been told to me over and over and over again.

The world hasn’t changed, just the way I perceive it.

The memories from back then are still all so fresh in my mind.

The people who walk this earth have all become eerily distorted to me.

Mouths gaping, eyes bulging.

Some had been reduced to mere shadows, others to grotesque monsters.

The world around me, the city, has turned to look in a worse state than it actually is. Houses broken down, abandoned by humanity.

Then there are these things I see happen.

Accidents like the one I had been in and even worse.

And yet all of it only happened in my head.

Life after the accident had been terribly difficult, I had to stay in the hospital even though I believed whole-heartedly that I was fine.

Monsters in stained lab coats came in and out of the room instilling me with the worst of fears.

I was soon after placed in an asylum, due to not being able to take care of myself anymore.

That’s where I met her.

A young woman who worked there, her name, Iris, Iris Coldon.

The first time I met her I was quite shocked to see her and felt quite dizzy.

Unlike the rest of humanity, she still looks human.

She spoke to me softly and kindly, it was like… whenever I am around her the world turns to the way it is supposed to be.

No monsters.

No abandoned buildings.

No more horrible accidents.

When she went away again I had a hard time sleeping and felt terrible.

Why couldn’t she just stay here?

Why couldn’t I go with her?

I know, I know… It’s just… to suddenly be thrown back into the world I was slowly getting used to was just really difficult.

Luckily she came back again the next day and the day after that. Well many days, almost visiting me every day, I found it to be very difficult when she didn’t.

Quickly I found it difficult to focus, always reacting to every sound hoping that it was her. I couldn’t, still can’t, concentrate on what the fellow patients here are telling me.

Those monsters won’t understand me anyway.

Today I made a decision.

I am going to tell her that I love her.

Because that must be it… right?

I love her and that’s what makes the world normal again… right?

Carefully I listen to everything going on outside of my room.

A doctor shuffles past my room.

A couple of patients wander past my door.

And then finally I recognize her footsteps.

With the usual smile, Iris opens the door.

“Iris! G-good morning.” I start rambling.

“Good morning.” She answers without paying attention to my stuttering: “Everything alright in here?”

I nod and she gives me another bright smile.

I look down and start fidgeting: “Actually… I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” She asks, clearly interested in what I have to say.

Does she feel the same way about me?

For a moment I hesitate, but then gather my strength: “Iris… I… I think I like you. Like, like you… Love you.”

I’m too scared to look up at her.

I’m too scared of rejection.

For some strange reason she remains quiet.

Is she contemplating my confession?

I look up at her and smile worried: “Is something wrong?”

She smiles at me and I feel shadows returning to my world.

“Please don’t go!” I call out to her as I take her hand.

Somehow her hand feels strange.

Not warm, not cold either.

I can feel my body turn cold as I see her disappearing into thin air.

The hand in which I held her is now a small bottle.

For some reason I feel like she will never return to me again.

Dammit, there’s still so much I had wanted to ask her.

Before looking at it, I let the small bottle go from left to right in my hand.

Something feels terrible.

Then I finally decide to look at it.

It’s a bottle for medication.

The label says Cisordinol.

I stare vaguely at it for a moment, until the terrible truth finally hits me.

C I S O R D I N O L

I R I S C O L D O N