Haunted

I was sitting on the couch, the TV on but not watching anything. Alone and hushed. The stillness felt threatening enough to kill me, so I was frightened. Waiting. I am waiting for an insufferable, burning pain to shoot through my body from something unfamiliar inside me.

I can suddenly hear the quiet, tantalizing whispers in my head, beckoning me to do something I’ll regret. They’ll threaten to eradicate me if I don’t.

Looking outside the window next to the television set, I see the setting sun burn into black ashes, drowning me in its ugliness. Crows screech loudly, breaking my ears. A Savage God, who caused my pain and wickedness, stood outside my house, watching my slow distress.

I laugh humorlessly to myself. You can’t hurt me, I think, you’re so small an insignificant. No way. But the more I thought these words to reassure my sanity, and cruelly tell them off, I knew I was talking more to myself. They could overpower me at any moment. Any moment.

A loud buzzing sound traveled in my head, deafening the crows and the creaking, rotted wood inside my house.

I twisted my head around to look at the hallway behind the living room, listening for a heartbeat. Where were the people? The living? The sound? When did they leave? Nothing. There was nothing there. I am all alone except for Those inside me and the Ones in the cellar.

I turned back and picked up the phone. Had I paid the phone bills? The chattering and the flame-like laughter grew louder as I dialed the number of the priest. Oh how they loved to fool me. I stopped, and then began to scroll through the phonebook. There was no one listed. No one will come. I dialed a number –a number They recognized. I heard crashes of glass shattering all around me. My hair unnaturally flew up as a sharp knife flew past the back of my neck. They did this all the time, these tantrums. But they tried to minimize the breaking of my body for I was their possession. They couldn’t keep me when I am dead. So obviously they prevented me from suicide. I put the phone by my ear, uncaring of the situation all around me. No point in screaming. The first time it happened –the destruction of my property –the Ones in the cellar were pulling me into their sinful place called hell; neighbors (who have now moved away…I think) came in hearing me scream bloody murder. But everything that was broken was suddenly in order again. As if obliteration never occurred. People then called me crazy.

“Hello?” The bored voice was familiar. This policewoman had seen my phone number a hundred times before.

A sob was caught in my throat. I’d already tried begging the authorities to believe me, or even keep me in a mental facility. As long as I’m away from this house. They accepted me into Tulane Medical Center, treating me like a crazy when I absolutely knew I wasn’t. When the nurse left me in my new room, strapped down with Velcro Straps, They began to hurl and rupture everything in my hospital room. They caused needles to stab me mercilessly, continually. Nobody came until I shrieked out the word, “Devil”. All the doctors blamed me for the mess. Unbelievable. Of course I can almost see why. They had freed me from the Velcro, so all fingers had to point at me.

“Nothing,” I whispered into the phone, feeling the excruciating pain in my head. They were clawing inside my head, tearing me. I felt tears come out of me eyes, though I wasn’t voluntarily crying. It was my instinct to pain. Tears. I felt so weak.

Church. I could get help in a Church. I brushed away the idea. Last time, when I got close to a Church without even meaning to go in, they broke every bone in my body. I had to wait with a crumpled body on the dirt till morning, until someone saw me. There were several houses nearby, but they must not have heard my screams. When I later asked why nobody heard me, they all told me that since my neck was broken, my voice wasn’t able to be carried out. But I was so sure that I was yelling so loudly.

I lay down on the couch, pondering. I sighed. I’m not alone. They’re with me.

I fell asleep to their cackling laughter.


I wake up in my own bed, not remembering how I got there. A large mirror, cracked, and looked like a spider’s web, stood at the foot of my bed. I reluctantly pulled myself up to stare at my reflection, almost not wanting to see myself. They must’ve possessed me to keep it there; to mock me.

My face was pale and ashen, lips grey and broken. My once bright green eyes were now sunken in, with dark, bruise-like circles under them. I looked so malnourished –like a living skeleton. My beautiful thick red hair had been diminished to a thin, straggly dark-brown. I’m one of the living dead now.

I don’t think I remember the day when I was free from this curse. How old was I then? How old am I now? I don’t know.

I lay back down as the mirror fell with a loud crack.