Okay, so here it goes. I was fresh out of high school, and I just got my own place. So I needed stuff to put in my new apartment. I went to a local swap-meet to see what I could find. I see a computer for $120, fully working. MacBook at that. So I'm thinking, "Fuck yeah, buy this up." Not asking where the laptop came from I snatched it up. I got home and plugged it in, it awhile to start up. I thought it was just old. I look at the desktop and notice a file named, "Untitled document." I tried to delete it because I had no interest in it. I successfully removed it. I went to bed after that.
So now that I'm asleep, I hear noises from the room the computer's in. I wake up, walk over to the room and look inside. The computer is on and the document is open. I sit down and try to close it, the door shuts and I feel trapped in the chair. I began to read what the file said.
The year is 1981, right after my birthday party when I turned twenty-eight. It was a wet, cloudy morning when I got a phone call informing me I had been laid off from my job. I walked outside carefully stepping over the puddles of murky water making my way to get the morning paper from the end of my driveway. At that time I lived in a small town outside New York City. It was usually quiet around my street but today I noticed a lot of people a few houses down gathering around some thing in the street. I walked over to see what happened, still dodging the water puddles.
Someone was laying on the ground knocked out. He was still breathing, he looked like he had just been hit in the head or something. I asked if there was a fight, the lady next to me told me, “No, he was walking his dog and he just fell down.” Most people would say he fainted and go on living their lives after he woke up, but this is the third person this week who has fainted in front of that same house. I have never seen anyone walk in or out of that house, or even get close to it at all. While people were looking at the man on the ground, I stared at the house.
Inspecting its chipped paint and boarded up windows. The two story victorian house with brown dried up grass in the front and a cracked walkway always creeped me out.The few windows that were not boarded up with rotten wood were covered by torn sheets. Studying the house and its surroundings I looked at a window on the upper floor and noticed a face, with two beaming blue eyes staring dead into my soul. I quickly made my way back to my own home.
Sweating and shocked, I sat inside for a good hour thinking about the eyes. I began looking for jobs in the newspaper. While I was awake I made some phone calls and started researching the house. It was built by an old Irish man in the early 1900’s. Around 1903 from what the lady on the other side of the street claimed. It has been vacant for over twenty years now. I started to feel more and more worried as I kept on listening. The man next door brought over some pictures of himself and the former owner together right before he died.
They were good friends growing up. He told me the man was shot inside the master bedroom in 1958 by his own wife. I couldn’t hear anymore. I should have just forgotten the whole situation and continued on with my life. Something about this house hooked me though, I was interested in finding out what I saw. I told myself it was nothing, and I would go inside and make sure the next morning.
After I woke up I poured myself a cup of coffee and ate some eggs and toast. When I finished I made my way towards the house. The stairs going up to the door were old and termite-infested. I almost fell three times just walking up. The door was unlocked and the light in the front room was on, and flickering. I made my way around the bottom floor checking every room. The house was empty except for a few rocking chairs and a clay figure of a cat above the rustic fireplace.
I made my way up the stairs, they were dusty and loud. With every step it sounded as if a nuclear bomb was going off in my chest. My heart continued to pound as I made my way into the hallway upstairs. I could see into the bedroom at the end. The master bedroom was wide open with a rocking chair facing the window moving. I walked in slowly, an old man stood out of the chair and turned around. “Why are you in my home?” He asked, with a soft, caring voice. As if he was worried I was going to get in trouble. I didn’t say anything. I was in complete shock. I recognized him, It was the man from the picture. The one who died so many years ago. He walked over to me slowly, I tried to back up but the door closed behind me. He got close and put his hand on my forehead. Everything went black, I don’t remember anything after that moment of him lifting his arm.
It is now the year 2008, twenty-seven years after the incident. The doctors told me I was found in the sewers two weeks earlier. I was down there for years. I tried to explain what happened to me, but they looked at me like I was insane. They told me it was a dream and no such thing could have happen. I went back that same day to find the old house. Walking down the street I saw my house completely remodeled with a family out in front playing football. I then came up to the old house. It was gone though, it was a dirt lot now. No grass or path, not even a sign of the houses existence. One thing stood, the man in a rocking chair sitting in the very middle of the lot. I blacked out completely, the shock was overwhelming. The force that was pushed into my skull like a bullet was so unbearable I couldn’t take it. I didn’t stay long this time.
December 25th, 2012, still waiting for answers. I’m in an unknown location, it’s dark and dirty. Smells like someone took a shit under the chair I’m strapped on. The man that was guarding me said I was sold to him and I had no rights. Now I’m really lost, what sort of sick old man would sell a complete stranger to a band of thugs. Their leader walked in surrounded by armed teenagers. This pedophile has something up his sleeve, from the look he has on his face.
He shouts something in German and the kids raise their weapons at me. “What the fuck is this some sort of target practice?” I yell. Not realizing the man I thought to be the leader of this little group was bowing down to someone who was standing behind me. Bowing down like he was God himself. I turn my head as far as I can and see his shoe. I can’t see anything more than that, my whole body is bruised and sore. They must have beaten me while I was out. All I hear from the man behind me is “He’s ready.” That was followed by a quick smack to the back of the head.
The date is unknown, location? Only God knows now. I’m forgetting my language. My name, fuck names. Who needs names. It’s dark. Too dark. You know those times when you feel like you’re in the darkest environment possible? The most pitch black room you’ve ever been in. No, you’re wrong. That’s not dark at all, compared to what I’m in, that’s Heaven itself, but who needs religion. No God can save me from this unending pain and suffering. The noise, I can barely think with this noise. It’s piercing my skull, my heart is beating faster than ever. I feel as if I’m going to explode. I don’t explode. I don’t die. I fall into a deep slumber, but I’m still awake at the same time. I’m blind, but I can see so clearly, I’m deaf, but have the hearing of the hunting predator, I feel as if there is no ground below me. Where am I? What am I?
I’m awake again. No reactions now. I have no need to react. It’s a routine. I need to cut to the chase this time. He’s watching. Whoever made me. I’m not myself. I use to be myself. That man, that cursed old man. He’s keeping me here. If God exists, only he knows what this man does when I’m asleep. I’m not in a room. I’m not in an area of matter at all. There’s nothing, no air, no ground no walls. I’m not tied up. I’m not trapped. Yet I can’t move. I am trapped in a void itself, with no body. I can’t move because there is nothing there. I can’t breath without lungs. I can’t shout for help. I can’t even think. I remember, the future. I know what happens next but at the same time I don’t know what will happen. I can’t quite explain it in a human language, or in any form of communication at that. It’s in my non-existent head. My metaphorical brain if you’d call it. I am no longer a person, but an it. Just an it.