What do you think of the scary stories told to you as kids? Do you take them as lies, or do you merely look at them as fun little tales made to scare kids? Maybe you see them as true, as historical events, events that you should learn from.
Well, no matter how you see them, each one is true, or rather; as true as anything else. For you see, what you and I call reality could be our imagination, what you call fact could be fiction, everything you have known, do know, and will know is true yet false. Basically, nothing is true, but all is true. Now tell me how you know reality is real, more specifically, tell me how you know your hand is there. You might say I can feel it, touch, even taste it, but can you really?
Tell me how you know that that hand is there. How do you prove its existence to others, or even yourself? You really can't. You can't even prove that your parents exist or your friends or even you. Now let me get back to my original question. What do you think of the scary stories told to you as kids? Well, if you have been paying attention, you should know that they are true - yet false. I found this out recently. The event's still freshly ingrained on my mind. It was a car accident.
The doctors said I was in a coma for about a week. It surprised me. A whole week, just laying there, virtually lifeless. Anyways, the doctors kept me there for a week more after I first awoke. Through that week, I started getting hallucinations. Rarely at first, but each day they became more and more common. I had one every hour. I tried to hide it as I didn't want to worry my parents or the doctor, but I'm pretty sure they could tell something was wrong.
They said that I had this terrified look on my face every hour or so. I told them it was nothing, but I knew better. Now, these hallucinations were not about weird or funny things, but rather, creepy things. Really, there is no word to describe what I saw. Twisted beings from whole other realms, creatures that not even the worst thoughts could conjure.
There were multiple creatures, but there was only one that constantly showed up. It was the brother I lost in the crash. What I didn't tell you was that I was the one driving the day of the accident. I was yelling at my brother for ruining my relaxation time. (I was always picking him up from soccer practice or school.) As I was yelling, my brother yelled "Stop!" as loud as he could. I was coming up to an intersection. He yelled it too late, and we got hit on the passenger side door.
The doctors told my parents that he didn't suffer, but that was of little relief. I didn't think the time I took yelling at him about ruining my life would end his. My parents still don't know that story, but I want, no I need to tell them. Back to the hallucinations.
My brother looked like he normally did. He had short blonde hair, green eyes, and some freckles. He just stood there when he appeared. He didn't do anything, but every time I would feel this wave of pain, pain that multiplied up until he left.
The guilt was tearing me apart. I would wake up with scratches all over my body. My parents said it would happen in my sleep. I would claw myself, non-stop. They tried stopping me from doing it, but it was no avail. They asked me why I might be doing it, and I said I had no way of knowing. But I knew it was the guilt. I hurt him so deeply I felt the only way to correct it was to hurt myself. After a while, even after my brother “left” the pain would stay. Just linger there for hours until it finally faded away.
The doctors sent me home after that week. I got to the house and jumped into my bed, home at last. The hallucinations became less frequent so I thought it was just a side effect of the medication they were giving me at the hospital(it was morphine or some kind of pain killer). Then, one night I woke up screaming. My parents rushed to my room and flung open the door yelling, “What's wrong?!” I pointed to my dresser in the corner of the room. They looked over, but saw nothing. They looked back over and said it was just a nightmare and to go back to sleep. It wasn't just a nightmare, my brother was in the room, staring straight at me. He didn’t blink, not once. I didn't have the heart to tell them, so I responded, “Yeah, you're probably right.”
My brother just sat there on the dresser for the rest of the night, at least until I fell asleep again. I awoke the next morning, and he was gone. I thought maybe it was the last time, but I knew this to be false. I was eating cereal when I saw him again. When I finished, he was gone. I saw him again at school, and again on the bus ride home.
He wouldn't leave me alone. I tried looking at the bright side, but only one thing came to mind, I was only seeing him, not those other twisted creatures. I saw him everyday for about a month, but one day I didn't see him at all.
That night, I awoke to him standing over me, repeating, “Why did you kill me David?” Over and over again. I screamed as loud as I could. I heard footsteps rushing down the hall and my door flew open. But what came through weren't my parents... They were twisted creatures from hell.
They looked humanoid, but where there eyes should have been there was gaping black holes. Their nose was gone, and their mouth stitched shut. Their skin was pale but illuminated, similar to the moon. They walked towards me. Their joints were backwards and sideways, and each movement made a loud cracking sound.
One tried to speak, but couldn't due to the stitches. The other touched my shoulder. I got outraged and jumped out of bed knocking it over. I ran to my dresser and grabbed my pocket knife. One of them came towards me and held out its arm. I lunged at it, blade first. I dug my knife into its abdomen and it opened its mouth to scream, tearing the stitches. It let out a piercing scream.
This made me confident. These things could be killed. I jumped at it again, repeatedly stabbing it until it stopped screaming and dropped to the floor. The other one tried running out of the room, but I tackled it, stabbing it multiple times in the back. With each stab, it screamed. I continued till it made no more sound. I looked up to see my brother standing there, and he said this one phrase, the one phrase that brought me back to reality:
“Now you've killed them too.”
What did he mean! I looked down to see my dad with a knife in his back-- my knife! I looked back into my room. My mom lay there in a pool of her own blood, still breathing. I crawled over to her and cried, “I'm so sorry, don't leave me mom, don't leave me. I don't know what to do. I love you mom.” Her last words were, “I love you too.” I spent the whole night laying on her body, sobbing.
What the hell is wrong with me, I killed my mom and dad. This though was fixated in my mind until morning. I came back to reality. My brother was still there. He looked straight at me and smiled. I got up and walked towards him. He was at the the top of the stairs, ready to be pushed down. He continued smiling at me. I couldn't take it anymore. I lunged at him to throw a punch but he disappeared.
Before I could stop the momentum, I tumbled down the stairs and hit my head and lost consciousness. I woke up to a knock at the door. My head was pounding, and there was some dried blood. I got up and asked who it was. It was my neighbor, Mrs. James. I told her to hold on and grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer. I answered the door, and she looked worried. She asked me, “Did something happen, I heard screaming? I tried calling, but the phone wasn't working. Your parents said it might be normal though. After the ac..” She stopped herself.
“Oh, don't worry. We were just watching a sports game and we get pretty wild.”
“Oh, thats a great relief. What happened to your head though?”
“Uh, oh I fell down the stairs.”
“Oh, should you go to the hospital?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” I smiled to reassure her.
“Okay, well I thought I should check on you. You take care David.”
“Thanks Misses James, you too.” I closed the door and thought for a moment. Should I tell her. I can’t handle this alone. She was a trusted friend of my parents, but if I told her, that could mean horrible things for me. I, however, decided for it. I quickly opened the door. “Mrs. James, please help me.”
“What's wrong dear?”
“After the accident, I started hallucinating.” I explained.
“Oh, do you still.”
“Yeah, but last night was the worst. I saw these two... things. No eyes or nose, their mouth was stitched shut, and each movement made a horrible cracking noise.”
“Oh dear, how’d you deal with it?”
“I…” I paused. If I told her this, there was no going back.
“I stabbed them... But “them” were my parents.” Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
“Please don’t yell Misses James, I don’t know what to do.” She looked down. I couldn’t imagine the emotions going through her right now. Anger, fear, confusion, sadness… pity. The same emotions I felt.
“We need to call the cops hun, they need to know about this.”
I thought for a moment. “Do you know what will happen to me, what if I get the death penalty.”
“That won’t happen, you're still a minor, even at 17.” She paused to put together her next thoughts. “We can’t cover this up David, we need to call the cops, and if you cooperate, they’ll go easy on you.”
I waited to reply. I thought of the worst possibilities, thought of everything that could happen. I answered. “Okay, I understand.”
“Okay, I’ll call them.”
The cops got there quickly and searched the house. The whole time, I waited patiently for them to finish. They almost immediately found the bodies. They read me my rights and took me to jail.
I stayed there for a few nights before my initial trial. The only people to keep me company were the cops and my brother. Media caught wind of the story, and it played on the TV outside of my cell. The headline was, “Insane teen murders parents after killing little brother in accident.”
This outraged me, but I didn't have time for that emotion as I started crying. One of the officers saw this and turned off the TV. I thanked him and he nodded his head. I didn't eat or sleep or use the bathroom. I just lay in my bunk, staring straight at my brother and him staring back. My trial came, and I was put in a psychiatric ward. I ate very little and slept even less.
My brother was everywhere I looked. However, I started getting used to him, started getting more comfortable. I started eating more, sleeping more and even talking to others. That's when I decided to write this to explain what has happened. Now in the beginning, I told that everything is true yet nothing is true. What does that have to do with the story you may ask? Well, these events have happened to me before. Twice to be exact. Each ending the same way. No matter what happens, this is how it ends.
Actually, I think it has happened more than twice, but I just started noticing it. I'm typing this to inform you. I still don't know if I'm dreaming, I don't know if I'm dead. I don't know anything but this: Reality does not exist.
To think otherwise is foolish. Reality is based on experiences, experiences that are deluded, experiences you can no longer trust. So you can't tell me if your hand is there, you can't tell me if your parents exist. You can't even tell me if you exist. I guess if you don't exist, then I'm writing this for nothing. Anyways, I'm going to post this on the internet and then kill myself. I hope that fixes it. It could be what is looping me through this though. Either way, I can't live through this anymore. I say this with all the truth in the world... I would not wish this on anyone, this is utter and complete hell. I hope you learn from this text... Take something away from this text, please, for your sake.