Elementary Dementia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A journey into the psyche of a truly demented young fellow.

Submitted: October 19, 2016

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Submitted: October 19, 2016

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A mosaic of dark swirling terror was the only memory Mitch had from the night before. As usual, he woke up with a roadmap of gashes upon his body; no recollection of how they got there. Horrid snapshots of screaming skulls and burning cities flashed through his mind. The thought of a new day sent waves of terror down his spine.

Reaching for the whiskey, Mitch realized he was shaking too badly to hold it. As he extended his arm, he saw the black, clotting blood on the hundreds of wounds that spanned from his wrist to his shoulder. Some were deeper than others, and those continued to weep. After numerous attempts to grab the bottle, he finally got down a few six bubble chugs.

The shaking subsided, and a warm sense of well-being overtook him. Mitch gazed around his filthy apartment. Blood caked t-shirts were strewn everywhere, along with dozens of empty bottles. A rancid sink, overflowing with mold covered dishes gave up its heady aroma.Plump, clumsy flies buzzed around his head like a morbid halo. The combined stench of drying gore and rotting food raped his nostrils with every breath.

With a pathetic whimper, Mitch tumbled backward, landing on the stinking futon on which he woke. Weeping, he cradled his head with bloodstained hands. It would only be a matter of time before the shriek of The Headsman began. The terrible sound that haunted his mind, and controlled his actions.

The Headsman would not easily be muted and forever beckoned. Mitch could not ignore his demands. Nothing worked. When he drank, it only made it worse. The blood pumped in his skull as the terrible shrieking began. Quiet at first, but growing louder by the minute. Not again.

Mitch clawed at his face, trying to ignore the cacophonic horror in his brain. The room darkened, and the black shadows began their maniacal dance.

It seems he had succumbed again. Now, a puppet on a string, waiting to be pulled towards the thing he hated the most.

The noises from outside were starting to fade. The honking horns, police sirens and the disgusting sound of humanity melted away. Even the heady stink of the fetid apartment dissipated.

Now, unable to blink, Mitch felt a fly scurry around on his eyeball. A morbid grin spread across his lips, as The Headsman bellowed on. It is time.

As Mitch stood up, preparing for the torture session ahead of him, thousands of red worms began to crawl out of the wounds on his arms and began to shriek along with The Headsman. Rats poured from the holes in the walls. Up to his ankles in vermin, he stood up. Laughing and crying at the same time, he shrank into the bathroom, his mind throbbing with the omnipresent shriek.

Robotically, he got dressed and put on his best “normal” face. The outside world was almost too much to bear. The bus ride only took a few minutes, and Mitch arrived at his destination. As he stepped off the bus, nobody seemed to notice. Even as he lumbered towards the elementary school, he blended in. Clutching his black bag, he waded through the multitudes of children.

Why doesn’t anyone see me?

As he entered the office, the secretary was on the phone and did not notice him either. He found the door and grabbed the knob. Entering the office, he shuddered while reading the sign on the door.

MITCH WILLIAMSON-PRINCIPAL.


© Copyright 2017 Christof McTarnahan . All rights reserved.

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