A Nightmare

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 3 (v.1) - Doubts

Submitted: August 28, 2018

Reads: 40

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Submitted: August 28, 2018

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“Only one,” he reminded himself of the prescription that his doctor gave him. Just when he was about to take it, her voice started echoing in his head.

“Take them all,” he shuddered at the thought and in reflex stood up with a drooling mouth and ghastly wide eyes.

“Only one,” he repeated in an overwrought voice, “all of them,” again came that placid voice and he felt her gush into his body, seizing control of its movements.

His hand started nearing his stiff jaw as he struggled against an unknown force to either close his jaw or to keep the hand from throwing in the pills. In the end, he gave in and swallowed the pile of pills. How many? No idea.

His body temperature started skyrocketing and he stripped down to the bare minimum, keeping himself at bay and blasted off the air conditioner. Limping around her room with a heavy head and a thumping heart he started thrashing her room. “She loved glassware, why am I destroying it?”, this thought hit him hard, but was overpowered by his current conscious of state “not good,” he thought with a spinning head and with a nonsynchronous blink he eyed everything, nothing made sense. The objects in his vicinity started morphing into unidentifiable shapes and laughed, his ears started ringing and his mind started separating his blue and red vision on the corners of every object.

A chuckle startled him: there she was, standing beside the bedpost within the squeezed space of the chest of drawers and bed. “You can’t even get rid of me,” she covered her laughs under her hand. He wasn’t going to take it quietly either and with loud thumping feet he approached her quietly, with eyes glued to her brilliant naked neck he housed her toxic scents with a loud snort in his already crumbling numb mind and started strangling her but her maniacal laughter wasn’t subsiding.

“Shut up,” he yelled, tightening his grip around her neck and tried snapping it with brute force.

“You’re awful,” she winked and slowly started fading away revealing it to be her floor lamp that he was choking. He slowly receded his hands from the lamp whispering apologies to it as if he’d hurt it. Looking here and there in a distress, with hands occasionally in his hairs, he bit his lips and eyed the room once again. He low-keyed started doubting his own thoughts about himself being real.

“You’re not real,” he yelled to his furniture trying ascertaining his belief in himself and flailed his arms to remove the visions form this head, “none of you is … is real.” he stuttered at this word’s selection and touched his face with a shivering hand and rushed towards the large disfigured mirror by the door. He felt his skin burn under his own touch as the static friction on his cheeks elevated the temperature unnecessarily, making him gawk at his appalling appearance. Turning his back to the mirror he ran his hand all over his face in perplexion, giving gout a tiered “humph” with every movement he made.

“It’s not her,” he assured himself and repeated it several times under his breath before throwing the mirror over the bed in a frenzy and started screaming like the mad person he had become, scratching his face, clawing his hairs and stomping the ground beneath.


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