The Connection - Contest 1st Place Winner!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
What is reality? How far can your conscious take you?

This is the winner of the horror contest hosted by girluvscupcakes, not too bad for my first horror story!

Submitted: October 23, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 23, 2013



My breath overlaps this tiny space. The air sits, still. My breath flourishes in it, pulsates, my ears echoing its non-existent solace and desperation. A breath to calm, may suffocate me.


I open my eyes. To take my surrounds, I need to adjust my large irises to its little light. That little light alone can blind me for a time, and burn my skin. But, I know not what this light is. It is formed from two large spheres, floating, suspended by a figure. This figure is my warden. He watches me, and holds the light. He also brings the darkness, too; something that has shaped my body into a fleshy, pale mass with two seething eyes. I thrive in this darkness, but the warden says this is not how most accept life.


The warder says things in his voice; an eerie whisper, and strangely feminine, that tickles my eardrum, despite him being far, far away. “Sometimes I receive an embrace, and they burn. Why do you like the darkness, Rot-Eye? You do know what you are, right, Rot-Eye? You’re here for a reason… you’re all here for a reason. But you… your eyes are festering with something… yes, sadism.”




I want to be in prison. But sadly, in prison, there is no easy prey. I hear a cycle is kept in prison; pain is transferred into pain, and then carried, like a virus. It sounds ideal. This world is pain, and a frail child will be placed on a pike for this world’s masters. Why can I not find my master, or the world’s master? Maybe I should ask my special ones once again; an effort I deem not wasted.


If I am to waste no time, I should hurry. The warden sits on my shoulder, and he poisons my mind, as I ask him to. Anyone can be used for the summoning of my special ones, but they are no use unless their body is a lifeless husk.


Night blankets the sky. No stars dot its sheet, and coolness replaces all. I lie down, back sprawled across ground, on the soft, brushing grass. The breeze sweeps their tendrils over my body, my fleshy body, and scratches it softly. This is something I need to feel now. I need to see darkness, for my special ones to see darkness, and a brief brilliance, which I adore so.


I pick myself up, and pick the first whom I see with my filled special ones. She walks sulkily, with a fast pace. My warden knows what I must do, and so I see that through. First, take life from her; a simple enough task, really. It’s a process of cornering her; mentally.


“Hello, milady! May I beseech you for assistance this eve?” I inquire. She gazes, open eyed, sharp.


“What…do you want from me? Why are you…here?” She replies, turning questions back to me.


“Can you see?” I ask again.


“Not very well,” she says slyly, narrowing her eyelids. She assumes a more guarded stance, with caution. Of course, I shouldn’t dabble. If she cannot see, then I will no further beseech thee.


The warden blinds what I am doing with his light, saying that I am dealing an unjust justice to people, and that I should sit in darkness to atone for their darkness after death.


All I know is that a grin forms around my teeth, my sharp canine-like teeth, and there are noises which fade.


The occurrence leaves a lifeless body at my feet. It is bloodied, but luckily, the eyes are intact; the warden’s light still reflects off of them. Now, the body should be stored where the special ones would like. Reflections of light are not what special ones like.


Now, I sit in this tiny place; again my breath overlapping the peace of still darkness and the overwhelmingly pleasant stench of nothing. This time the warden is not here, and I can see nothing. But, of course, I know the exact procedure. First, the body in its pristine condition will remain. It sprawls across the floor, and a light sits near the body’s head to be lit only when the special ones are apparent.


I casually run my fingers across the facial structure. The eyes are vibrant, as I can feel. They are green; a nature-like green which captivates the innocence in an animal to be hunted by a carnivore… and now, I push the eyelids to reveal the bare eyes. With an iron-hand, I can just grasp at one; the right one. With violent tugs, and jerks, it loosens, and it slips through my hand. Its squishy mass plops onto the ground, the connection running between my thumb and forefinger. As it slides, I know this connection is what turns a reflected light into something the mind can interpret as darkness. Was I interpreted as darkness? Did any light reflect from my being, or was the warden the one who made me presented?  I hear an answer to nothing echo in my mind distantly; “I am your light, I am your dark.”


With greater ease, the other eye disappears into the realm of darkness. Now, I stuff my hand through a socket; the now-existent special one. The warden makes my body move fluently now, encouraging me that a pink mass remnant in the skull blocks clarity with the special ones. So, with his verbal hand, I remove it.


Now, the top of this body is just a hollow cage for the special ones to manifest inside. They now substitute in this cage as a new connection; one with insight of darkness, and that only. I sweep my hand over to the head, and light the candle.


The mouth hangs, gaping open with a statement of anguish and decay. This is what the special ones need. The nose is by the process of the killing. It is bent, and crooked.  Then, you can gaze to the eyes; the special ones. Two empty sockets, paralleling each other. The light casts shadows over the sharp-pointed and finite bones that support the facial structure. The shadows are distorted, and fade into the complete blackness a few centimeters’ depth from the opening of the eye sockets. Now, these are the special ones I have so diligently prepared to parlay with.


“Answer me, oh empty-ones!” I call to them.

“I am forever empty, and so is my being. Yet, I am full with emptiness. Can one be full with emptiness? ‘Tis a paradox indeed! I, full of nothing, can answer with nothing but filled emptiness in return to your inquiries. This filled emptiness can source the question you are seeking from a desire, correct?”


“Yes, oh-lord of fulfilled nothing; the desire to fill myself with emptiness, and serve a purpose of nothing, so that I may be like you,” I respond to its soft voice.


“I see. You already emulate emptiness by sitting in darkness, and wishing for it. You’re lucky the warden can manage that tiny subconscious of yours, you fool! Why wish for no purpose: to be an empty canvas of a life? I am here to guide, and your self-conduct is unethical.” A fly crawls around the edges of the left eye socket; buzzing, communing the ancient language of symbolic death. Its compound eyes reflect many different lights, but the fly is only drawn to this darkness… the lord of emptiness.


“If I am to continue as the lord of emptiness, then my subjects must be filled, and drawn to what I have not. If you share the same emptiness as I, then there is no longer emptiness for me to rule over: we are filled with mutual desire for command over the fulfilled. You… you must be filled with purpose, lest my existence should wane,” the eye socket barks at me.


“And then there is you, warden! I have fragmented this man’s mind, to be filled with my nothing; you, essentially. So, you influence him, and you end up helping him in the process of contacting me again? He was not to see my form again. It is why you are here. You make emptiness. You make light. What has happened, my warden?”


“This man craves a master, and you seem to be the only one viewed. Remember, I cannot entirely decide this man’s actions. He also has the stubborn, investigative, and inquisitive will inherited from his previous lifestyle; one of a police officer, I believe,” the warden rebuts.


“Once the pact is entered, no ties to his past life should be present. You should remember that, warden. Aside, before we digress, listen to this; he wasted a life, just to have me tell him he should not have done so. If I am summoned, the purpose of it cannot be empty to the user, however. Thus, I must fill you with some sort of purpose, unfortunately.”


The face is almost split with a solemn grin, and the eyes look even darker to me than before; it is magnificent. But, among this strange grin, his voice calls. This must be the lord filling me with purpose. The sheer thrill of feeding off of a master’s ambitions has satisfied my need for now, but, even if he is disappointed, I shall call for him again if the same issue arises within me. But this time, his request seems… different.




“You are wicked. It is time you awoke, blinded one. Or, should I say Rot-Eye?” The warden gawks at me in the darkened cell, grief bonding with the very air itself.


“You know, I am not a true existence. I am a fragment of your conscious, Rot-Eye. You are blind. You want light, but it is not granted to you. You’ve sought someone who you may become a vessel of; the lord of emptiness. However, you stare at nothing more than a passed body and its mutilated facial structure. You desperately murder others, and tear at their eyes, to make a connection between your feelings and theirs. However, they will never know the feeling of uselessness, as you have killed them. You will never find a connection; and so, you made one in your mind; the lord of emptiness. He is nothing more than a thought process, but I, am real in your mind. I am the only one who may create light in this damp cellar of the deep recesses of your mind, as you feel like you cannot do it on your own. Well, I could tell you this; you’ve no will. You lost it, along with your vision,” the… warden, explains.


“Why?! Why tell me now, with such mindful regression? The lord is the only one who has offered me anything, and, ever since I have lost my vision, you treat me as a peasant!”


“This battle is one with yourself, officer. You are fighting against your own conscious. Why do you continue to do so? You have been blind for such a time, I think you should awaken. You stir more and more every day, and seek to find someone who may share empathy and pain with you all the while. Open your real eyes; those that rest in the many chambers of your heart, and begin to accept society once again. You are not liable to suffer simply because you are different.”


“How… are you part of me? Our opinions are so contrasted! This is impossible! I couldn’t do one thing, but have my mind tell me another. The mind and body work in unison, so thus, you are not me! You will no longer be a part of me!”




I awake. My eyes reveal a room, and my body, sprawled across a bed. As my pupils dart around the room, I know now it is similar to… a jail cell. Iron bars, crossing freedom over. I can’t continue. My existence is contradictory to itself. I… am impossible! Unless… I can accept my warden—or me. But, alas, it is not possible. It is time.


Spontaneously, I jump off of my bed. Squeezing fists tight, tilting head, I am ready. It is my final moment. I am satisfied that something paradoxical such as I can finally end. My steps become forceful, and I push towards the iron bars; a blunt end. Sprinting, the last light is reflected; something that I can see. This is not the warden, hiding within my conscious. I can see the bars; their light. A grin flashes across my face, and I ram my skull into the bar with massive force.


I am lying on the concrete ground, and I can see all around me. A rich pool of blood slowly flows into my cone of vision. The connection is broken, at last. My connection to this world.


© Copyright 2018 Taco Dan. All rights reserved.

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