Mad. Intolerably So.

Reads: 143  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
The reader begins to question the sanity of the main character as they are drawn down to a point where even time is nearly pointless.

This is the first thing I wrote after such a long time of writer's block. I wrote it one day in school on paper [[7 or 8 pages front and back, lol]]. It simple BEGGED to be written; I didn't pay any attention during school that day. Then I was obsessed with it for a few days afterwords, thinking how to edit, expand, anything to make it better.

Anyways, enjoy!

Submitted: June 30, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 30, 2008

A A A

A A A


They told me I was crazy. Stark-raving mad—those were the words. Weirdo. Psycho.

Mad.

I tried to protest, I tried so hard that my face was red and the little holes in my neck began to bleed again. Round and round I went to each and every one of them. They pushed me away, shoved me from the hands of one and then another; so many hands shoving me everywhere. They fucking surrounded me—yet they couldn’t bear to touch my bruised flesh.

When you see someone in pain, shouldn’t the first reaction be to help them?

 

I’ve been seeing them everywhere. Their little black irises follow me with every step I take. I think they jump, from person to person, following me. Stalking me. Because I see them. In the mailman, in my coworkers, in the people I pass while shopping. Time will stop for a moment, but in that timeless spot of existence there will be just me and them, and they grin at me with sharp little teeth protruding past rotten lips.

Time is relative.
Mad, they call me. Insane.
 

There was only one at first. A young woman, passing me of the street. I noticed her eyes…they were the most wonderful shade of cornflower blue. I remember thinking how perfect those would be for my collection.

But she saw me looking. And she smiled. That little evil grin that they always give you. And her eyes. God, those lovely little cornflower blue eyes, tainted black.

It lasted only a second, no more. But I saw it, I tell you. I saw it.

I walked away as fast as I could, and she just stared, I could feel those eyes on my back, baring miniature holes through my shirt.

Everything was fine before they started to show themselves to me. Everything was perfect.

 

A few days after the incident with that woman (her name was Angie…I get to know all of them before the real action begins), I had convinced myself that it was all just a trick of the light. Yet I became obsessed with those eyes of hers. Of course I had blue ones…but nothing of that particular shade. I hadn’t seen anything quite so tantalizing in a very long time.

 

I was walking home from the grocery store with bags full of baking powder and vinegar, idly looking at everyone around me, when I saw them again. A young man, auburn hair and tanned skin. His eyes were green, when I saw them first. Just a normal dead-end sort of green, and I had plenty of those. But then they did it again, just as Angie’s had. You wouldn’t have knows unless you’d seen them before. But that darkness just crept into them, sudden as your truck hitting a deer. And as soon as the two collide, you know for a damn fact that something is going to be hurt intensely by this…and you’re rather certain it’ll be the truck.

The black would ruin the person, turn them inhuman. It gives me the chills, and I must run home and hide in the basement where I keep everything hidden.

My babies stare at me from the shadows, and I stare right back. It is a challenge we came up with long ago. And of course, I always win. But each time, I rush over, apologizing profusely and stroking then so gently I know they’ll forgive me.

They’re loyal, but I’m getting bored. I know them too well by now, and I need more.

 

Time stopped again today. Of course it only happened when I saw their colorless eyes. Before the black, there were two browns and a grey. God how I love the grey ones.

They all turned at the same time and grinned over at me. I was in the center of some perverse triangle, one where if you happened to be caught inside, time would stop. And it did. Just for a slight second, but I know how the grass looks when they wind suddenly ceases its tickling, and yet cannot fall back into place.

Time is relative.

They call me crazy. Mad. Intolerably so.

 

I found Angie walking down the street again. Her blonde hair was falling from her shoulders in gentle ripples, pure silk. And those eyes…they are the most captivating things I’ve ever seen. Those kind of beauties that only come around once in an extremely great while. And when they do…well, who could pass up a chance like this?

I followed her, this time. Into the grocery store. It wasn’t the one I usually shop at; but food was not on my to-do list.

I grabbed a cart and raced to the end of the store, by the milk. Everyone comes to the dairy section at one point or another.

She came around the corner and I veered into her as if I’d already had a running start. She was caught off-balance and fell, spilling eggs and bread everywhere.

“Oh God! I’m sorry! Are you alright?” I rushed to help her, feigning worry and smiling on the inside. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “You know how it is…being in a hurry and all…”

“Yeah. But I would have rather your hurry had not included my eggs ending up everywhere. Just…just get away from me.” That glare. It could have killed me. And those eyes, they’re stunning even in anger.

I offered to buy her groceries. Forced it, really. And as we were walking out of the store I could hear the commotion we had caused, of people swearing and slipping in the eggs.

And on the inside, I smiled.
 
Those eyes.

I woke to them. Shining through the darkness by the light from the streetlamp. Those raven black irises staring at me. Doing nothing, absolutely nothing, but staring.

I scrambled for the light switch, turning away for only the slightest moment—but alas, even that was a moment too long. I was sweating, breathing too heavy for my lungs to handle.

At some point, I know, I’ll have to tell. I’ll have to let out these things that I know and no one else does.

I will, you know. Because it is necessary.

Crazy, they called me.
I want those eyes.
 

I brought Angie over to my house one day. It was spotless, not even dust on top of the television. Just for her. Down into the basement we went; I had something to show her, I said.

The stairs to my basement are cold and sharp, and if you don’t wear shoes your feet will get all cut up. I never wear shoes when I bring someone down here.

You’ll like it, I say. I know you will.

Angie smiles. Trusting. That’s when it’s always the best, when in fact the time is prime—when they trust you.

“Babies!” I call. “I’m home! And look, I’ve found you a new friend!”

She grins again, though falters. Something seems off, she says.

Don’t worry, darling. You’ll love them. They’re the most precious things you’ve ever seen. Cats. She thinks it’s a box of kittens, and I’ve brought her down here to surprise her with one. Really, though, there are only two of them named Kitten. A pair. Matching deep brown. Her name was Kitten…that’s why I chose her. Kitten, with her tall, slim figure and mahogany hair. She was striking.

Close your eyes, I say. It’s alright…they must stay down here. They’d ruin everything if they got upstairs.

She grasps at my hand, closes her eyes. Trust. I can’t let her see them, however. Not yet. She must be purified.

The eyes are the window into the soul.

A quick slip of the knife and her eyes are wide, hands clutching grotesquely at the split in her neck. She didn’t even have time to fight. I catch her as she falls (we cannot let her break now, can we?), though refuse to hold her sinful body up. I lay her gently on the ground and stroke her forehead. Even done by the killer, motions like this are comforting to the dying. Rhythmic and pure and soothing.

Murder is such a harsh word.

You can never choke them, because the blood vessels go crazy and start to pop, and then your eyes are ruined, and the soul is lost forever.

And I want your eyes, Darling. Astonishing cornflower blue. I want your soul.

This isn’t murder. It’s freedom. Purification. Salvation.

 

It didn’t take very long once the process was begun. You slice out the eyes, the most delicate part of it all. Then you dispose of the body. Never all in one place…no, you need to spread out the remains. That’s all they are—unthinking flesh.

I have your soul, Darling.

I’ve spread out her legs, arms, torso. Bury them far enough apart and no one ever needs to know. It doesn’t take that long.

Time stopped when I ended her. It always does.

It doesn’t matter.
Time is relative.
 

I come back from the store with plastic bags doubled over and full of baking soda and vinegar. And Coke. This time, I have more to clean than just my darlings.

Always double your bags, or your things might fall out. And then people start asking questions.

The clerk at the grocery store had those eyes. Little solid coals watching every move I make. And he smiled.

Those diminutive teeth are so goddamn sharp. It would split his tongue if ever he bit down.

And I decided that they’re mocking me.

All of them.
Because they know that I’m afraid.

And I’ve decided I want them. I want those eyes.

I want your soul, darling.
 

I found myself a man, today. Barely twenty, and he knows I will buy him liquor. He trusts me.

Charisma is a wonderful thing.
 

I left the window unlocked again. I tried sleeping, but it would not come, so I stood back up and threw glass all the way open. The screens have been off for a while now. It’s not so bad when they come in, anymore. Almost like I’m the victim. Granted, the apparent loss of power scares the shit out of me. But if chains and knives turn you on, then why not use them?

 

My grey-eyed boy is special. I think I love his soul. Yet I cannot see so well into him as I can with the others. He’s so much more difficult to control. You have to love a challenge every once in a while, it increases your lusting. I don’t think he feels so strongly for me, though. At least, not yet.

 

Someone was downstairs. My babies told me, they were screaming when I came down, consumed in pure fiery agony. It took so long to calm them. God, what am I going to do? The world is not yet ready for the secret to harvesting souls. So many people would abuse this power. I can’t let that happen.

I know it was one of them, with their sharp little black irises and deadly teeth. All evil smiles and flourishes. Insults to humanity.

“They’re inhuman…Scum of the earth,” I mutter. Yet, somehow, I still want them. I do not simply want to expel them all from this place. I want them to know who’s in charge. Who they’re messing with.

I want your eyes. I want their dangerous coal coloring, their beautiful changes of color.

I need your eyes, baby.
Pretty please with a cherry on top.
 

I’ve been out all day looking for my grey prince. But I haven’t been able to find him anywhere.

I must go downstairs and see my babies…they’ve been alone all day. They must be so afraid. Yet when I get to the door, I find it ajar…and that door is never left crooked. Ever.

I race back to the kitchen and grab a butcher’s knife. So dirty for this kind of work. Really, though, I know I won’t keep these eyes. Someone who would break into my house does not deserve my tender care. I think I might bury the eyes, right along with the separate body parts.

 

I am in the basement, staring into the eyes of my grey boy. Not even yet a man. Why, Darling? I am pleading as I never have before. Someone had a fork, one of those kinds they use for barbecues. They’ve stabbed it into my neck, right where it meets the shoulder, and I am bleeding deep crimson.

He is screaming at me. Was he next? Had that been my plan all along?

I cannot lie to the boy.

I found the secret, I say, clinging to him. He is disgusted and tries to push me away, but I will not relent.

I found it. I know of them with their black eyes following me everywhere, the scum of the earth. I know how to do it. I can harvest them…the souls. The eyes, they are the window to the soul, and my babies love me now for ridding them of their bodies, the useless flesh—

Fist collides with face and I am thrown backwards in complete shock. I lay upon the concrete, mouth torn on the inside where my teeth had ripped through.

Time stops. He has my babies. He’s holding them in the air. They all have their separate jars…he’s holding the cornflower blue ones, my lovely Angie…

Everything resumes its previous motion. With a crisp sort of clarity, I watch as I shriek and glass shatters as one of after the another of my babies are thrown onto the floor. Tears are falling down my cheeks and I’m scrambling forward, trying to save who I can, though rough hands drag me back and throw me onto the shattered glass.

Can’t they see how much this hurts? They’re killing my babies…murdering them. Don’t they realize this? Murder is the expelling of souls, getting rid of them once and for all…my eyes…I’m trying so hard…

When you see someone in pain, aren’t you supposed to help them?

Something glints off to my right, and as I turn there is my knife, my knife which has done so much good. And now it’s in the hand of one of the men around me—

Men. Men with black irises. And little sharp teeth.

And then it’s in me, and I’m screaming and my brain is numb and I simply don’t know what to do because those vile inhuman things have surrounded me again.

It rips, tears up through my stomach and intestines.

And I’m screaming, my own guts falling to the floor before me, right before my own eyes.

I can hear the sickening pop and crunch of so many souls destroyed.

So many precious souls.

I’m screaming, fighting, trying so hard to reason with them.

Stark-raving mad. That’s what I am, they say. Nothing but a goddamn insane monster. But the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, my thoughts screech, so of course I’m not insane…

The knife comes again. Like a dagger. Again. And again. They’re each taking their own little twisted turns with this. Everyone wants a piece of the glory.

Before I go I reach feebly for the glass littering the floor and slice it through my own eyes. I would rather destroy my soul than to have it captive made by them.

They will not have my soul.
 

Time stops. I am lying on the concrete, shards of glass jutting into my back, guts spilled, blood everywhere. And there are men—blue, brown, green, and even my grey-eyed boy. Not yet a man, yet he now knows the taste of the kill. There are no black irises anywhere. They are hiding.

But they will not have my soul.

They said I am mad. Stark-raving, at that.

But they will not have my soul.
Time stops.
But this time, it will not restart.

Oh well. I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

Time is relative.
 
 
 


© Copyright 2017 Hychydig Afon. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Hychydig Afon

Mad. Intolerably So.

Short Story / Horror

Ten Minute Story

Short Story / Horror

Bed of Strangers

Miscellaneous / Other

Popular Tags