Heres a story I wrote to today...by no means is it amazing or awsome...just bored and thought I would share it.
Two days passed…and it happened again. The walls creaked as the horrid rug made incoherent morbid grunting noises. Nervous sweat rolled off the old now pale flesh of the panic stricken Wilson whom was huddled in the small run down corner of this place he called home. I had all started with a creak there a quiet moan here, quite out of the ordinary but nothing to scale with this Steven King like horror. The walls now creaked as if the house was about to tumble down into a million tiny pieces ending Wilson’s life. The roof dripped a dark wet substance onto the floor, and the rug! Oh how horribly the rug had slaved away every two days at picking at Wilson’s sanity as it wailed with the fire of 1000 banshees.
Alas, the wretched piercing scream of the rug finally managed to crack the shell of Wilson’s sanity and it hit a nerve, for the poor horror exhausted Wilson picked his clumsy self up and unleashed a barrage of screams and rants.
“Enough! Enough, enough, enough, enough!” Wilson screamed to the forces consuming his house and very life.
Then…there was silence…peace was restored to Wilson, if only for a brief second, there was a sense of deep thankful euphoria attached to this uncalled for silence. A small tear rolled down the grateful cheek of Wilson as he began to slump tiredly into the coffee stained couch of his home, but as sure as Wilson was it was over; it came back. A wild call of madness erupted from this awful rug this time louder and more violent. This demonic insanity continued on for two hours as Wilson sat in a puddle of his own frightened tears…and listened.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=--
“Charles…Charles! He’s doing it again, Charles, I’m worried,” Jean said as she listened to low quiet sound of Wilson weep uncontrollably for the past hour.
“He’ll stop…he always does,” Said Charles as he took a large sip from his coffee and picked up his newspaper.
“But Charles…why?” Questioned Jean as she pushed her head closer to the wall trying to get a better sound of what was going on in the conjoined house of her panicked neighbor.
“Why what?” asked Charles as he lowered his newspaper, clearly agitated.
“Screaming and sobbing as if he was being tortured…why does he do it?” Asked the confused yet intrigued Jean.
“I don’t know, maybe that’s how he gets his sick kicks, or maybe he’s drunk, who knows Jean, just leave it alone,” Said Charles as he took another hard sip from his coffee.
“Charles, just listen! Maybe someone is doing something to him or something is do-” Jean tried saying before she was cut off by Charles,”
“Enough Jean! I’m tired of having this conversation every two days with you! What is with this sudden fixation with our drunkard neighbor? What do you want to hear Jean? Do you want me to tell you its aliens? Or maybe it’s the illuminati! What about ghosts Jean? You forget about them? Yeah, it must be ghosts! Ghosts are torturing our loony neighbor, specifically every two nights! Yeah that’s it Jean, there’s your answer! Now stop bothering me every other night just because our whack-job of a neighbor wont shut up!”
“Yes Charles…” Jean said shocked and horrified with her husband as she walked up the cold wooden stairs.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=--
Water. Black water was now knee deep on Wilson. What was before a small drip in the ceiling came forth as a living room equivalent to the Niagara Falls. The water poured out of the ceiling like a faucet someone had ignorantly left on and Wilson was the sink, ready to catch all of it. Wilson sat and screamed as more water poured through the roof and the walls creaked unnaturally. The whole house was dark. The only source if illumination came in through the window. The moonlight lit the house a dark eerie blue. Wilson sat with the dark water up to his shoulders and watched as the shadows danced across his now wade pool like living room. They seemed to taunt him; they were frightening yet…soothing. Wilson watched them dance on the walls, ready to accept his unavoidable fate until…everything stopped. The lights came back on. There was no sign of anything ever being wet in the whole house. It was over…but it would back, in two days…
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Jean cried that night. Tears soaked her yellow pillow.
I was just asking a question…why was he so angry?
Why doesn’t he want to talk to me?
These thoughts all raced awkwardly through Jeans head as she waited for the dark blanket of sleep to come over her.
I need to know what goes on in that house
Jean thought.
I will go over tomorrow
Those were the last thoughts that went through Jeans head as she slowly drifted into sleep, with the uneasy thought of going to her neighbours house lingering restlessly in her troubled head.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Jeans hand pounded on the weather worn door of Wilson’s house. The taste of the dry toast she had for breakfast still remained her now also dry mouth. She half-heartedly awaited an answer from the house she had heard so much torment emerge from.
A frightened nervous looking man opened the door to the point where the rusted metal chain keeping it closed restricted it from going any farther.
“Hello…I’m Jean, from next door,” Said the Jean with a hint of regret in her voice.
A confused Wilson just stood awkwardly giving Jean the once over.
“How are you doing,” asked Jean sheepishly now more than ever regretting her decision to knock on the door.
“My name is Wilson,” said the troubled man hiding behind the door as if it were a shield.
“Can I come in?” asked Jean a little surer of herself.
“Why?” Asked the confused Wilson.
“So we can talk,” Said Jean.
Wilson slammed the door shut in Jean’s face. Jean now horribly embarrassed turned around and began to venture down the steep stone steps until the sound of several locks during and chains sliding came from beneath the worn door of her neighbours house.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Wilson knew he couldn’t turn back now. Someone had to know. He wouldn’t be crazy anymore…not anymore. He grasped the last cold knob and turned it t reveal an embarrassed Jean half way down his own steps.
“Come in,” he said in a jittery voice.
Wilson carefully observed Jean as she looked over his blatantly monotonous house. He led Jean to the kitchen where he began to pour himself a cup of milk.
“So…how long have you lived here?” Asked Jean eyeing Wilson’s glass of milk thinking of her own dry mouth.
“Too long,” Said Wilson in almost a whisper. “Too long,”
“I see…do you have a job?”
“No,” Said Wilson sheepishly sipping his milk.
“Oh,” Jean replied feeling uncomfortable.
“Why did you come here?” asked Wilson no longer willing to let Jean build up to the question.
“Well…I heard you last night,” Jean said honestly.
“Wait…you heard it? You really heard it?” asked Wilson excitedly almost jumping up and down.
“Well…I heard you crying…that’s it,” Jean said hoping she hadn’t ruined his hopes.
“No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Wilson yelled. “The water…darkness…wails…wall,” Wilson continued to rant incoherently as Jean got up in a hurry to leave.
Jean was half way out the door when Wilson called out to her in a panic.
“Jean! Jean! Jean wait! I’m not crazy! I’m not crazy Jean! I’ll…I’ll prove it, Yeah! I’ll prove it to you! Just come to my house tomorrow night! I’ll prove it! Then they will see! Then they wont call me crazy!”
Jean let herself out of the house, confused, scared, and uncertain whether to go back the next night.
“I don’t understand why your going back to that nut jobs house again,” said Charles leaning back in his recliner
“He asked me to come over what was I supposed to say?” said Jean in her defence.
“You were supposed to say no,”
“And you were supposed to care,” said Jean as she walked outside slamming the door behind her.
Jean knocked on the door in the same fashion she had the first time. Jean couldn’t hear anything inside…everything was quiet. Suddenly the door burst open to reveal an excited Wilson.
“It’s happening!” Wilson yelled as he pulled her in without saying hello.
Wilson practically dragged a terrified Jean into the living room and began to scream profanities as he huddled in the corner protecting his face.
“Wilson! What is it?” Jean asked not seeing anything but a hysteric Wilson in the corner.
“Its happening!” Wilson sobbed. “Get away from the rug!”
“Wilson…its ok. Nothing is happening its just me and you in the room.
“No! No it isn’t!” Wilson screamed! Suddenly Wilson expression changed from panicked to horrified.
“Jean…Jean you have to get out,” Wilson said in a very frightened but serious voice.
“But Wil..”
“Get out!” Wilson screamed.
Jean ran to the door and opened it faster than any door she had ever opened in her life. She ran home and locked the door behind her. She was safe now, but she had left the poor delirious tormented Wilson alone…by himself.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Seven days passed. Wilson was gone. Jean had filed a missing persons report but it was no use. The police found nothing. It was as if Wilson had never existed.
On the ninth day…Jean went back to the house. She walked up the old stairs once more…placed her hand on the knob and turned…it was open. She walked carefully into the house…she never came out.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The scene found two days later would go down in history as one of the most morbid, grisly crime scenes in Canadian history. The crime itself was the biggest news of the century.
Some people say Wilson was never missing but hiding under the floor boards…right below the rug, waiting for Jean. Some people say Jean murdered Wilson and on the verge being caught to the quick way out, but some people…some people say something sadistic went on in that house. Something no one could begin to dream about. Something supernatural…something evil, but…we will never know. After the incident the five police officers who first arrived on scene all took there vacation days. One still remains in The West Ontario Institute for Troubled Minds. We managed to get three words from one of the on scene cops…”Under the rug,”
|
