It�s troublesome, really. This kind of thing causes a man to lose touch with reality. Who knew that something as simple as the sun would be such an appropriate anchor, something to keep you from drifting into the murky waters of insanity.
Sweet, ignorant insanity. What a gift that would be now, indeed one I would welcome with open arms. They say ignorance is bliss, and I could sure use some of that right now. Whether I mean the bliss or the ignorance is up in the air, but lately I find they seem to be one in the same.
I almost remember the day I gave up hope. Mind you, I did say I almost remember. The days are kind of a blur; they muddle together in my mind like so many different rivers pouring into the open ocean.
Ah, the ocean. I don�t think I�ll ever see that sparkling wonder again. Forgive me for being inclined to wax philosophy, but it�s all I have left. I always wanted to buy a little cabin on the shore with my fianc�, April. A little clich�d, but you get the picture. All that�s missing is a little picket fence.
April. She must be one of the things that keeps me sane; consequently, she�s also among the driving forces behind my impending foray into lunacy.
I think of her whenever my mind is clear. Her picture in my wallet is the only thing that brings a smile to my face anymore; alas, I am a realist. I know I�ll never see her face again, and that grief kills my hope even more. Now you see my dilemma. If her picture was a mocking symbol of love, then another one just as cruel resides a mere 10 feet away. This one is freedom.
Lying broken on the floor I can clearly see where the ceiling above me is crumbling. I�m in a basement, and a corner is caving in. The hole is right at the base of the house where the foundation shows, and is the size of a small car.
I can see outside, but I cannot see the sky. The trees are my window shades, allowing nothing through. I hate it nearly as much as the open door atop the rickety staircase no more than twenty feet away. It seems as though it is a face, eternally laughing at me with a wide grin. I�ll find a way to close it eventually.
Now it�s coming back to me, as I�ve found time to gather my thoughts. That strikes me as amusing now; all I have left is time. It almost reminds me of the Stones in a tragic way. Time is on my side. Yes it is.
These walls are my prison now, solid and silent sentinels of concrete. Instead of iron bars to keep me here I have a broken leg; the pain can get to being unbearable, but ever since the second day it�s been quite dull. Thank God for small favours then, I suppose.
The walls are whispering again, I can hear voices. That scares me, mostly because if they�re real, they can hurt me; if not, I�ve gone insane. But I digress, it�s very late and I�m tired. Maybe I can get a little sleep to dull it all out. A nice palette of grey before the darkness overtakes me once again.
* * *
The next instant, Mike Benson is asleep, doomed to have hideous dreams that he thankfully will not remember. He sleeps the slumber of one who is uneasy; and he is not without good cause, if ever an understatement was made.
Not an ugly person but not someone who would stand out in a crowd, Benson has whittled down to a shell of his former self. He is skinny from lack of eating, delirious from pain and slowly turning to lunacy. You have to give him credit though, the man is a tough one. A lesser person would have cracked by now.
Michael Alexander Benson was a contractor by trade. He was very successful for his age, twenty-six, and was already better off in terms of finance then most. He had attended college for four years immediately after high school and had made a name for himself during the following four.
That brought him to Maine. Mike always liked the area, as a matter of fact he loved anywhere near the water. The irony lay in his hydrophobia, something that caused him to be content with staring at the water because he couldn�t swim a stroke.
In any case, Benson had secured a deal for a few good acres of land in Maine�s backwoods. There was a lot of space up there, nice forestry, serious potential for a suburb, but still no one seemed to want to buy it. Mike was surprised he got it so cheap.
On his way out to scout the location, Benson stopped in at a local tavern to grab a beer and call April. While he was there he overheard the following conversation:
�It just ain�t natural, I tells ya! My laws, it just ain�t one bit!� A large man in hunting garb loudly remarked to his two companions. They were sitting at the bar on three stools, right in a row. The smallest man was at the end and an average sized guy was in between.
The smaller man nodded and replied �A-yuh, an� I seen four big deer and a few moose up in dere, mangled up like road kill they wuz! I never seen nothing so gory.�
The middle guy nodded, said �Mm hmm� took a sip of his beer and sighed.
�A-yuh. It�s best that dem woods should be avoided. I don�t never go up there, �specially �round that� house.� The big man said, an eerie edge of fear creeping into his voice on the last word. It carried into his next few words, which were in hushed tones that made it hard for Mike to hear. �I hear that�s where �it� lives.� He concluded.
Huh, huh- naw man, yeah r-r-right Gus, y-you�re jes tryin� at s-scare us!� the little man stammered. Whether his words were meant to convince or comfort himself was unclear, but they didn�t seem to do much of either.
The big man, Gus presumably, turned slowly in his chair and quietly stated, �You believe what you will, then Ray. My own self is stayin� outta dem woods.�
The middle guy nodded, said �Mm hmm� took a sip of his beer and sighed. There would be no more talk on that subject that day.
Mike then went about his business, telling himself repeatedly that it was just drunken crazy talk. What kept nagging at the back of his mind was the man sitting soberly in the middle, sipping gingerly from his single beer. He agreed with the other hunters, and he didn�t seem even buzzed. Just in case, he said an extra few �I love you�s� to April before heading out.
On his way to his destination, Mike noticed a sharp decline in the number of houses, gas stations, stores, et cetera on the way. It seemed that by the time the road fell to dirt, he was alone.
The trees began to become thicker, encroaching on him like a never ending flood of greens, browns and greys. It seemed that everything died quicker as you continued your descent into the foreboding wood, until only evergreens remained. What little regular trees were there were strewn about the ground this way and that, lying among a thick carpet of leaves; dead, like everything else.
Mike began to realize that despite how deep into the woods he was, there had been no wildlife whatsoever around, not a bird, squirrel, stray cat, anything.
The ground became so littered with various forms of debris that mike realized his car would go no further. He was loathe to get out and walk, but it seemed that it would be necessary. He did so, and the loud bang of the door being shut seemed so tremendous in the midst of such peculiar silence it caused him to jump.
Walking along the beaten and unused dirt road, Benson was being made more and more paranoid by how loud his footsteps rang in his own ears. He now understood that this land probably wouldn�t sell to well on the market if the buyers had ever actually been there. Landscaping photo�s couldn�t capture how creepy this place felt. He finally understood why he got the land with such ease, and his mind began to wander back to the bar.
Shoving the thoughts aside for a bit, he eventually found what he was looking for - a twisty, winding driveway leading up into the woods and out of sight. Sight being a relative term now, seeing as though the trees managed to quell any possible light from the outside.
Mike made his way up the drive, stepping over fallen and rotting logs as he went. With every step he took, leaves scattered around his legs like flies disturbed off a corpse. Finally he rounded the last turn and stood in silent, shocked awe at what was there.
Lying at the end of the drive was a tremendous house, towering over all else near. The house was not particularly tremendous in size, but the atmosphere and general vibe came off the place in waves, sweeping over you and shocking you to the bone. Involuntarily, Mike took a step back while he began to reassess the situation.
The old home was a little bigger than the three-story duplexes seen in modern subdivisions and suburbs. The siding and paint peeled and had grown discoloured, the underlying bricks visible all over. Shutters banged against the wall, some nearly ready to fall off while others already had.
The windows in the place were only half boarded up, but you could not see inside due to the lack of light. It gave the illusion of the house having dead, half-closed eyes that would forever stare forward in silent greeting.
A low balcony from the second floor hung down and the supports still stood firm. The balcony cast an even darker shadow on the porch and doorway, which now held no door at all. Looking into that doorway was like looking into and endless stretch of black, darkness that seemingly knew no end.
Mike was drawn to this. He had no idea why he was, but he took little time before climbing the tattered steps and crossing into the threshold of the house.
Immediately he heard voices in the house. It sounded like a distant and hollow giggling, one that echoed though out everything. It seeped into your bones and struck you in the marrow, making you feel it inside. He became very nervous, the beginnings of fear sprouting in his heart.
�Who�s there? Hey, this is private property! Who�s there?� Benson called sternly, trying to keep fear from ebbing into his voice. He failed.
Mike listened for a response and began to walk around the open area he was in, probably the homes living area. The unsteady and decaying floor boards groaned loudly under his weight. Finally, his response came.
�Ring around the rosie, pocket full of poesy�� the voice sing-songed from seemingly all directions at once. It was the voice of a little girl, but there was a haunted tinge left unhidden in her speech. Mike had never felt so scared.
He walked briskly around the living room, checking for where the voice was coming from. He checked the places he figured the girl could be hiding. He found nothing. Finally he stepped in the wrong place and he heard a support snap below him, the sound mingling with the little girl�s giggle in a sort of cruel and obscene medley.
�Ashes, ashes�� Mike had enough time to look up and see the opaque and nearly transparent face of a young girl in front of him. She smiled sweetly, and then her face suddenly crumbled away to reveal a bare skull as the floor beneath Mike followed suit. He screamed, as much from fear as from the sudden drop, but it was unheard over the loud crash either way.
�We all fall down.� The apparition crooned before issuing another giggle. Then she faded away into nothing, leaving Mike to wonder later if she was ever there at all.
Mike screamed aloud in pain and terror. His leg hurt but he didn�t care. He got up to run for the door, but instead crumbled to the ground, writhing in agony.
His leg was broken at the shin and his knee was now dislocated. His only good leg was his right, but he wasn�t going anywhere on that. Michael Benson, contractor by trade, was trapped in the one place no one would ever look for him, whether they knew he was there or not.
Lying in that basement for weeks, Mike slowly grew very close to breaching the line between sanity and insanity several times. It was hard to determine what was real down there, and when �they� came from the depths of the house to torment him, he would simply stare at his wallet photo of April and weep.
The pain was dull and throbbing, but he suspected that may have been because his untreated leg was dying. Maybe he had nerve damage or something, he didn�t know. Sometimes, he would give it a good punch to be rewarded with a sharp pain that quickly brought him back to reality. He normally did this when he ascertained that he was teetering on the edge.
Today was bound to be different. Today one of �them� would come, but it was not for torment so it turned out to be somewhat pleasant.
Mike awoke to the sound of someone clapping, slowly and deliberately. He turned his bloodshot eyes up to see a man who looked to be about thirty-five, give or take, standing over him. He was new to Benson, who had oddly never seen him before.
"Hello� Mike, is it? I�d ask you how you�re doing, but it�s obviously not well.� The spectre stated with a fairly flat tone, void of any emotion save a hint of empathy. Empathy, from one of �them� was new as well.
He stared blankly at the man and bluntly said, �You�re not like them. You�re different.� Mike then blinked rather dumbly, his mind trying to process this new information despite its fatigue.
�Yes, that�s right. Fortunate for you, I�m not stark raving mad like everyone else in here. Fortunate for me, neither are you.� The ghost seemed to be quite happy about that. Mike forced a weak smile.
�What makes you so sure, see-through guy?� Mike inquired, a note of sarcasm, albeit a slight one, in his voice.
The back and forth banter continued between the two for a few hours, both exchanging life stories. The ghost�s name was Robert Thyme; he was from Chicago and was born in 1928. He died in the house sometime in the 60�s, but he couldn�t remember the date.
They spoke about their love interests, and apparently Robert had left behind a daughter, wife, and an infant son. He avoided two subjects most though; personal stories about his family, and the details surrounding his death. Mike found that unnerving.
Finally, he cut to the chase and asked what had been on his mind since the beginning. �What happened here? How did you all die?�
With that, silence fell over the room, casting a shroud of discomfort over the pair. Thyme�s face stiffened, and his mouth set in a grim line. He thought carefully before continuing.
�You really don�t want to know, but I guess you have the right.� Thyme drew a breath and let it out with a sigh. �All I�ll tell you is that it�s really not pleasant. Most of the people here were perfectly sane up until the hour of their deaths. I only hope you have it quick.�
Any colour left in Mike�s face ran out. In contrast to the spectre in front of him, it would be hard to tell which one was dead. Benson began to shake.
�Th-that bad then, is it-t?� he stammered out between clacking teeth. Mike began to become acutely aware of the large hole just a few feet across the room and up the wall. When Robert just gave him a grim nod in response, he knew he had to try. He knew he�d never make it, but he shoved that thought aside.
Mr. Thyme watched silently as Mr. Benson scrambled towards the far wall on his dead leg, only to come crashing down four feet later. Screaming, he dragged himself all the way to the wall. The pain in his leg was renewed, and horrifyingly intense. When he looked down he could see blood free flowing onto the cement, and he knew what the protrusion in his pant leg around the break was. His shin had given up and snapped.
Finally, he did the same and gave up. He collapsed against the wall, the hole just above his right shoulder and out of reach. When he looked at the wall he could clearly see gashes in the cement with broken off fingernails in them. That�s when hope lost it�s struggle and died in him completely.
Before Robert could say anything to comfort him, the house was alive with the wails of the dead. Everywhere the spirits in the house shrieked, the noise a deafening roar let loose from the bowels of hell itself. The house shook and shuddered under the inconceivable pressure of it, no longer a silent beacon.
Thyme grew very agitated and horror flashed over his features. He turned to the man who lay broken on the floor and hurriedly ushered a warning, �It�s coming. God bless you and good luck,� then he was gone. Scattered doors slammed shut everywhere, and then there was nothing but the horrible silence.
Mike lay still and gazed around the room. He realized that he couldn�t see the door or stairs from where he was. That was good, and he leaned his sweat streak face against the cool basement wall and smirked. Only the frame of the basement entrance was visible, and he could live with that.
There was suddenly a great deal of noise outside, and Mike�s smirk was instantly replaced with a look of placid terror. Something very large was heading for the hole that lay just three feet to the right of Benson�s head.
With a thunderous roar that commanded respect and instilled terror, a huge Kodiak bear shoved it�s head and forepaws in the hole. It had smelled Benson�s newly spilled blood from close by and had come to investigate. The fear was rolling off of Mike in waves, and the bear picked up on that two. The bear let loose another roar and swiped at Benson�s head, narrowly missing.
Mike began to yell and holler at the bear, hurling nearby rocks at it�s head in a desperate attempt to scare it off and survive. Suddenly the bear froze so still that Benson could have sworn that it was dead. It took one sniff of the air and it visibly bristled. It backed off and took a larger smell, only to let out a yelp and bound off at full speed to the woods.
Benson was puzzled. He hadn�t done anything that would scare a bear that much, seeing as though the massive predator had been horror-struck. At first he thought that he should just thank God for small favours, but then his relief slowly turned to a dull worry.
Then he could hear it. There was something out in the front of the house, and he didn�t even entertain the thought that it was just the bear. Mike gazed wistfully one more time at the symbol of freedom that was his makeshift window. Everything outside was dark. Everything inside was dark. He hated the dark more than anything else. Michael Benson, contractor by trade, was ready to meet his end.
He prayed silently as the thing slowly descended the stairs. Each step drew closer, booming steps that caused an echo effect so ominous Mike would have lost his mind with utter horror if he had still cared even the slightest bit.
The last thing he saw before closing his eyes to say his last rites was a shadow. It fell across the floor and pooled into all the other shadows. Eventually everything just faded to the never ending black.
The End