The
Voice Beckons
by
Erik
Gustafson
Stacie
had lived with voices inside her head for her whole life and it was
exhausting. A shrill, echoing voice that didn’t command her to hurt
herself, or even to kill her friends as one might assume is the nature of
auditory hallucinations. This eerie murmur deep inside her core beckoned to be
found, begging Stacie to rescue her, to save her.
When
she was a child and quite a literal person still, she searched for this
imaginary person high and low. Instead of being afraid of closets and dark
spaces like under her bed, she always checked for the mystery person calling
out to her. She peered down into storm drains—whenever she could get close
enough to one without her mom flipping out, that is. The darkness seeped out
from the opening, but there was, of course, never anyone down there. Once
she about had a heart attack when a family of raccoons—a mother and three tiny
babies—came scurrying out and hurried across the street. She stopped checking
gutters after that.
An
overweight, bald therapist had once tried to help. Even gave her pills.
Not a bit of relief.
As
a teenager, she was embarrassed by the voice and did her best to pretend she
didn’t hear the woman. She was sure it was a female voice but regardless of who
it was, her little follower had no business in her active social life. There
was no way she was going to let on to her real friends that she had an
imaginary friend. She would be mortified and everyone would surely avoid her
just as sure as they avoided the girl who picks her nose and eats the gooey
snacks that she pulls out. So Stacie became fairly adept at snubbing the inner
turmoil.
Ignoring
the voice did nothing to ease her burden. In fact, it probably made life more
stressful. Made her feel crazier than she probably already was.
She
went off to college, not with a career goal in mind or to pursue higher
learning but with the hopes that moving far away might quell the demon
screaming to be saved. It didn’t, but she made friends and managed to cope.
Managed to pass her classes and squeak by. The availability of alcohol in the
dormitory helped a great deal, much more so than the anti-psychotic medication
she used to take.
Stacie
was pretty loaded on energy drinks and vodka, in fact, on the night she went
with her new friends to a haunted house located clear on the other side of the
city, on the outskirts of town. An abandoned farmhouse.
The
haunted house started at the side of the house, descending concrete steps into
a pitch black cellar that looked like a angry mouth. There were plenty of twists,
turns, and other frights. Stacie heart was racing from the spirits jumping out
at her and her head was spinning from the spirits she had drunk earlier. Happily,
the voice was silent.
Until
the end.
Somehow,
the journey had led them into a large barn. The expansive structure reeked of
old hay. At the final turn, they had to
run through chickens were hanging from the ceiling. The chickens were wet and
somehow kept warm, which grossed out the girls as they pushed the dangling
birds out of their way to get to the exit.
As she pushed away the final rows of chickens, she was confronted with a
large mirror that someone had written in red lipstick-looking paint: “What does
fear look like?”
People
were staring at themselves and making faces and giggling, then exiting.
When
it was Stacie’s turn, however, she stopped cold and her chest felt like her heart
stopped. There in the reflection, stood an emaciated figure in tattered clothes
that hung off bony limbs, pressed up to Stacie’s side, stroking her hair, as if she were a
lover. The figure had thin messy hair and wide yellow eyes.
“Why
won’t you help me?” The haggard form in the mirror shrieked out. Stacie felt
spittle on her cheeks from the creature’s coarse words, as if it came through
the mirror. Its eyes were not glaring out at her; they were burrowing into the
eyes of Stacie’s mirror image.
Her
skin went cold and drained of color.
Stacie
bolted from the barn, past her chuckling friends.
“Did
you guys see that?” She asked when they finally caught up to her.
“See
what? You running in a panic?” One girl said and they all roared in laughter.
Stacie
tried to ignore them, but her face burned with shame. She would never be free
of the voice, free to be herself and enjoy life. It just wasn’t meant to be. Her shoulders
drooped like dead flowers and she turned toward the car. Her stomach lurched
and she vomited on the gravel.
She
wiped the hot liquid off her chin and stood. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it
was the years of only hearing the voice and never actually seeing the speaker
that drover her, but Stacie took a deep breath, pulled her hair back, and
marched past her friends into the barn.
Someone
in dark overalls tried to tell her that this was the exit, that she had to go
around, but Stacie ignored him and pushed through the door into the gloom.
Eyes
tightly closed, she faced the mirror. Deep down, she knew it had been her
imagination and when she opened her eyes she would only be staring at a
pathetic loser.
But
she wrong.
The
poltergeist waited in the reflection, grinning. What teeth weren’t missing were
brown and cracked. “Save me, Stacie!” Its words drifted from the mirror like an
icy breeze.
“What
do you want from me?” Stacie shouted. People around her were keeping their
distance, avoiding her by walking in a huge arc. Stacie figured they probably
thought she was part of the haunted house.
The
woman’s arms reached out for her.
Stacie
found herself reaching back, but her efforts were blocked by the surface of the
mirror. She half expected her hands to pass through.
“Save
me!”
“Shut
up!” She screamed, making fists.
She
pounded the mirror and the entire wall wavered briefly and then everything shattered.
Silver shards of mirror exploded, showering her feet. She was crying, staring at a brown plywood
wall. She looked at her hands, blood coated them. She could feel the stings of
glass embedded in her face and legs; could feel the soft tickle of blood.
People
around her were gasping and fleeing for the exit.
She
continued staring at her hands as fingers became blurry. She saw two sets of
hands, oscillating from her wrists. She
felt sick and knew she was about to vomit again.
The
double image of her hands solidified and an extra set of arms extended down
from the extra hands. She fell to her knees, barely aware of the glass tearing
into her.
A
ghostly image was yanking its way out of her.
The
hands clasped around Stacie’s wrists and pulled. She sat helpless on the broken glass, feeling
the stretching and struggling of this thing jerking its way out of her body.
When it was completely out of Stacie, it continued to clench her wrists.
It
was the woman from the mirror.
“Hey,
sis,” she chortled. It was the voice from her head coming from person standing
before her.
The
woman stank of putrid flesh. Her eyes widened and her shoulders rose as she
pulled on Stacie’s wrists. Hard. Stacie spilled forward, tumbling inside the woman.
Stacie
vanished.
People
rushed past the old lady in the torn garments as she shuffled out of the
haunted house, smiling. She heard a few of them calling for Stacie and chuckled
at the irony. She savored the crisp night air and headed for the fields.
*
I
wrote this down for all those who continue to search for Stacie. She is safely
tucked away deep inside me. I hear her screaming sometimes, begging me to let
her out. I love the sound of her voice.
I can't believe this one has no votes! Now it has one. Great story telling, including the back story, the creep-out scenes, the end. All in less than 1500 words!
ReplyDeleteWow thanks for your kind words Cheryl!
ReplyDelete