Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24864320-20140430020455

So this was flagged for deletion for being "low quality". All the people I showed it to prior to posting said it was great. I'd like someone to explain how it's "low quality", if possible.

"What we got today, Zeb?"

"Looks like the fucker finally offed himself. Good fuckin' riddance."

"That any way to speak of the dead, man?"

"Shut up. When you been in the business s'long as I have, you lose your pity for the dead."

"Well I know he was a bad man but..."

"He wasn't a man. He was a monster."

"Whatever, man. What we got here?"

"These notes were found by his body. I ain't gonna be fucked to read 'em all. You do it and tell me what I need to know."

"Fine."

Going back to his car, the officer took the loose pile of papers to his office. Luckily the bastard was nice enough to number the papers; he got to work on page one:

I have two phobias that control my life. Achluophobia, fear of the dark. Cliche, isn't it? Spectrophobia, fear of mirrors. Going to the bathroom at night can be a hassle, that's for certain. But I'm not here to prattle on about myself. I'm here to tell a story.

I was browsing the internet at night. Sounds typical, right? Gonna be a tapping at my window? A knock in my closet? No. Still, I was scared. Like an idiot I was reading scary stories before bed, on some "true ghost stories" site. Why do I do this? I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment. Aren't we all, sometimes? I had just finished a particularly paranoia inducing one. You know the ones I'm talking about, the ones where halfway through reading it you just have to look around, almost thinking you'll actually see something. Of course, you don't, it's just a story. But the fear is real.

So was it that night. As I was lazily scrolling around, looking for my next scare, I saw something in the corner of my eye. It looked like a small puff of smoke, obviously my eyes playing tricks on me. I blinked and tried to avoid freaking out. I was tired, when you're tired you see things. So I did the right thing and settled down for bed.

I couldn't sleep. Even with the nightlight on, anxiety was creeping in on me. How stupid I was, reading that shit before bed. I had been diagnosed, among other things, with generalized anxiety years ago. Why didn't I act like it? I even had a mirror in my room, though of course it was facing away from me. I don't know why I kept it there, I just did. It had meaning. It was an heirloom.

Even then, I can't shake the feeling it's watching me. It's irrational, I know. But when I'm in the shower, when I'm just laying about, I can feel them watching me. The mirrors. I feel my own eyes, my own glare, burning a hole into me. Just like in the dark. I feel the stares, I feel everything, closing in on me. Choking me. Like I'm in a plastic bag with all the air being sucked out.

So yes, you could say I have some issues. But it's not without reason. I always felt, always saw, things others couldn't. Gods, I didn't want it to be this corny, I swear. I'm such an idiot. But if you were me, in that cool California night, you'd feel the same exact way.

I woke up groggily. The moon cast it's eerie light into my room. I was 4, that shit was scary enough as it is. But I didn't wake up for no reason. I felt my bed shift. No, I felt something bump my bed from below. Back then, I always was scared of sewer crocodiles. Yes, sewer crocodiles. I thought a crocodile had snuck under my bed. I was paralyzed in fear, my little heart racing. I felt another bump. Another. It was going to eat me. This was it. I was dead. I clung onto my favorite plushy penguin and clamped my eyes shut. But, that was it. No more bumps. Summoning all the courage I had in my little body, I slowly opened my eyes, and was met with the gaze of another's.

Even the thought of it, even the mention of it is enough to get my heart racing. The eyes, just floating there. Glowing red. Anger. Hatred. Staring right into me. Once again, my body completely froze. A cold sweat formed on my neck. I quickly noticed it was more than just eyes. A pale face, shrouded in a torn black cloak. Two long bony arms. No legs. It just floated there, staring at me. I tried to scream, I tried to do anything, but its gaze made that impossible. It reached out with its pasty, decrepit hand. It touched me. My blood ran cold, my eyes opened wide, lightning crackled through my body; but then...

Sadness. All I knew was sadness. The kind of deep sorrow nobody, especially not a child, should ever know. In its icy grip was the soul crushing sadness of someone who had nothing, who had lost everything they held dear and more. It was too much for my young mind to comprehend. Tears rolled down my cheeks unhindered. My heart sank so low I was afraid it'd fall right out of my body. Then, it was over. The sadness was gone, the entity was gone, the bumps were gone, all that remained was the eerie glow of the moon. I passed out.

18 years later, I still need the nightlight. Where did the fear of mirrors come from, you ask? I couldn't tell you. One day I was taking a shower, and I just couldn't shake the feeling someone was watching me. Not someone, but me. In the mirror. That was a quick shower. I wish I had an answer for you too, but that's all I got.

Back to the story at hand. I awoke early in the morning, as usual. I checked the time, wincing at the bright light on my cell phone. 4:12 AM. I sighed and rolled onto my back. I was tired. I was always tired. But it seemed sleep was a blessing I was never meant to have. For a time I just gazed at my ceiling. I saw another puff. Just to my left. I blinked, yet again, and yet again assured myself it was nothing. Trying to get back to sleep ended in failure, so I simply laid there until the morning light brought its safety back to me.

It's about this time that things got strange. As I stumbled my way to the bathroom for the morning pee, the air in my small apartment felt thick. Stuffy. But also, still. It was a bit creepy to say the least, but I figured it was allergies or something. The things people tell themselves to feel better, right? Making my breakfast, I couldn't shake the feeling I was forgetting something, that something was wrong. I furrowed my brow and scanned my brain for what it may be, but no answers came. Once again, must be sleeplessness catching up to me. Attempting to turn the TV on, I found I had no signal. No shock there, really. I ate my bagel in that foreboding silence.

I couldn't shake that feeling. I couldn't ignore the things I was seeing. Small puffs of white smoke, and now little white balls moving around then disappearing. Nothing that should be scary, but they frightened me each time just the same. I rubbed my eyes as I sat behind my desk, opening my laptop, trying to find a good distraction. Nothing seemed interesting. The air was really starting to bug me. It had that feeling of dread everyone knows. The anticipation of something awful. A child waiting to be scolded, a patient waiting to hear how long they've got left, a husband in a waiting room, waiting to hear just what went wrong with his baby.

I went to open a window. As I drew back the curtains, the dull gray of Oregon flooded my room. Something caught my eye. There was a man simply standing by the street in front of my apartment complex. I don't know why he caught my eye, I really don't. Well, I didn't know at the time. As far as I could tell, it was just an average Joe waiting for his bus to arrive. So why was I so intrigued by him?

Before my very eyes, as that bus arrived, he threw himself in front of it. My eyes widened as my brain registered what had just happened. His rag doll body went flying, the bus hadn't even slowed. I stepped back and closed my eyes.

We were walking, me and her. I loved her so much. I can't help but feel the tears welling, writing this. Even now, 4 years later, I can feel the sting just as if it was yesterday. Walking, hand in hand, our whole lives ahead of us, she was taken from me. I felt the fear, the realization I felt that day, as I saw that damned semi come barreling towards us. Why did I let go? Why did I assume she saw it? I could have saved her too, I could have... My heart sank as I crawled back into bed. I wanted to cry, but as usual, nothing came. Dead inside. That's all I was without her.

Something woke me up. A faint whisper in the gray. My eyes creaked open as anxiety settled in. The air was just as thick, maybe even thicker. How long had I been out for? I couldn't tell you. But my room was still that depressing dull gray. I looked around my room for a source of the sound, but of course found none. I made my way to the kitchen for lunch.

The TV still wasn't working. Still, I was seeing things. This couldn't be sleep deprivation. It wasn't constant, but it was just often enough to not be my eyes playing tricks on me. When I stared at one place for to long, that little white ball would show up and drive my attention away. I had to talk to someone, but couldn't. Checking my cell, it had no service. This was getting a bit unnerving, to say the least. I had to leave. I had to get out of this place for awhile. I finished my sandwich and went for the door.

It wouldn't budge. Panic exploded in my body. What the fuck was going on? This was like a movie or something. But try as I might, the door would not budge. I desperately tried to rip open a window to no avail. I tried kicking it. I slammed a chair into it with all my might. Nothing I tried even cracked the surface. I felt my body start to tremble harder, my vision narrowed, my heart raced, my palms and neck were drenched in sweat. Everything started to go dark.

I woke up hearing that sound again. Louder. From down the hallway. An orange glow flooded the room. I was on the floor. I slowly got up and checked outside. The sun was setting. Trying to open the window, I found it still wouldn't move. It wasn't a dream. I was trapped.

But that didn't matter when I saw that man again.

I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. But still, there he was. I knew it was him. But still he felt... Different. I was losing it, I was sure of it. Hell, I still am losing it. Or, more likely, I never had it in the first place. Another man came up to him. I felt like I knew this other man. Tried as I might, I couldn't distinguish any features on either of them. The other man lifted his arm.

There was a loud bang, and the man fell.

I was at a convenience store, looking for a snack. A man in a ski mask burst in, the shining metal of a pistol in his hands. He pointed it at the poor teenager working the register, demanding money. That poor clerk, he just had to be a hero. There was a bang, and then blood. So much blood...

Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me? Why me?

''The officer skipped the page. The weird fuck had just written "Why me?" over and over again.''

It was night when I pulled myself together. I went back to the shelter of my room. The light made me feel better. I heard the noise. I saw the small things, dancing around me. The light was all that mattered.

It was around 3 when the light shut off. I was frozen. Anxiety raced through my body. The noises were louder. I swear I could almost make out words. It sounded sad. It made me sad. The darkness was swallowing me. I could feel it constricting around me. But I couldn't do a damn thing. So I stayed there, curled under my blankets, waiting for the morning to save me.

I somehow managed to sleep, it seemed. A scream cut through the air and straight into my ears. I bolted up. It sounded like it was right next to me. A vision flashed before my eyes. A woman, crying, no, screaming in fear. Tears rolled down her face, black streaks of her makeup stained her pasty skin. She was naked, soaking in her own blood. Just as quickly as it had came, it was gone. Once again I found myself frozen. I searched my mind for something to do, something to explain what was going on, anything. I found nothing. I was helpless. I still am helpless.

Days went by. The nights were full of the whispers, getting closer each time, from all around me. Sometimes I could even make out words, sometimes little fragments of sentences. None of it made sense. I felt the stares in the mirrors, judging me. Me judging me. What do you want? WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

''The officer almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.''

The days are getting darker. I've lost count. I don't eat. I don't drink. I hardly sleep. Toilet won't work, the bathroom is full of filth. The other day the curtains on all the windows disappeared. I don't know what happened to them. A week ago I looked outside only to see a man standing inches from the window, staring right at me. He was judging me too. I hear crying. All day I hear the crying. I wish they'd just shut up. I see death. I see it everywhere. I open my closet to find someone hanging. I look outside and see people being ran over, shot, stabbed. Most of my life is just sitting, waiting for it to be over. I'm done waiting. I have a gun. It didn't work on the mirrors, the windows or the door, but I hope it works on me.

The officer couldn't believe what he had read. Was this guy seriously that fucking nuts? He couldn't help but be creeped out by the whole story. He dialed up Zeb.

"The poor fuck, man..."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think he even knows he done it."

"That don't fucking matter man, he did. WE know he did. People are dead, kid. This ain't no time to play therapist, let's just wrap this shit up so everyone will stop freaking out over this."

Two weeks later...

"You wanna run that by me again?! How the fuck does a corpse just up and leave, doc?"

"I don't know! The point is, he isn't here now."

"Well where the fuck could he have gone?"

"We don't know, damnit!"

"Hold on.." Zeb lifted the radio from it's pouch and held it to his ear. His face went pale as his eyes slowly widened.  