Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29791712-20150604002940

Hello creepypasta readers. This here is the first story I had ever created when I started writing. I've revised the son of a bitch almost three times, and decide to share it with you guys. I hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to provide feedback and comments. Thank you.

I woke up nearly jumping out of my bed. It happened again. Once more I had that terrible nightmare that repeats almost every single night since I was a child. Beads of sweat dripped and spilled down from my forehead and body. I was smuggled by my blanket, and I pulled it out of my body with frustration. My heart thumped against my chest with petulant force. I breathed from my mouth as if I just ran five miles. I felt utterly exhausted. You’d expect someone who had the same dream over and over again to grow accustom to it, but as a matter of fact it became worse and worse as the years go by.

I laid back down on my bed to prepare myself for another sleepless night. At least it was a weekend, and I didn’t have to worry about attending school. I stared at the darkened ceiling above me, and felt the sting of my tears inside my eyes. I never wanted anything more in the world than to just put these nightmares to an end once and for all. Why me? Why was I cursed with this brutality? Why was it the same damn nightmare over and over again? Why was I the misfortunate one?

It all began when my brother and I were much younger. I was six, and he was ten. Despite this four year gap in our age, we still remained close as possible throughout the years. I love my brother, and we had a relationship like no other that we had seen. Every other male sibling always seem to have this constant brotherly rivalry, yet Gabriel and I rarely fought. Whenever we did argue for anything, it was because of something that wasn’t that disastrous. At the end of the day my brother was my number one partner for life.

This all changed, however, that one unforgettable night. This is how it began:

My father leaped out of his sleep only to hear my brother and me screaming at the top of our lungs. It was three thirty-three in the morning. My father, Jacob, went sprinting to our rooms without a hint of hesitation. He reached our doorway in a matter of three seconds. Back when I was younger I shared a room with Gabriel. I was too afraid to sleep all by myself during my younger years.

Jacob still heard out retched yelling as he stood next to our door. He began pounding on the wooden entrance with his huge meaty fist. Each blow he sent with his hand caused the entire room to vibrate within itself. My father turn our doorknob with much frustration, only to find it locked. This was rather unusual and hard to believe, since my parents always warned me of never locking our doors in case of an emergency. A cloud of gloominess settled on my father. He thought we were doomed.

Jacob reeled back from our door, and mentally prepared himself to slam against it. With two quick breaths, my father osculated his buff shoulders against our door. It didn’t budge. Vivid agony shot as my father’s entire arm. My father’s only incentive into proceeding to try again was my brother and mine salvation. Our screams of torture was enough to make him try again. Jacob bulged onto the wooden door one last time. This time it gave in. He fell on top of the room’s floor, and hit his chin against the carpet. He grunted in pain, but that wasn’t enough to stop him from jumping high to see why his children were screaming.

But as he looked across the room at my brother and me sleeping, he found us perfectly soundless. In fact, the entire room seemed to be settled in a blanket of peacefulness and tranquility. Not a single noise creaked from inside my bedroom. Jacob stared at my brother and me with absolute apprehension, confusion, but relief. His mind polluted with dozens of unanswered questions, but his heart felt as ease at the sight of our calm faces.

My mother walked in on the scene. She saw the fallen and broken door inside our room, and gazed at my father with hot anger. Before my mother could protest at the sight of everything, my dad shushed her with his index finger. Jacob explained to my mom, Sandra, what had occurred through furtive whispers. She was put in complete shock at the entire story.

They both glimpse at Gabriel and I sleeping, and couldn’t resist to visit us. They planted a warm kiss on our cheeks. Then they crawled in our beds, and slept with us the entire night. Their hearts and minds were in a different places before falling into their dreams, but a part of them were able to find peace that my brother and I somehow were okay.

The next morning I woke up with my stomach in gurgling pain. The inside of my stomach roared as if it hadn’t eaten in months. I quickly dashed to my bathroom without even questioning why my parents were sleeping on my bed. My feet stomped against the floor of the small corridor that leaves to my bathroom. I barged into the room with my arms wrapped around my tummy. I didn’t have the patience to close the door, so I left it slightly ajar. I opened the toilet seat, felt my stomach rise, and barfed. The vomit that traveled from my stomach, through my entire body, and left my mouth was absolutely painful. The inside of my throat burned, my stomach felt excruciating pain, and I kept scarping my mouth with the chunks of food escaping my wet lips. Every paused I had from throwing up allowed me to screech in torment. My eyes stung with tears, and I felt as if I was going to pass out. I might had if it wasn’t for my brother to crawl next to me.

“Mommy! Daddy! It’s Alexis, and he’s puking!” Gabriel called. In between my crying and the flushing sound of me throwing up, I heard footsteps approach the bathroom. In seconds my parents were next to me. My mom crouched down, and placed both of her hands on my shoulders to comfort me. My dad stood next to my brother and my mom, and gazed at me with a look of horror. I took a quick glimpse at him, and even till this day I knew he was somehow frightened by me. I didn’t understand at that moment why. It took years later for me to comprehend his fear.

“Honey,” my mother said next to my ear. “Are you okay? What happened? Why are you throwing up?”

“Mooommy,” I moaned through my sniffs. “My stomach hurts. I wanna go somewhere else.” I stared down at the toilet. I saw pieces of last night’s dinner displayed in front of me mixed with last night’s dessert. It was rice and chicken with two chocolate glazed donuts. I used to inhale those types of donuts constantly as a kid.

“Okay baby, we can go somewhere else,” my mother began. “But you have to make sure that number one, you’re done with vomiting. Make sure you feel perfectly fine. Number two is that you need to clean yourself up, okay baby? Are you done?”

It took me a while to respond back. I was too busy looking at my work of disgust. There was something bizarre about how I had suddenly vomited right when I woke up. Even as I kid I knew I had a strong stomach, and I didn’t show any sign of the brink of any sickness. At six years old I could decipher something wrong about what just happened. I couldn’t put my finger in it, but I had a sense. Sometimes we ignore that sense, and don’t even think twice about following it.

“Yeah, I think I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t. I still felt like dog shit on the sidewalk. But I had to exit my bathroom. My knees were beginning to hurt by me balancing myself on them. “Help me clean up, mommy please.”

“Of course honey!” My mother said. “Jacob, Gabriel, go fetch me some paper towels. The baby got some of the toilet seat. Also pass me a wet cloth.” The men rushed out of the bathroom. By the time my whole family helped me clean up, we were all sitting in the dining room. We sat in our familiar position. My father and Jacob always took the seats at the end of the table that were across from each other. My mother and I were placed right in the middle.

I knew something bad had happen. My father and mother shared solemn glances. We only had a similar reunion like this when I was five, which at the time was a year ago. It was when we found out our cousin died in a car crash. I remember my mother holding back tears, and my dad trying to smuggle her with his hugs. Jacob never expressed much emotion, but rendered a whole pack of love for our family. I guess that’s how every father should be. Although ever since that day I felt just an inch distant away from him from everyone else. He still acted the same with me, but I sensed that apprehension inside him. In fact ever since that night I was able to sense more and more things, and ninety-nine percent of the time I am correct.

“Something happened,” Jacob began. He would obviously be the first one to bring it up, he being the one who experienced it. “Something that may scare you kids, but we must discuss it immediately.” My mother and father shared me a look of slight sympathy, and I think it was because they must have interpret that I wouldn’t understand half the things they were about to discuss about. But little did they know that they were incorrect in every matter. As I stated before, some sort of evolution of my understanding skills bloomed inside me. As the buzz of the nausea cleared up while sitting on the dining room, I saw it with my own two eyes. I looked at the world a bit differently. I almost became a bit self-aware. My innocence and buzz of being a child still stuck with me as normal as a kid should be, but in total I felt a bit more mature.

“You may or may not understand, but we’ll try to talk this out to see what we’ll learn,” my father said. “Now, I just want to ask you kids first. Did you guys sleep well last night? Was there anything bothering you, or did something or someone disturb you?”

Gabriel and I glanced at each other, and gave ourselves questionable looks. We shrugged our shoulders. “Nah, pop. Nuthin bothered me last night, really,” Gabe spoke.

“And you, Alexis?” my father asked, and leaned closer to me. “Did something bother you?” He kept on putting his face closer and closer to mine, anticipating an answer.

“Same here, dada,” I spoke. “Just that this mornin I threw up, and all. Other than that, I was fine.” My father returned back to his normal sitting position, looking rather discomforted and disappointed.

“Okay, that’s good to hear,” my father sighed. “Because something happened, and we want to let you kids know what. Um, how do I start?” He proceeded to tell his tale: On how we woke up, heard us screaming, came to the rescue, etc. I nodded, understanding everything he was telling me. I occasionally glimpsed at Gabriel to see how he was taking the entire thing. He seemed a bit mindful of what was going on as well.

Then it hit me. Right when my father finished telling his story, the dream came back to me. I remembered. It was so clear in my head as if it just happened. The entire dream unfolded itself inside my mind. I remembered.

“I remember!” All three of my family members turned their heads at me. “I had a dream! I remember now.” But as the entire nightmare cleared up, the terror of it also unfolded.

“What happened, sweetie,” my mother almost whispered. “Tell us, please. It could help.”

She must have noticed my smile of eureka fade into a dismal frown, since she placed her creamy palms on top of my hands. “Don’t be afraid to tell us. It’s okay. Open up to us. Never be afraid of opening up to us. We’re you’re parents, and we love you.” It was really ironic when I think about it. The moment my mother informed me to never feel intimidated at revealing myself to them was the last time I ever opened up to them.

So I told my story. I told them my hell.

In my nightmare, I found myself strapped against those medical seats they put patients on inside of a dentist. The entire seat felt well cushioned, but the strapped that wrapped around my ankles, thighs, chest, and neck were uncomfortable. I tried wiggling out of them at first, but found the action useless. It was a waste of energy. I knew I was trapped. That is how best I can describe it.

Realizing I was going to be there for a while, I decided to gaze around my surroundings. I took a full analysis of my interior setting. I was placed inside some sort of medical room or facility. Hovering above me was a faint green lamplight that provided just enough brightness for me to search the room. Near my right was a stand that contained numerous surgical appliances that I couldn’t quite name. I did kept on seeing a repeated pattern of rapier objects, however. My ears picked up the constant sound of water hitting a hollow sink. The room also reeked of bleach, and another scent I couldn’t distinguish. It smelled, in some ways, like a swamp of some kind.

Ahead of me I noticed two doors that contained no handles. They appeared like one of those doors in hospitals that can open just by the push of a hand. Those doors were the only thing I kept my eyes on.

It felt like forever, but eventually those doors pushed open. Someone or something strolled right in the room I was placed in. I couldn’t get a full view of who or what entered. The image of the person or thing was covered with shadows as dark as the night sky. I just heard the figure’s footstep as it approached closer to me. They sounded bare-footed, but I could be mistaken. They sounded mushy, and they squeaked at some points.

A hand flashed at my vision near the stand, and I stared in great horror at the sight of it. The entire formation of the hand was like that of a human, but there was no skin whatsoever. The whole hand was shaded a pinkish and reddish color, and the grooves where the bones would protrude out were colored with a moonlight white. Even the nails were removed from the hands, which left a dark pink dye at the tips of every finger. There weren’t any revealing veins that coated the hand, but a spotted a single blue line near the back of the hand that must have been one. To end it all, in between each finger was that flappy extra skin that sagged a bit.

The hand fished out the single object I didn’t even notice on the stand. An IV needle. The tube of the entire needle had a purple liquid inside it. The hand swung the needle back and forth, which made the liquid inside rise and fall like the waves on a beach. I questioned at the time why the hand did that, but came to the answer that the person or thing with such an eyesore of a hand must have tried to scare me with it. It worked.

Another hand appeared with the same complexion as the previous hand. The humanlike thing took a firm grasp at my right arm with one hand, and with the other balanced the tip of the needle in my vein at the center of my forearm. I felt the icy cool touch of the sharp end of the object. The needle plunged inside my vein, and as I recollected my thoughts about that nightmare, I remember the pain I felt. It was numbing. For sure I felt dreadful and screaming pain at the cut of the needle, but at the same time it was somehow calming. The hand pushed down the continents inside the tube, and I felt the liquid travel from its container, to the inside of my body. My entire body coursed with a vibe of being high off drugs. I couldn’t move a single bone, but my mind fluttered and bounced around with a rush of awareness. Every vein formed inside my body felt as if it was being touched and sliced by some razor-like nail. One side of me wanted to yowl in utter stress and pain, but the other side felt relaxed.

Before I passed out into nothing darkness, a saw the formation of a grin appeared right in front of me. The rest of my nightmare ended with me falling into the hands of shadows.

I told my folks and my brother this terrible tale. My parents gazed at me with looks of utter trepidation. I was brought backwards by their looks of dismay they rendered me. It was as if they thought me as some child of the devil, or some sort of monster. I turned my head to ask my brother for some help, but I saw that he looked at me with absolute astonishment. His lips moved to form words, but nothing escaped his thin lips.

“What is it, Gabriel?” my father asked generously. I saw that he was providing Gabe with a bit more comfort than he did with me. “Is there something wrong? Did your brother’s story scare you? What is it? Did he do-“

“I had the exact same dream.” Gabriel’s cheeks flushed, and his eyes had that spark that comes with the beginning of tears. “But the only difference was that, I somehow escaped from those straps.” This time my parents shared a look of apprehension at Gabriel. I realized what my brother had just said, and was pounded with a fist of fear. How come my brother had the same dream? Was that even possible? Gabriel and I stared at one another with the same look of horror. We held each other’s hands, and tried to find peace among ourselves.

Ever since that day, a change came inside our household. There was a reduction on the amount of sweets that used to accommodate our shelves. One of the factors my parents thought caused my brother and I to have such melancholic dreams was because of too much sweets. I used to come home every evening from school, and go through the cabinets only to find stacks upon stacks of sugar cookies. Ever since then all I can scavenge for was a pack of wheat crackers, baked potato chips, and not a single sign of chocolate. This of course ruined half of my childhood. I was spoiled with sweets all the time, and looked forward to eating all the damn candy I can until teenage pimples arrive.

But this was only a minor setback of the huge impact that day caused. For starters, I had that reoccurring dream over and over again ever since. You’d think that I would at least have one day of grace from such a hideous nightmare, but not even God could spare me a glance during Sundays. This was the repeated pattern on most of my nights: I’d go to sleep, fall deep into the depths of my state of sleep, and would black out for a couple of hours. On some occasions I’d have tiny movies of typical dreams, so it wasn’t just every night the same damn horror story. But around halfway through my sleep, the nightmare would resurrect itself.

This would lead to the following two scenarios. I would either stay deep into the lurking darkness I would fall into after those formidable hands did their evil deed on me with the needle. Or, I would wake up from the middle of the night showered with my own sweat and saliva. I drooled a lot during those years as well. I don’t know if this had to do with the way I slept, or those nightmares I kept on having. Either way it was foul and disgusting. My cheeks would be sticky with my own saliva, and on some events I would wet half of my pillow.

Due to the amount of times I spent awake after my nightmares, I develop a state of insomnia at one point in time. I couldn’t shut my eyes to go to sleep. Better yet, I refused to go to sleep. I went through this stage around my sixth grade where I denied that I actually needed any decent amount of sleep. This was around the time when I was twelve, and still I hadn’t accustomed to my nightmare episodes. The amount of damage the nightmare caused gradually increased over time, and I think it was around the time I was at the brink of becoming a teenager that it became worst out of all.

As a six year old and moving my way towards ten years old, nothing serious had accumulated during those youthful years. In fact I can reminisce having a rather normal, stable, and otherwise cheerful childhood. I had tons of friends, I did great in my schoolwork, I participated in numerous spelling bees, and somehow was able to manage even after having such psychotic nightmares over and over again. I didn’t speak of this to anyone, and not even my own family. This was one of the major setbacks that day has caused, and can never fix ever again. My family, especially my father, distanced themselves away from me. Their love for their child still remained the same, and both my mother and father still cared for me dearly. But as I stated before and I will state again, I grew a sixth sense. I knew how they truly felt about me. They were scared of the child living in their home. Somehow my nightmare had frightened them, also the fact that my brother and I screamed for no apparent reason that one dreadful night.

But that was the thing that absolutely irked me about them. It was my brother and I. It wasn’t just me who had yelled at the top of my lungs, my brother was also included in the heart-breaking equation. So why the hell did he still have the privilege of still receiving more love than I did. I can also add the fact that I think deep in my heart he hadn’t had that same nightmare ever since. He just had it for one abysmal night, and never again entered that world of destruction ever again. I, on the other hand, had to cross the road better left uncross every single damn night. I am not a man of envy, and nor do I ever want to scoop so low, especially because expression such an emotion for my brother is ridiculous. But there was I part of me I knew that despised his guts.

Did his eyes sag with huge dark bags from not enough sleep? Did he have to wake up almost every night from the same damn hell with his heart vibrating against his lungs, his shirt and pants drenched with sweat, and his entire pillow washed with drool? Did he have to think of himself as some sort of monster or inhuman being who not even his own damn parents loved? I don’t think so. I can name a whole grocery list of the advantaged my brother surpassed me in. I even went through a stage where I thought self-infliction would be suitable for me, but erased that thought as soon as it came. Only crazy white kids cut themselves.

But I did find myself quite on the grip of losing my sanity. As I spoke before, I went through a stage during my sixth grade where I was an insomniac. I spent three days wide awake without shutting my eyes for more than two minutes. My parents noticed my state of sleepiness during those three days, and actually displayed some sort of nourishment for me when I didn’t sleep for such a long time. I was so used to their apathetic behavior towards me this struck me with surprise. They figured out I wasn’t sleeping much, and made sure that I would fall fast asleep as soon as possible.

But I have to tell you something. They say insomniacs see some pretty bizarre things when they are days deep with no sleep. I saw some things that can make a man question himself. During the three nights of no sleep I stayed wide awake with the lights off. The first and second night didn’t provide me any satisfaction to the statement above. But on the third night, I nearly thought I was sleeping again because of how terrifying the experience was.

The shadows surrounding me danced and swayed like couples in a ball. This vision of mine occurred all around my setting. My eyes open wide when I first saw this. I pondered about it during the first few minutes, thinking it was some sort of an illusion. I rubbed my eyes as hard as I can to get rid of my mind playing tricks on me. When I opened them once more the shadows were now crawling, and dragging themselves towards me. The darkness grew these prodigious claws that resembled those of a crow’s feet. Each second that ticked by those sharp nails would itch and scratch at my bed sheets. I didn’t hear the sheets rip, but I saw them.

I somehow knew they were a product of my imagination and lack of sleep, yet I remained where I was as I waited for the claws to attack me. They somehow fascinated me. I grew so used to living in a world of horror that any reality that truly contained such demons brought out a part of me that loved them. I adored the macabre of the living nightmare that was unfolding in front of me. The claws kept on growing in proportion as they scratched closer and closer to me. I giggled, then I laughed, and then I almost burst into complete hysteria. I felt the tips of my toes being tickled by the claws. They soon scrapped my shins, and then proceeded to my thighs. I felt the nice touch of those nails grind against my chest and limbs. I never knew my images and illusions can be so lucid, so vivid. I was close to moaning in pleasure. The claws created these large but unnoticeable lacerations all over my body.

I blacked out. I woke up ten minutes after the illusion was finished. My head buzzed with confusion, and I noticed there was some wetness near my trousers. I came close to the conclusion that I drooled once more, and cursed myself of this. But one quick swipe at my boxers made me rethink my thoughts.

I felt semen. It was the first time I ever touched sperm. That was also the first time I had my wet dream.

So that was my life during my childhood, and the beginning of my teenage years. My family resented me, I was envious of my brother, and I had the nightmares every damn day. To tell you the truth, I hated myself. I sometimes thought myself as a tenuous, unstable, and despicable person for not having the audacity to escape from those straps. Maybe my brother Gabriel was brave enough to fight his way out of the needle, where I, on the other hand, let myself be seduced in such a matter. The only advantage that night gave me was that I gained some perspicacious sense of the world around me that I live in. But other than that life was hell. Life was crazy.

I take that comment back on how I said only crazy white children cut themselves. I was an insane child, and still am. Although I never physically damaged myself, mentally I had a constant wound that was unable to recover. And deep down, no matter how much I hated myself, I loved it.

But it all changed one night when I was just fifteen years old.

It was during my winter vacation in February. The school I attended gave us an entire week off. The year was 2010, and it was the 20th of December. I remember these specifics so clearly because this event changed my life completely.

I had fallen asleep as usual, and expected the worst of the worst. Time passed by, and I was blacked out the entire time I was sleeping. I woke up during the middle of the night, and automatically jumped on my bed. But the surreal thing about that moment was that my skin wasn’t coated with seat. My heart wasn’t slamming against my chest, and there was not a hint of drool near me.

The dream hadn’t come.

I couldn’t believe it myself. I’ve gotten so used to awakening from the atrocious nightmare that my body, by itself, woke up with alarm. But the difference was that I didn’t have the nightmare! It was too great to be true, and I ruminated on the fact that maybe I was dreaming the whole thing. I thought about it for a second, and pinched my arm. I felt real pain. It was real. My life was real. The long, arduous, and nerves-wrecking journey was over! I may no longer have those dreams again! I can finally sleep in peace, and be a normal person! I can finally be normal.

But I felt my sixth sense tingle. I felt the presence of something terrible. Before I knew it, a white beaming light manifested right on top of me. It was as if a stage light shone at my direction. I stared high at my ceiling to see where it was coming from, and saw how it was shooting from my ceiling itself. A circular light shone on my face and body. I ran out of time to question the situation, since I was instantly being levitated by the hovering light. I was being abducted.

My mouth opened for a raspy scream to escape, but was muted once my body was lifted from the bed by some unimaginable force. I felt my lungs and vocal cords vibrate when a person screams, but no sound was auditable. My body was being pulled closer and closer to my ceiling. I thought I was going to collide with it once I came close enough to do it, and found whoever was kidnapping me dumb for not thinking about it. But once my head and body reached the base of my ceiling, I went though it as if I was transparent.

I found myself in the fresh and open night within moments of utter silence. Stars crowded the dark sky looming above me, and the warming moon shone luminously at the corner of my vision. My gaze was forced to look upward at the object that roamed directly above me. There was this large, momentous cube-shaped spacecraft that hovered on top of me. All six sides of the UFO glowed with an eerie purple light that distinguished itself from any other color I’d ever seen. It was almost too beautiful to glance at. I was still unable to hear a single sound, but I felt things alright. There was this overwhelming sensation rocking my body back and forth. It felt as if each of my bones were being shaken by some cold fingers. My muscles and skin were being massaged while at the same time being pinched. My face tingled with gooseflesh as I ascended higher and higher into the hovercraft.

But I didn’t know what happened next, since halfway being levitated into the spaceship I passed out.

I only touched a bottle of alcohol once, and drank my ass off with some friends my freshmen year in high school. As anyone can imagine, the next day I woke up with a headache so brutal I thought my brain would explode. That pain was puny compared to how horrific my head burned with agony when I regained consciousness.

My eyesight, thank goodness, maintained its perfect vision when I opened my eyes. I couldn’t believe where I was. I was…in the room once again. The hospital room. The provenance of my damn nightmares! How did I end up here once again?

I suggested to myself it was just my typical nightmare once more. I tried desperately to convince myself that idea, but found it useless to hide away the dreadful truth. This wasn’t the nightmare. I wasn’t sleeping. This was reality. I could feel it. It’s that state of being where anyone can notice it’s not some fantasy land created by their dreams. The cushioned seat I sat on felt real. The tight and brusque straps that wrapped around me felt real. The thickening and acrid scent of the entire place smelled real. The lamplight shining above me, making my migraine ten times worst by how bright it was, felt real. Everything was real. There was nothing I can do about it now.

Or maybe I could. Maybe I can be just like my brother. He had done it. He had escape this madness, and so can I! But before I put at least some effort to try, a TV monitor from above came down, and was set right in front of my face. It was an oval-shaped screen with not much enriching details. It appeared as old as those heavy and fat TV sets they used to have in the fifties.

The TV came to life, and an image displayed itself in front of me. The picture was my room. My mind began to be filled with puzzled questions, but were put to rest when I saw the TV image move out of my room. I must have been seeing the movie in front of me in first person point of view, because it seemed as if someone was walking with the recorded video being shown. I heard low footsteps echo around my house. I wondered who had intruded my home.

The person snuck inside my parent’s bedroom. The door creaked open, and the squeak from the door put my parents in alarm. My dad jumped out from the bed, and sprang to his feet quick enough to surprise me. For an old man, he sure was fast on his legs. He must have been traumatize from the incident when I was a child. But Jacob just stood there with his legs frozen in space, his arms and knees shaking, and his old face shaking with denial mixed with fear.

“No,” he whispered loud enough for me to hear from the TV’s speakers. “No. You get out of here, do you hear me? I knew it. Dammit, I knew it! I knew-“ But my father could say no more, since the intruder of my home went to work right away. The invader sprang from his or her position, and jumped on my father’s chest. The person then produced a sharp object out of his disposal. It was a large butcher knife. The person proceeded to jab the weapon right on my father’s chest. The person began with one hit, then another, until eventually there were about fifteen wounds decorating my dad’s chest and stomach.

My mother jolted awake from all the commotion, and gazed at the scene in front of her with a horror-struck look. She yelled like a frightened child, and rushed to the telephone laying on top of the one night stand near my parent’s bed. But her moves proved too slow, since the person who had just murdered my father ran towards my mother with terrifying speed. The person reached Sandra within seconds, and slit my mother’s throat in a single clean cut. The gash the killer created gushed out blood immediately. Some of the blood squirted out from my mother’s neck, and landed on the lens of the camera. I saw my mother grip her throat with both hands, and gingerly suffocate with her own blood. She tumbled left and right, until eventually her legs gave up. Sandra collapse on the floor with blood leaking out from her palms.

“NO!” I didn’t even care how much my throat and head flared with agony when I yelled. This had crossed the line. My parent had done nothing wrong! They sure resented me alright, but murder was not the solution. Tears spilled from my eyes instantly. I felt my entire face get damped by how much I was crying. I wanted to turn my head away from the horror movie happening in front of me, but my head and eyes were somehow locked on the screen. Some barrier or concealment kept me from looking away, and even prevented me from shutting my eyes. I was being forced to watch the massacre of my whole family.

In the screen I saw my brother Gabriel emerged from his room. He entered my parent’s room, and took in the sight in front of him. He stumbled back, and was close to barfing by all the blood splashed on the floor. His own eyes lit with tears, and I couldn’t stand what I was watching anymore.

But I saw my brother’s face ignite with some newfound rage. His entire image transformed into some angry and pissed off animal. I saw his fist clench so hard to the point his knuckled became bare white. The blood rushed all the way to his face, and he grew red like a rotten tomato. No. Don’t fight the person. You’ll lose.

No use. Gabriel sprinted towards the killer. I heard his huge feet thump against my parent’s floor. He managed to tackle the murderer from his position. The TV screen fell backwards, and I knew now that this was definitely being monitored by the killer’s point of view. The TV showed Gabriel looking directly at the screen. His eyes burned with an unstoppable passion and rage to not let my parents die in vain. I never seen Gabriel’s eyes burned with so much anger. His indignant and cruel faced reflected upon a murderer himself. I knew at that moment my brother was capable of killing.

But the killer’s hands proved too dexterous for Gabriel to withstand. The person maneuvered away from Gabriel’s grip, and shoved my brother with powerful force. My brother’s back knocked against the hard floor, and he grunted with agony. His eyes widen when he saw the killer pick himself up from his position. Gabriel crawled backwards, but the killer made a move on already. Before the murderer had a chance to strangle my brother, Gabriel dashed away from the whole scene. I saw from the TV my brother’s back grow dimmer and dimmer as he ran away from out house, and into the night outside.

After this episode, the TV turned off. The movie was over. What? “WHAT! You fucking coward! How could you, Gabe! I fucking hate you! I swear if I get my hands on you!” I couldn’t believe what my brother had just done. How could had he just betrayed our family like that? Even when they demonstrated more love towards me, and this was how he repaid them back?

The TV hovered away from my vision, and I was left so stare at nothingness. I shook and rattle on my chair in the hopes of escaping away from my imprisonment. It was no use. The damn straps held me tight, and their rope strength were impressive.

The doors opened in front of me. Just like my damn nightmare over and over again. Only this time the monster or creature at work looked in a hurry. I heard his swampy footsteps run towards me. His horrific hands searched hastily around for the IV needle he needed to inject me with.

“Hey!” I screamed at the stranger. “Hey you fucker! Get me out of here, dammit! You! You did this didn’t you? I swear to god I’ll cut your fucking head off, you hear me? I’ll kill you for all the shit you made me deal with! You listening?” I spat at the direction of where I thought the creature was standing. It hit home. I heard the impact of my phlegm smack against the alien’s face.

This left me to deal with three straight jabs at my eyes. They hurt like a bitch, but compared to the amount of adrenaline I had coursing through my veins, the pain could had probably felt worse. “Fucker,” I muttered.

Finally, the creature produced the IV needle. He stepped closer to me, and the lamplight aiming above me illuminated half of the monster’s face. For the first time I saw part of my tormenter’s appearance. He had a human-like structured face, but just like his hands, the skin was completely removed. This exposed his face to just show his red and pumping muscles. Parts of his cheeks were shaded with a bleach white substance. The creature’s head was enlarged, and I could see the skull coming out of his head. The alien’s eye was narrow, and the entire shade of it was pure yellow.

A grin formed from his meaty lips. He began to giggle a little. As the anger transferred to my eyes, he still laughed harder in amusement. “Fuck you! I’ll kill you, you hear me? I’ll get back at chu, and you won’t even know it! I swear on my dead mother’s name I will!” This caused him to burst out into a croaking chuckle. He laughed like a hyena.

Without warning, the creature jabbed the needle straight into my vein. I yelled at the agony, but giggled myself. “You wait, buddy. Take my word. You’ll see my wrath.” And for one split second, I saw the alien’s face look shocked and a bit intimidated. This only lasted a quick moment, since the son of a bitch aggressively pushed down the continents straight into my body.

I think you know the procedure from here. I felt the numbing sensation, and I passed out into the depths of my darkness.

My entire shirt and pants felt drenched when I woke up. This time I figured that I pissed out and drooled out an entire ocean. However I found myself sleeping against a chilly and hard floor. I pushed myself away from my laying position, and straightened out my back when I sat on my ass.

And yelled. I more like squeaked like a little girl. Surrounding me where the dead corpses of my two beloved parents. On my right side showed my mother’s lifeless and pale face as all the blood left her body, and splashed out from her neck. The wound on my mother’s throat was atrocious. It was appearing a bit crusty near the circumference, and some of the blood dried on her face and chest. To my left was my dad’s body. His shirt was washed with his own blood. I saw multiple holes on his shirt from the stabs the killer had produced. His face was also pale, but not as appealing as my mother’s.

All around the walls, floor, and bed was blood. The red liquid embellished each section of my parent’s bedroom. The tears came once more, and I went to put both of my hands to cover my face. But stopped. I notice an object wrapped around my right hand that I hadn’t question before. I looked down to see a butcher’s knife on my right palm. The entire blade was shaded red, and some of the blood still dripped from its sharp tip.

“No.” It couldn’t have been me. But all the missing pieces cleared up. I stared, paralyzed in my position, gazing at the weapon. I screamed. I’ve done a lot of screaming in my lifetime, but this time I emitted a roar so ear-piercing it caused the entire room to vibrate.

“Put your hands up, SON!” I heard someone say in front of me. I was so lost and in so much shock that I hadn’t notice the police officer coming inside my parent’s bedroom. It felt as if I was in some trance that I couldn’t pull out from. “I said, put your hands up son, or I’m going to have to take action.” He loaded his the pistol he had aimed right at me.

It only took me two seconds to think about what to do next. “Shoot me.” I simply said those two words. “Shoot me, dammit. C’mon! I murdered my damn family, now shoot me! Kill me. End me of my misery!” I rushed towards the police officer. The entire time I kept on repeating the same chant, “SHOOT ME! SHOOT ME! Kill me, dammit!”

I raised the knife to cut the officer’s throat.

And he shot me. The bullet hit home. My last seconds of living I didn’t spend mesmerize. I didn’t spend my last seconds mourning my family. I didn’t spend my last seconds wanting my revenge.

My last second of living, I thought how I can finally be at peace. Death was my undeniable sanctuary. No more nightmares. Finally.

Or so I thought.

Dammit. Freaking Carl had an accident. I’d think that someone who has done this job longer that I have would know not to cut himself. But I do have to remember Carl is the slow one in our little facility. I’m going to have to take his shift tonight. I don’t mind, however. That is one more children that I can brainwash to join my army.

I write this down so whatever human who reads this after I complete my mission can know the truth about the aliens who have been abducting children since the beginning of the twenty-first century. Read very closely.

But fucking Carl. He always know everyone is always busy, and yet he fucks up. Still, as I said before, that is one extra child I can manipulate to join the army I am raising.

I still find it weird how I am the only person here on board who remembers their past life. I checked with everyone else, and they have no idea that they were humans once. It’s hilarious to think about. Out of all the odds, I still remember my past life when I was Alexis. Well, I guess I am still Alexis, but in a completely different body. As I walk towards the surgical room, I can’t help but to smile each time I pass by everyone. I remember, and they do not.

The leaders of this ship believe I am under their control. They believe they brainwashed me completely, and that I am running under their authority. They couldn’t be more wrong. I remember my past life, and they do not have the slightest clue that I do. I fucking love myself.

This is the dawn, the origin, of my revenge. This is where I rebel. Every single night I brainwash the kids we abduct to join my army, and to be placed in my spell. They think I’m messing with their heads in order to join their mindless workers. No. They’re my troops, my marines, my navy, my air force, my fucking Avengers! They’re mine. I will rebel with them. They are my children, and I will set them free from the world they were unfortunate to be a part of.

I told that bastard I’d get my revenge, and here I am. Soon I will have enough people to finally begin my plan. It’s going to be bloody, and I can imagine all the guts flying in the sky. It’s going to be great! I see the guy who thought brainwashed me, and he thinks that I am just like him. He thinks he has succeeded, and that I am a brainless zombie just like everybody else. I laugh at his idiotic ways.

Anyways, I should get back to work. Fucking Carl. I’ll make sure to kill him first. Then everyone else. This is for my family. For my freedom, and for the horrible things they are doing to my earth. If they think they can get away with this, they have another thing coming. I will kill everyone on board if I have to. I’ll even slice my own wrist if necessary.

I look in the mirror. It’s a different Alexis. But I love this Alexis. This one is wiser, older, and more aware of life. This Alexis knows the truth. This Alexis will lead, and will leave victorious. This Alexis is a killer.

And after I escape here, and land on earth, I’ll make sure to look for Gabriel. Because out of all the people who deserve their karma, he’s right on my list. I’ll kill the coward with my own bare hands. This world will feel my wrath.

I love being insane. 