Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27332453-20151203134752

Hey everyone, thanks for taking the time to check my story out. I realize its longer in length, and I really appreciate those who provide feedback. I've been a long time reader and listener, dabbling here-and-there in writing myself. This is one of my favorites that has received the most praise from my friends and family. Hoping to make any improvements before I turn it into a narrative on the new youtube channel and community I'm a part of. Check us out!  Anyway I wrote this story based off a dream I had a few weeks ago. I wanted to explore the themes and feelings I felt in the dream, and this is the final result.   -  I opened my eyes, just barely. Its nighttime. I know its nighttime because I haven't fallen asleep yet. I haven't slept since I came to this cabin.   My heart is pounding in my chest. Its steady rhythm the opposite of my mood. My breath feels short. My chest feels compressed. The hazy fog of sleep sits in the room, but it won't take me. Its companion, fear, is holding me instead.   Ironic I thought. I came to the cabin for exactly what I now couldn't escape: isolation. Call it a mid-life crisis, but it was the burning catalyst sitting in my chest when I came across the ad on the internet:    Rustic cabin available for rent; isolated, great view.   It sounded like everything I was looking for. The pictures confirmed it. The dark-wood cabin sat in the mountains some six hours away from the city I currently lived in. Nestled on its own perch in the mountains, it offered nearby trails and a view of the sleepy towns dotting the valley below it. No electricity, no neighbors, no people.   It sounded perfect.  <BR> I contacted the owner who took a surprisingly short amount of time to respond. Perhaps it was because of the time of the year. With it being late November, I imagined that most of the hunters had packed it in for the season. The campers were unlikely to want to risk the potential for an early snowfall. <BR> <BR> Better for me. Less opportunity for a stranger to disturb my self-imposed isolation. <BR> <BR> Yes, it available for the period I was looking for. 3 months. Late November to late February. The entire winter. <BR> <BR> I licked my dry lips for what felt like the thousandth time. My sandpaper tongue doing nothing but to remind me of how broken and cracked my mouth had become. 2 and a half months without sleep. <BR> <BR> After receiving my confirmation in email, I called my boss to say I needed some time off. Time to think. I barely waited for his reply as I ended the call and packed my bags. I could hear my phone's angry buzzing as I closed the door to my apartment. <BR> <BR> My mind wandered like some black snake in the undergrowth of the expanding forest growing in my vision during my drive north. <BR> <BR> I arrived at the cabin to find the keys where the owner told me. I grabbed my bags of clothing and groceries as I pushed into the cabin for the first time. It smelled old, but not unpleasant. The faint scent of pine hung not only in the air outside, but also in the air inside the cabin. <BR> <BR> I moved to the only window in the cabin, which sat next to the front door, and opened it for some fresh air. I remember it not being strange to me that the cabin's window had steel bars on it. Most likely to keep the wandering hunter or troublesome teenagers from making the cabin their own retreat. Although cold, I felt opening it would let out any staleness to the mountain around me. I headed to the second floor and unfolded my linen on the worn mattress. <BR> <BR> Not the Hilton, but it would work for me. <BR> <BR> Little did I know that bed, the Shepard to the promised land of nod, would soon enough become my prison. <BR> <BR> It hadn't been long after unpacking my clothing when I noticed the air becoming extremely cold. Freezing cold actually. I moved back downstairs to close the window and noticed the silent descent of white flakes in the fading light. The first snow of the season. Hardly a surprise here near the mountain's top, I thought as I closed the window. <BR> <BR> I continued unpacking and soon realized it was dark. I couldn't see anything outside the window as I poured myself the familiar copper liquid that had become my companion the last couple of years. I remember spending that first night looking through old photographs, nursing the feelings they inspired with larger and larger pours. <BR> <BR> In my haze, I could hear the wind. Howling, driving wind. Not uncommon, I thought. Especially with the first snow. If I ever had an ounce of sleep since I arrived, it could have been that first night. Its hard to say. I honestly don't remember. <BR> <BR> What I do remember is the cool blue glow of the morning sun inside the window as I looked up from the last photo album. Well, what had been the window. <BR> <BR> I moved to the front door, looking at the wall of white that greeted me through the pane of glass. Snow. A mountain of snow. It engulfed the entire window. The glow of the sun not even visible, just the evanescent blue of illuminated snow. <BR> <BR> I remember my heart racing. I mean, I had heard of people being snowed in before. But not here, not where I lived. I grabbed my coat and gloves and put my hand on the front door. It was just then that I remembered one key detail, surprising given the pounding of my head from last night's activities. <BR> <BR> The front door opened outwards. <BR> <BR> I confirmed my fear as I unlocked the door and put all my weight behind pushing it. No avail. It wouldn't budge. I felt my breath quicken. No problem, I thought. I'm sure the snow will melt and I'll be able to push the door open around midday. The pounding in my head wouldn't subside and I decided now might be the best time to makeup for the sleep I lost diving into drink and memory last night. <BR> <BR> I headed upstairs, still calming myself from the scare of the snow. I actually remember trying to laugh it off. Me, pushing into a wall of snow like some cartoon. I'm sure everything will be fine once I wake up, I thought as I lay down in the cool sheets. <BR> <BR> I pulled the covers over my pounding head and rolled over, closing my eyes tight. I'll get myself put together when I wake up, I thought. I have plenty of time. <BR> <BR> Just as I could feel sleep coming to take me, I heard something. My eyes snapped open. Not something, I knew what it sounded like, even though I wish I didn't. <BR> <BR> DUD DUD DUD DUD DUD. <BR> <BR> Footsteps. Pacing footsteps. Below me, in the kitchen. No, it couldn't have been. It must have been the pounding in my own head. I lay my head back down and closed my heavy eyes. <BR> <BR> DUD DUD DUD DUD DUD. <BR> <BR> Again. The same sound and there was no mistaking it. I threw the covers off myself and slowly sat-up in bed. The only pounding I could hear was that of my own heart in my chest. The glow of the window casting an eerie blue-glow over the interior of the cabin. My shortened breath casting thin puffs of white in the cool air. <BR> <BR> DUD DUD DUD DUD DUD. <BR> <BR> It was right below me. Unmistakable. Footsteps, for sure. I moved to the balcony overlooking the small living room. I slowly peered down into what I could see of the kitchen. <BR> <BR> Nothing. <BR> <BR> I walked to the stairs and creaked down to the first floor. My eyes darted across the room, looking for any sign of movement. The only thing I could see where the embers of the small fire I'd lit from the night before. <BR> <BR> Nothing. <BR> <BR> I moved into the kitchen. My heart still sat somewhere in my throat. My headache a forgotten memory. I stood in the kitchen with my ears perked, listening for any sound. All of sudden, my wish was granted. <BR> <BR> Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek. <BR> <BR> It sounded like a rope. A rope taught with heavy tension. It came from upstairs. <BR> <BR> My heart jumped from my throat and I instinctively ducked to a crouch. Thud, thud, thud. I tried to calm myself for fear that my own body might give me away. <BR> <BR> Was there someone inside here with me? My mind raced across endless possibilities. I mean, it was possible. I hand't checked the entire cabin when I arrived. I know I had locked the door last night. <BR> <BR> Right? <BR> <BR> I realized my hands were shaking as I reached for the flashlight I had brought off the kitchen table. Was it simply from my own fear, or maybe because it had been several hours since my last drink. <BR> <BR> I flicked the switch in my hand. The orange beam of light came to life on the wall opposite me. <BR> <BR> "Listen, if someone is here with me, I have a gun," I said, trying to sound much more calm than I felt. I didn't have a gun. I grabbed the knife I'd brought for cooking off the table. <BR> <BR> "If you're upstairs, come down now." <BR> <BR> I waited. No reply. <BR> <BR> I raised from my crouch in the kitchen and walked to the base of the dark-wood stairs. The inky blackness of the upstairs greeted me. <BR> <BR> "Last chance," I said, unable to keep a slight quiver from my voice. <BR> <BR> I took a steady breath and slowly ascended the stairs. My only companions my orange light ahead of my, the cold handle of the knife in my hand, and the creak of each step. <BR> <BR> Closer I crept to the top. <BR> <BR> Closer. <BR> <BR> My flashlight lead me into the landing of the second floor. My heart stopped. <BR> <BR> In my bed, there was a body. The shape of a body. Under the covers, illuminated in an orange and blue glow, was the unmistakable shape of a human body. I felt my blood turn to ice as I slowly crept toward the bed. <BR> <BR> This is like a band-aid, I tried to assure myself. If someone is there, they are probably more scared than I am. My heart felt like it was going to explode. My blood felt as cold as ice. <BR> <BR> I grabbed the corner of the covers and pulled as fast as I could, raising my knife- <BR> <BR> Only to be greeted by my pillows. I shook my head. <BR> <BR> Maybe a drink would help me calm my nerves. Maybe I was just tired and my mind, scared of the idea of being trapped, was playing tricks on me. <BR> <BR> That was the first night. I busied myself the next "day", although it was hard to say because I couldn't see the sun, by making check lists. Things I wanted to do before I died. Well, I tried. I spent most of the day just. . . thinking. <BR> <BR> I sat in the kitchen at the table. My hand held a pen and just hovered over the blank page in front of me. I noticed my glass had somehow became empty. I moved to pour another and realized it too, was empty. <BR> <BR> I sat the pen down and rubbed my eyes. I glanced up at the kitchen cabinet where I'd brought my stash. Not enough to get me through the winter, I thought. That was part of the plan, clean myself up, if I could. Weather the storm, so to speak. <BR> <BR> I got up and looked at the window. The blue-grey wall of snow stared back at me. Maybe this was for the best, I assured myself. It'll force me to spend the time with myself I know I need. But damn if I didn't feel tired. <BR> <BR> And thirsty. <BR> <BR> I hated myself, as I moved toward the cabinet. Listen, I tried to argue against the feelings. We have the entire winter, we can start clean tomorrow. Temptation always won, I thought as my hand grasped the handle. <BR> <BR> I flung the door open, only to be met by the dark-wood panel staring back at me. No glass, no orange liquid. <BR> <BR> Nothing. <BR> <BR> I felt angry. <BR> <BR> I glanced around the kitchen. Had I misplaced it? Sure, I had drank more than the usual the night before, but not enough to drink it all, had I? No, I wouldn't be standing if I'd done that, I thought. <BR> <BR> My eyes rested on the sink. <BR> <BR> There, in the sink, sat all my bottles. Turned upside down. The empty bottoms staring back at me. <BR> <BR> No, I couldn't have done that. Wouldn't have done that. <BR> <BR> Could I? <BR> <BR> Could I, in my usual stupor, have had that moment of strength I'd been looking for? Searching, endlessly, for it at the end of bottle after bottle? Had my darker side taken the step my weaker side couldn't? <BR> <BR> Maybe, but I didn't care. I felt hot anger replace my thirst. It poured into me, warming me like the liquid I was denied. <BR> <BR> I grabbed a glass from the sink and hurled it against the far wall. Then another. Then another. I grabbed the last to hurl it, but before I did, I turned it toward my dry lips. Hoping. No- praying, for one last drop. <BR> <BR> Nothing. <BR> <BR> I put all my weight into this bottle. Just as I turned to throw it, I saw something. <BR> <BR> A face. <BR> <BR> Pure white, with dark hair. Like my own. But the face had the darkest, deepest eyes I had ever seen. Black rings hung around both eyes, so dark its eyes sat like caves in its skull. <BR> <BR> I saw it for an instant and jumped back. The crash of the glass on the far wall making me jump again. <BR> <BR> I had heard about withdrawals. Seeing things. Maybe that was it. Had to be. Because I was sure I was sober and awake. There was no familiar buzz around the air. No warmth spreading from my belly. Just the cold and me, staring at a pile of broken glass. <BR> <BR> Damn, if my head didn't hurt. I just needed to sleep. <BR> <BR> I sighed at the pile of glass. A problem for tomorrow. <BR> <BR> I moved toward the stairs and climbed, wearily, toward the top. The rumpled bed awaited me, complete with the pillow-assassin of yesterday. I threw myself into the bed and closed my eyes, turning onto my stomach. <BR> <BR> If I drifted off that second night, I'm not sure. I felt as if I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. My vision taunted by faces. <BR> <BR> The second night turned into the third, then the fourth, the eighth, the twelfth. <BR> <BR> My days fell into pattern. Admitting I wasn't able to sleep and walking downstairs to pray that the snow had cleared. I would pace around my little prison. Sit and stare at the blank page in front of me. <BR> <BR> My head continued to pound. It felt as if it got worse each time I opened my weary eyes. <BR> <BR> Somewhere around the ninth day I tried the door again, ramming it with all my weight. <BR> <BR> Nothing. <BR> <BR> That night, the twelfth night, stuck with me. It was the last night I kept counting the "days". It became impossible to tell. But something else happened that night. <BR> <BR> I stared at the blank page again. Nothing written in it since I arrived. The photo albums all opened to the same familiar pages. Happy faces stared up at me. <BR> <BR> I dropped the pen and headed to my bed. I flopped down and pulled the covers over my eyes, praying for a full nights sleep. Any sleep. <BR> <BR> Maybe an hour passed. Maybe another day. I don't know. But I fell out of my trance to a sound. <BR> <BR> Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek. <BR> <BR> Right above me. A rope, full of tension. Indistinguishable. <BR> <BR> I threw the covers from my head and was greeted by the pale face. <BR> <BR> Smiling at me. An impossible smile, wider than its face. Its teeth were yellowed, decayed, and rotten. <BR> <BR> I tried to scream but no sound escaped me. My breath caught in my throat, a crushing pressure sat on my chest. I blinked, and it was over. <BR> <BR> I threw myself from my bed to the floor and ran to the kitchen. I turned the facet and drank water, throwing cool water on my clammy face. I sighed. Maybe I did sleep, I hoped, maybe it was a dream. My body tingled, with that feeling you get when you dream of falling from bed. I was awake now, I knew it. The cool water running under my hands a reminder of reality. <BR> <BR> That, and the now familiar dull throb of my head. <BR> <BR> I walked to the table and noticed something different about my routine environment. <BR> <BR> The pictures on the table were covered in scribbles. The faces had deep, black scribbles over the eyes. The mouths carved into horrible screaming faces. Ropes were drawn around necks. Deep gushing cuts were drawn down arms. <BR> <BR> Every photo. Not a single one was left untouched. <BR> <BR> None, except ones with my face. <BR> <BR> In each photo where I sat, I was untouched. Untouched, except for one small detail. <BR> <BR> A cartoon grin appeared on my face. My eyes appeared dotted to create a cartoon smiley face. While those in the pictures around me writhed in torment, I stood or sat with this grin drawn on my face. <BR> <BR> I felt my blood turn to ice. Colder than ice. <BR> <BR> A single passage was written in my notebook. <BR> <BR> "W O R T H L E S S." A hangman was drawn below the message. The type you might draw in school. But there were no notched lines for guessing, and no figure hanging from the drawn beam. <BR> <BR> I felt sick. I ran to the sink and threw up. I knew I didn't do this. Why would I? <BR> <BR> I ran to the front door and pushed with all my weight. <BR> <BR> Nothing. <BR> <BR> The hinges! I could just pull the door off the hinges and escape. Dig my way out of the snow and climb down the mountain. <BR> <BR> I ran to the kitchen and opened every drawer looking for a screwdriver. Damn what I would give for a drink by the same name right now. <BR> <BR> Nothing. <BR> <BR> I felt panicked, the breath coming shorter and shorter. My head throbbed. It always throbbed. I grabbed the knife from the table and ran to the door. <BR> <BR> I thrust the blade into the topmost screw and tried to turn. My hand shaking, almost uncontrollably. <BR> <BR> SNAP. <BR> <BR> The tip of the knife broke off, wedging itself in the screw. I felt a panicked moan escape my mouth. My hands were sweating as I tried to pull it from the screw. It would't budge. <BR> <BR> I tried the next screw and found the knife now too large to wedge in. I couldn't stop shaking. I pulled with my fingers, scratched with my nails, breaking each in my vain attempt to escape. <BR> <BR> I slumped against the door, hands covered in blood and broken bits of nail. I couldn't stop the tears of frustration coming down my face. My head wouldn't stop pounding. <BR> <BR> I moved back up the stairs, slumping into the bed and tried to close my eyes. Was it day? Night? I couldn't tell. The howl of the wind began outside as I pulled the covers over my eyes for what felt like the thousandth time. <BR> <BR> I tossed and turned. It felt like days before I decided to leave my bed. There was no way I was sleeping. My head continued to throb. Worse, and worse. I could feel each heartbeat between my ears. <BR> <BR> I walked to the kitchen. <BR> <BR> The pictures were perfectly stacked. Still horrible to view, but stacked. The paper, still open to the previous message now had a circle drawn under the noose. <BR> <BR> I wanted to be afraid, to feel fear. But somehow, it was almost as if I expected it. Was I doing this? Was there some...thing in the cabin with me? It had been what felt like weeks since I had seen the face. <BR> <BR> Each day I would walk into the kitchen and would see a new part added to the growing hangman. A torso, arms, legs. No phrase ever appeared below it. Only the previous message remained. <BR> <BR> At night, when I would feel sleep come for me, I would be jolted awake by the sound of pacing. It started in the kitchen, but slowly began to head toward the stairs as the nights progressed. A step a night, it was getting closer. <BR> <BR> I knew I should feel afraid, each time I lay down, but I began to accept it. Would I ever escape? It seemed unlikely. <BR> <BR> I sighed as I completed my reflection over my current situation. I couldnt even tell what day it was. <BR> <BR> I pulled the covers over my eyes again, praying for sleep one last time. <BR> <BR> After what felt like an eternity, I  walked into the kitchen to be greeted by the completed hangman. <BR> <BR> It had a smile drawn on his face. <BR> <BR> It seemed so absurd. I smiled. Laughed. I couldn't stop laughing. It seemed so crazy. A man, hanging, but smiling. <BR> <BR> I stopped, suddenly in the kitchen. The blanket from the bed wrapped around my shoulders. The blue grey glow of the snow all around me. <BR> <BR> <BR> It suddenly made so much sense. <BR> <BR> <BR> I moved to the kitchen and took the knife from its spot next to the paper and pen. I grabbed the nearest photo. One of my friends from work, each in their own scribbled torment. Except for me. I sat in the middle. I believe it was a photo of my 45th birthday party at work. A drink in my hand. <BR> <BR> I took the knife and carved my pencil-drawn smiling face from the photo and laid it over the hangman. <BR> <BR> It fit perfectly. My head fit perfectly around the noose. I felt a cold realization as I moved to the kitchen sink, filling it with water. <BR> <BR> It had been what felt like weeks since I'd seen myself. There was no mirror in the cabin. Something the owner had said about keeping the spirits of visitors. It hadn't mattered to me, my appearance hardly mattered. <BR> <BR> I stopped the running water and waited for the it to rest. <BR> <BR> I peered over the counter into the reflection of the water below me. <BR> <BR> The white face stared back at me. Eyes, like deep pits, stared into my own. <BR> <BR> I smiled down at myself. An impossible smile, wider than my face. <BR> <BR> It all made sense. <BR> <BR> I kept the smile on my face as I tied the knots in the rope I'd brought. Of course, this was the only way I could ever truly be happy. <BR> <BR> I couldn't figure out anything I wanted to do in life because, well, life was over for me. <BR> <BR> I whistled a tune to myself as I threw the rope over the support beam from the second floor. I secured the rope on the front door. <BR> <BR> I stepped out onto the ledge of the second balcony, realizing that my headache, for the first time, was starting to clear. <BR> <BR> I expected to feel a snap, or maybe even feel nothing as I took the last step I'd ever take. What I didn't expect was to feel panic. <BR> <BR> Strain and panic. I hadn't had a clean brake, the way I'd hoped for. I began to squirm, legs kicking. All my breath escaping my lungs as I tried to fight for air. I had second thoughts. <BR> <BR> Not second thoughts. Realization. Regret. <BR> <BR> My squirming began to turn my body. I saw the dripping of water through the now clear window. The sun streaming through. <BR> <BR> I continued to turn, slowly, back to face the balcony I'd stepped off from. My vision began to blacken. <BR> <BR> There, standing at the balcony was a creature. Not a creature really, it looked like a man. Maybe a man like myself. <BR> <BR> It stood, face whiter than white. Deep dark, pit eyes staring into my soul. <BR> <BR> It had a front-row seat to my end. <BR> <BR> The last thing I saw as my vision faded was its impossible smile as it poured itself an amber drink and raised it to me in a toast. <BR> <BR> <ac_metadata title="Hangman (Not Reviewed)"> </ac_metadata>