User talk:SkinCrawler

"Success" by SkinCrawler
Years ago, in high school, me and my friends formed a club, a writing club. Our group didn't consist of the most socially popular or attractive kids at school, but we each had a knack for literature and a good story. Our dreams were to become aspiring authors. So, with a little bit of thought, we decided to start this club and write stories with each other. It was amazing. I spent most of my time away from school and chores, sitting at the local library with my friends. There were five of us in all: Veronica, a peculiar girl with an outgoing personality who loved to read up on the latest romance story, Brent, a shy but well educated guy who delved into mystery and suspense novels, Lindsey, the smart and cute girl who was into fantasy, Charles, a guy with a witty mind who read comical works that he then rehashed to the rest of us and made us laugh, and then there was me, a guy who loved a good, dark, creepy, horror story. All was well when we gathered at our visits. We'd usually sit in the corner of the library for hours on end, bouncing ideas of each other and coming up with new plots and concepts for our works. The five of us would sit there and write short stories and novels and skits and all sorts of things. One of us would jot down some notes when another said something funny or exciting or creative. We found a form of enjoyment that didn't involve a controller or sports, but a simple pencil and paper.

Those years of literature empowered us in our future, though. We all aced our English classes (Which were some of the more sophisticated sources). Those books and stories we had wrote over the years had grown rather popular and they eventually ended up on the best sellers lists, which in turn landed us quite a large amount of scholarships. When it came time for graduation, we were well-known, respected individuals who were praised by the school and our fans for our creativity. After high school, as young adults, we pondered on what to do next in life. It was saddening, in a sense, to realize that me and my friends had decided to go to different paths in life. We all pursued colleges and careers that were completely isolated from one another. We decided that, once a year, every year, no matter what, that we would come together at our old stomping grounds to meet each other once again, despite any future condition.

So We set off into the big, brave world, away from each other, and found our own callings in life. Veronica went to college for a while before she was picked up by television entertainment company that gave her her own soap opera. Due to her previous novels of romance, the show took off in a flash and became a big hit that was watched by many old ladies and suburban house wives. Brent became a Hollywood director that created astounding thrillers and blockbusters, all from script he wrote. Lindsey got picked up by an animation company and she made her own animated series, action/adventure of course. Charles became a famous comedian and wrote his own material. And myself, I moved to the coast, close to the beach, were I’ve written several horror stories and won several prizes for best author. Miraculously, we all managed to fulfill our dreams.

It was a joyous reunion when we met again at the old library, we even got a bit of media coverage. The reporters would show us and the library, naming us “The Big Five” and telling of our stories of success that proved inspirational to a lot of people. The moments felt amazing and I wished that they had never ended, but, I did feel this presence, this envy of our fortune, that had been slowly building up for the last several years until noticeable. It didn't belong to any one human but seemed omnipresent. I pushed it to the back of my mind, after all, I thought it was just my over-imaginative mind pumping out ideas for another horror story. Then the trouble started to happen.

During our meeting, Veronica shared with us that she had met the love of her life and was with child. We all congratulated her and celebrated, but the next time we met, a year later, something tragic had happened. Veronica had had a miscarriage. We could tell how emotionally hurt she was and we offered counseling but she refused. She was the first to leave. On her soap opera we noticed that the main character was also pregnant but then lost the child. Desperately we tried to call Veronica and talk with her. She told us how her marriage was quickly falling apart. Months later, when she was suppose to appear at our meeting, she never showed up. We made phone calls to her family and co-workers about her condition. In return, we were told a horror story that shook the rest of us to the core. One day, Veronica's husband came home from the bar, intoxicated. They got in an argument and he became so angry that he shot and killed her, then soon afterwords killed himself. We were shocked, horrified, a life long friends and faithful companion gone just like that, and we didn't even know about it. Soon after, we all assembled and headed towards her resting place. Four roses were placed over her grave, one from each of us, all displaying a different hue of pink or red. We were solemn then afterwords and we held a vigil in her memory.

Eventually we all got back to life and found new inspiration, but always kept Veronica in our hearts. For several years after that everything went back to normal, then things became complicated again.

Brent was making a phenomenal amount of money, so much that he became a high-value target for the mafia. One time he got in deep with the sharks, could pay it off, and had to go into hiding. He lived like that for months until they finally found him. An assassin caught him by surprise, put a plastic bag over his head and suffocated him to death. Ironically, the same happened to one of the main characters in his flicks. Now we had lost two friends and the pain seemed unbearable. Yet another funeral, but we requested that his body be buried next to Veronica's grave. Due to the fact that he had had no immediate family members willing to object, the funeral directors obliged. We said goodbye and laid three roses on his grave that lay parallel to Veronica's.

Again, years went bye and everything seemed to go back to normal, but that presence I felt, it had strengthened. We met at our yearly gathering and Lindsey seemed off, she wasn't her normal self and acted a little strangely. After she returned home she started seeing a psychiatrist. The medical reports claimed she said she could fly and that she had superpowers. They tested her for drugs and found that see was clean. Then the doctors put her on anti-psych meds but it didn't help. They found her corpse splattered at the bottom of a ten story building. She had tried to jump of the roof in an attempt to fly... fly just like the character in her series...

Yet another funeral, two more roses, and a grave parallel to the others. At this point I was VERY concerned and I argued with Charles about what we should do.

“We're next,” I told him.

He tried to ignore me and eventually stopped talking with me, the yearly meetings were over. I guess he wrote it off as a series of tragic coincidences. I on the other hand was not content with sitting in the dark, waiting for my time to come. I did research, reading up on the coincidental deaths of friends and of stories of success. In the midst of my research I noticed a news article on a web page. “Deadly fire at theater, comedian found death, no others were injured”. I reluctantly clicked on the link, knowing that it had happened to Charles... We always said he was so hot that he'd burn the house down..

One more funeral, one more rose, and one more grave. Now I was certain of what was happening, we were cursed and one by one we were doomed to die. The articles told me that stories of great success end in great tragedy. The Kennedy’s, Princess Diana, all the celebrates that die of drug overdoses. Something was killing the innocent, a malicious force of evil. There's this theory that whenever there is a force, there is an opposite and equal force. Our fame brought a lot of good into the world, in return, we came in contact with the opposite, an equally powerful force of evil... a demon! The world had sent an adversary to end our happiness, because it doesn’t like the joy of mortals.

Now, here I am, sitting in the dark, locked in my bedroom, typing this on my computer just as we speak, hoping that the door will hold. I have to get this story out to someone, this is my last story, and I’m going publish it online before my untimely demise...

The most absolute and ironic part of the curse is that the victims... always die in the same crude ways as their accomplishments. Killed by love, killed by crime, killed creativity, killed by comedy... So now there's me, but remember, I’m the horror story writer. So what's that mean? We, let's just say, that in all my works, there was never a single survivor or happy ending...

And here they are now, my army of nightmares, my arcane terrors, the creatures of my demise constructed of my own mind... I can see the shadows moving from underneath the door, when they break in, they'll tear me limb from limb, bit by bit, until I'm nothing but shreds, but I got another thing coming for them though, they won't get the satisfaction of hearing me scream...

Now I sit here, with a gun cradled in my lap, writing the last words of my story. This is it, to whoever reads this... remember this story... Remember to put a rose on my grave. They're almost through the door now, but I’m going to do it right as I click the “send” button. Goodbye...