Remorsi

Remorsi “Strange Face”

My eyes are sluggish and slow to open. As they open, they reveal the stars covering my room's ceiling, and their neon complexion makes it almost seem like eyes peering down at me, almost like a strange face. I sat up slowly in bed and glared at my feet that dangled over the bed's edge, as they have for eight years. I am now 14. My mother’s financial situation hasn’t been stable enough to provide me with a large enough bed, and I noticed my covers had vanished from the scene. It was cold, and the winter air was plaguing my face. I have left my window open, but I could’ve sworn I shut it. As I stood to my feet and, cold air tickled my toes, my eyes darted as I scanned my room for any possible intruders; I, after all, had always been incredibly paranoid, especially when I was younger. As I walked sluggishly towards the window, approaching my dresser that was near my window, and reached for the flashlight on top.

I accidentally bumped into the photo of my mother and me at the beach that also sat atop. Once I had batted the flashlight down, I began to wind the flashlight until the beam was bright enough to shine for a decent amount of time. I slowly scanned my closet first. I thought I saw something move, but it was my own shadow. I then turned and faced my window, and I saw a red eye peering in at me vanish instantly out of my vision. I felt my heart skip a beat. Was that real? Am I not imagining things? I should yell for Mom. That’s the smartest thing to do here. But I have to be brave. I can’t always rely on her for everything. I gathered all the courage I could from my stiff, limbed body, forced myself towards the window as quickly as possible, and slammed it shut. Upon slamming it shut, the echo echoed through my entire room and caused me to stall. As I saw a large black skeletal hand attempt to pull my window open from the other side, I felt fear and adrenaline fill my body.

I flung the lock on the window shut, and the hand crept backward into the darkness of the night. I held tighter onto my flashlight, grabbed my blanket from the freezing wooden floorboards, threw myself onto my bed, and covered myself completely with the covers. I had the flashlight under me, and the beam started flicking and fading. “No, no!” I panicked and began to wind it as fast as possible, and then the beam was stronger once more, and then I heard loud consecutive bangs from the ceiling above me. What could be making these sounds? I didn’t dare let curiosity best me after what I saw outside. After a few moments of nothing but the winter air, I heard the vent cover that led directly into my room squeal open

I huddled tighter than before, and I heard strange clicking sounds coming from something above me, and then I shined my light through my blankets, and I could see a skeletal hand silhouette holding a book, slowly bringing its hand closer to my bed. “Sweetie, are you awake?” I heard my mom yell from the hall, and then I watched as the hand's orientation changed; the book dropped onto my bed, and then the monster clicked a few times and retreated into the vent. I was hyperventilating. I was terrified. “Mom!” I yelled, and then she knocked twice and then peered In. “Are you alright, hon?” She approached me as I removed the covers from my face and turned the flashlight off. “Did you have another nightmare?” I shook my head no. She sighed and gave me a blank stare, and a tint of red shined in her pupils.

“What did I tell you about reading horror books before nighttime?” I looked down at my feet and saw a completely blank decrepit black book with a title that instantly caught my attention. It's a bloody color, and it made the title “Remorsi” pop out significantly, and it seemed to be carved poorly into the book's frontier. I have never once seen this book before. “Also, honey, it’s freezing here. Did you leave your window open again?” I shook my head no, and then she crossed her arms and took my book from the edge of my bed. “You’re grounded, mister, for not going to bed at a decent time, lying about not reading a book, and now lying to me about not leaving your window open. I am tired of the lies you dish out, and I am your mother. She raised her hand at me and prepared to hit me as she always had. Her eyes filled with red, and her hand turned skeletal before mine. Her skin melted away, and then black ooze consumed her as she struck me. I know some of her loved me, but I dragged her down financially, especially with the cost of my medicine for my schizophrenia. I know my mother is not a monster, I reassured myself as she struck me once across the face. I know she loves me, and she struck me a second time, a tear rolling down from both eyes.

Trying my best to keep myself from bawling as it only encouraged her violence. She stopped once my face was completely swollen; she glared at me. “No more books.” She returned to her normal face, and she wasn’t a monster like the one that continues to haunt me. “You know what they do to you, and you are an expensive waste of my breath, energy, and time.” She tore the book into pieces before my eyes, walked over to my window, opened it, tossed it out, and then turned back towards me. “Sleep with the window open. I don’t give a damn what you see.” She stormed out of my room, slammed the door behind her, and the picture of the two of us on top of my dresser fell and hit the floor, and shattered, just as I felt my heart do so. I looked up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the burning sensation of my face and eyes. The stars brought me solace every time Mother acquired a strange face. After an hour or two of deep slumber, I awoke as I heard my mother scream. My mind began to race with possibilities. I took the covers off my body and began to sneak quietly across the squeaking wooden boards below me. I opened the door, revealing a hallway that I was familiar with. I saw the last door on the right was wide open, the kitchen. I kept walking as quietly as possible toward the kitchen.

I stopped once I felt like I was being watched and looked around me and saw nothing; I walked towards the kitchen and heard footsteps in sync with my own that weren’t mine. and I stopped before the kitchen entrance, and the footsteps stopped as my own did. I started to hear that same clicking noise from above me, and so my head slowly turned to face whatever it was, and there was a piece of paper rocking back and forth as it fell towards me. I caught it, and I rotated it to see the picture better. It was a rushed cartoon sketch of my mother hitting me. Then I flipped over the drawing, and on the back, I saw my mother lying on the floor in the kitchen. I then peered around the corner of the kitchen with the drawing in hand, and I saw my mother lying on the floor, identical to the sketched image. What? Am I seeing things right now?

I approached my mother cautiously and poked her gently, but no response. There was a note in her hands. I picked it up and read it.

“Long ago, my mother told me stories of a monster called a Baak, just as her mother did before her, and the story has been passed down for generations. I have managed to shut out all belief in this monster, as I know it drives people mad—but this one in particular targets my family. I believe my son is mentally I’ll because of these stories his father told him, and he needs to see a professional. He's just like his father, who claimed he had a similar obsession over this Remorsi. I had no choice but to end my husband's life because of his horrifying actions and paranoia because he was insane. Right? I swear, recently, I’ve been losing my mind. The guilt of having murdered him eats away at me, and not telling my son that we are broke because I murdered my husband, his father. There was no one else to blame besides this child, and it’s unfair, as I am the guilty one.”

I dropped the note and rested my hand on her neck to check her pulse, and there was nothing but silence. I watched as she puked up some water, and her body began to twitch and move even though she had no pulse. Her limbs began to snap and crack as she began to tower over me, her eyes filling with red “Mom…?” I said as I backed up against the cabinets and bumped my back into them, her back bent completely backward and then snapped back into place, and then her head snapped from side to side and then met face to face with me. I was horrified, and I wanted her back; no matter how hard she would hit me, I needed her back. I can’t be alone, and I’m not afraid. I’m just sad. I slowly sat up and prepared to let this monster end my life as it prepared to strike me. I then moved out of the way as it attempted to hit me, and it tore the net that held our food open, then screamed in agony, jumped out the kitchen window, and left me alone. Why didn’t she tell me anything? Why was I left alone? Why was I to blame for my father's death? I have all these questions but no answers, but I think I may have at least one certainty. I turned my attention toward the ripped net, grasped it tightly, and tore it off. “I may not have my mother or father, but I don’t need them anymore. I only need the truth and the truth alone, for then I will never be haunted by guilt as they were.