|10-25-2014, 03:37 PM||#4221|
Join Date: Jul 2006
NoEnd House 2 (cont.)
None of this was making sense. How was room 8 my apartment? Should I have even trusted that text? It was from David. I know it was. There was no reason not to trust it. It took no time at all to drive to my complex, and honestly I didn’t even remember driving. It was like when you zone out for a minute and wake up farther down the road. I didn’t even bother locking it as I ran up to the front gate. My hands fumbled with the keys as I unlocked the bolt and made my way into the first hallway on the left. My complex was huge, but my apartment was one of the first ones on the left. I ran as fast as I could, passed 4, passed 5. My head was spinning, this night was weighing down on me like a lead vest. Passed 6. The farther I made it down the hallway, the farther away the hum seemed to be. As I passed unit 7 I could barely hear it anymore. And when I stopped in front of my unit I was in complete silence. I just stood there, standing in front of my apartment. The small gold ‘8’ was at eye level with me. I reached for the doorknob and slowly slid my key in, twisted, and the door swung open and I was sucked in like a vacuum, the door slamming behind me.
Room 8. I got up off the floor and looked around. It was identical to my apartment. If I didn’t know any better I would have assumed that I was home and that this was a bad dream. My mind went to David, and wondered what room 8 was to him, what it was that the house showed him. I walked around and studied the area. Literally everything was how I left it, right down to the half eaten Chinese left out next to the sink. I looked over at my computer desk in the family room. The monitor was still one, and AIM was still up and running. I walked over and sat in front of it, scrolling through my conversation with Peter. It was there, word for word. The house knew all of this, and how I had no idea. To be honest, I tried my hardest not to think about it, the answer no doubt something I was better off not knowing. I tried to click out of AIM but it wouldn’t let me. The computer just froze. I clicked shut down. Nothing. I clicked cntrl-alt-del. Nothing. I pressed the monitor’s power button. Nothing. And then a pop up appeared on screen. It was a video chat. I looked at the list of people in it, and there were two names. Maggie, and Management. The video feed was live, and all it showed was a grey wall. Then a message from Management popped into the text box.
“Hope everything is how you left it ”
“Who are you?” I responded.
“Enjoy the show ” And that’s when the camera turned. The camera focused on a young man strapped to a surgical table. He was completely naked and sobbing quietly to himself. The image wasn’t that clear, but I thought I had recognized the man laying there. He was tall, short brown hair, and a fairly pale complexion.
“This is what happens when people attempt to cheat ”
That’s when I realized who it was. Strapped to the surgical table was Peter Terry. And he wasn’t alone.
I don’t want to describe what I watched at that moment. The screams, the sounds that Peter made were unlike anything I ever heard out of a human. I couldn’t look away. I wanted to, but I think it was the power of the room, I couldn’t look away. Peter let out one final soul curdling scream, but I didn’t hear it through the computer speakers, it was coming from my room. My heart sank as I spun around towards the hallway. I got up off my chair, and I could still hear the screams emanating as I walked toward its source. I reached my bedroom door and the screams were now replaced by the hum. That hum. It had haunted me the entire time. I slowly opened the door, and I saw inside my room what I had seen on my computer. There was the surgical table, with whatever was left of Peter Terry strewn across its top. No one else was there. The others in the room were gone, but a chill went up my spin. The Management was here with me, only one room away. I walked closer to the table, the stench was horrific, and it took everything in me to stop from vomiting. I knew I was nearing the end. I had to be. I looked around the room. Somewhere in here was the entrance to the next room. I knew it had to be. And it was. But it was simpler than I had expected. Across the room, where my bathroom door should have been was a simple wooden door, similar to the early ones in the House. Something was stapled to the door, something long, and bloody. It was the entrails of Peter Terry, and they formed a 9 on the door.
I felt bad for Peter, but I had gone through hell that night. I walked right passed the table, picked up a long surgical knife and didn’t give the body a second glance. The final door was there, and I walked right up to it. This night was about to end, and I was coming out of that room with David, and I was going to stop whoever it was that was keeping him here. The door opened easily, and as I stepped through I saw what was waiting for me. It was an empty room, it resembled a waiting room for a doctor’s office. There were a few chairs lining the wall and crumpled up old magazines in a basket in the corner. Across the room on the opposite side from where I came in, there stood a single door. My heart sank when I read the label printed on the wood. It wasn’t a number. It was a single word.
I clenched the surgical knife in my hand.
“Alright, I’m ****ing ending this.”
They were on the other side of the door. I could feel it. And David was too. The hum was louder than it had ever been. I could feel it inside me. It was coming from inside me. As I walked it got louder, and as I placed a hand on the door the room was filled with the sound. I turned the knob and opened the door. The room waiting for me was not what I had expected. It was the front lobby. The same front lobby that began this entire hell. Only this time, there was someone behind the desk. My heart jumped out of my chest when I saw who it was. It was Peter Terry.
“Peter?” No, there was no way. “How? What?”
“Who were you expecting? A ghost? Satan? Some creepy little blond girl?” He was smiling. I wasn’t.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Maggie. Come on. Just think for two seconds. Who first told David about this place?”
“Who told you about David’s whereabouts here?”
“Goddammit Peter you were his friend!”
“I’m sorry Maggie, but that’s how we run business here.”
“Where is he? WHERE IS HE?!”
“He’s in the here with us in the House Maggie. And he isn’t going anywhere. And neither are you.” I don’t know what took over me, but I lost it. I jumped over the counter and shoved Peter to the ground. I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the ground, the surgical knife in my other hand pressed firmly against his neck. I wanted to kill him. I had to kill him. He killed David. He wasn’t killing me.
“Maggie, you can’t. There’s always going to be someone to run the House.”
“No.” I slid the knife across his throat and slammed his head further into the ground. “I don’t think there will be.” With his death the room went dark. I could still feel the surgical knife, but I was no longer holding on to Peter’s hair. I don’t know for how long I was in the darkness, but it felt like ages. I stood and felt for the desk, balancing myself with one hand on the side of the marble surface. Then the lights came on. I could see the windows across the room, it was still night out. I looked out and saw him. David was walking around outside, seemingly unharmed. I ran to the door and tried to open it. I was so happy. But the door wouldn’t budge. I tried my hardest, but the door wouldn’t let me out. I looked out the window and saw David as he began to walk down the dirt road. I rested my head against the door and saw it. My stomach lurched hard. There, pinned to my chest was a name tag, with one word:
Some people just wanna watch the world burn. Wanna join me when I take my turn to pour the gas, light the match, see your world flip upside down and drop until it's inside out?
|03-31-2015, 10:00 AM||#4222|
Join Date: Jan 2012
Location: Perth, Australia/Formally Europe somewhere
Stacy and I met in kindergarten. We were friends for years. It wasn't an easy friendship. We had a lot of messy fights, one of which led to my being uninvited to her thirteenth birthday party (but she made it up afterwards with a sleepover). There was also an issue in ninth grade when we both had a crush on the same boy (but he rejected both of us and went out with Gloria, that bitch, and so with a common enemy we were reunited). But I think that after everything passed, our friendship came out stronger - as cheesy as that sounds. Stacy said once that she knew she could trust me because even when we were fighting I never told anyone her secrets. And she hadn't either.
By the end of high school we knew we'd gotten over all our petty differences. We'd been accepted to the same college and we were planning to room together. We'd already bought posters and matching bedsheets.
Then she killed herself. It was the week before prom, right after her boyfriend broke up with her and told her to go find another date, and after she'd failed a math test as well. Everyone was horrified. Stacy was the pretty, popular girl, but also - especially after we stopped fighting - incredibly nice. Everyone liked her, even people who'd only met her once. She'd texted me right before she died. The conversation went something like this:
Stacy: I think I'm going to kill myself.
Me: What? Why?
Stacy: Will broke up with me.
Me: He did???
Stacy: Yeah. He said I should go find another date. He said it wasn't working out. Nothing works out with me.
Me: But there are tons of other boys who'd fall over themselves to take you to prom! Just ask one of them.
Stacy: They're all taken now. It's too late.
Me: Well, it's just prom. It's kind of a stupid thing anyway.
Stacy: It doesn't matter. I'm not worth anything.
Me: You'll only be worth nothing if you kill yourself. That's really selfish! What about your parents and friends? Suicide is the worst possible option. You can't waste your life like that.
Me: You still there?
Her parents found her phone, with my messages still on it, on her bedroom floor. She was hanging over it. Around eleven that night, Stacy's dad called me, half-sobbing, to thank me for trying my best to help. But it hadn't worked. She had hanged herself. That last conversation haunted me for weeks after. I wanted to know if what I'd done was right. I went to a forum for suicidal people and posted the transcript and said that Stacy was dead, and asked if I could've done anything more. Someone responded. He wrote: I'm sorry to tell you this, but everything you said was exactly the wrong thing to say to a suicidal person. You're looking for the truth so I will give it to you. What you said was intended to be helpful, but it did not do anything for her feelings of guilt and worthlessness. I don't want you to blame yourself, though. In today's world, we don't talk enough about suicide, especially not to teenagers. So I don't think you're at fault for your friend's death.
But he's wrong.
Because I was.
I knew exactly what I was doing.
|03-31-2015, 03:19 PM||#4223|
Join Date: Jun 2011
At least post in the most recent thread, Son!
SOVIET COPY MACHINES WORK OVERTIME FOR GOOD OF CAUSE.
PERUSE MY BLOGS, IF THOU WILT:
Proud to be called Best Friends with Pastafarian96
|04-01-2015, 07:18 AM||#4224|
Join Date: Jan 2012
Location: Perth, Australia/Formally Europe somewhere
Oh sorry never bothered to sticky that one.
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