Journals of Horror: Found Fiction

by Todd Keisling

  #8 List Those You Have Harmed ←

  A narrow alley, thigh-high weeds growing through the brick pavers, shot off to the left. The way was lined with three-story brownstones, many sporting plywood where you would have wanted to see doors and windows. I felt as though I were stepping into some haunted urban forest, or a grand canyon of the sort you might find in a ghost hunter’s travel guide. Should I turn back? Would a rational person turn back? Probably. But I’d come this far.

  Those I have harmed...

  A lot, I suppose, depended on your definition of harm. If I punch someone in the nose, I think we all can agree that would be considered harm. But what about the pain we cause without realizing it? Without meaning to? Am I responsible for atoning to those who suffer in silence? We all suffer. Life is suffering. The only differentiator is how we put an end to the suffering. How quickly we...

  Looking down, I noticed that select bricks had been painted black, spelling out:

  #9 Make Amends → ↓

  I took that to mean I should circle around the building.

  Make amends.

  How?

  If we logically back up for a moment, how can I make amends to those people whom I have hurt, unknowingly? Am I supposed to go through my phone’s contact list, my computer’s cache of email addresses, and reach out to everyone?

  “If I have ever done anything in any way that has hurt or offended you, I am so sincerely sorry.”

  Check.

  Done.

  Something about that approach seemed to lack a requisite depth.

  Ahead of me, a small red light on the side of the house flashed. Up close, I found stuck onto the milk chute a “walker’s light,” the sort of thing a person clips to his belt to go strolling at night. I opened the small door to see:

  #10 Continue To Take A Personal Inventory ←

  From where I stood, the arrow pointed me to a garage in the back. I paused, and listened. Silence. I think even the crickets and owls avoided this part of town. I took a deep breath, and stepped, recounting my personal personal inventory with each footfall.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  Six.

  Seven.

  Seven. Yes, that sounds about right. Though I might have forgotten a few.

  Painted rather neatly on the man-door were the words

  #11 The Power To Carry It Out

  COME IN

  The door yielded easily. Standing here, I did feel very powerful. In control. Everything about this place—this dark, abandoned, empty place—seemed just right to me.

  A small sliver of moonlight shone through the hole in the roof. The garage appeared empty, though until your eyes could adjust to the blacker-than-black, you really couldn’t know for sure what might be lurking in the shadows.

  Just like life.

  I could barely make out a large post in the center, no doubt struggling to hold up entire ramshackle structure. Again I called upon my lighter. Nailed to the supporting column was a piece of paper.

  #12 Carry This Message (To The Grave)

  LOOK UP

  I did, and saw roughly three feet above my head an axe, affixed to a pivot, held in its precarious position by a cotter pin which would easily be yanked out by the slightest push on the taut, ankle-high length of piano wire strung across the garage about an inch away from where I stood.

  “Perfect. Just perfect,” I said. How easy would it be to not see the crude trigger mechanism, and set the ghastly device in motion?

  Easy.

  Too easy.

  Or so I hoped.

  My trap was all set. Cocked and loaded, waiting for the next “defect” to step out of the church, spot that first sign, and follow the trail I had so painstakingly laid out.

  I’m sure if I pondered, I could come up with countless other “cleaner” alternatives.

  Role-playing games.

  Hunting deer.

  Hell, joining the army.

  I know there are more rational ways to satisfy my lust.

  My need.

  Though as I said earlier, I am anything but rational.

  Author bio: Michael Seese is an information security professional by day. Or, as his son could say even at age three, "Daddy keeps people's money safe." He has published three books: Haunting Valley, Scrappy Business Contingency Planning, and Scrappy Information Security, not to mention a lot of flash fiction, short stories, and poems. Other than that, he spends his spare time rasslin' with three young'uns. Visit www.MichaelSeese.com or follow @MSeeseTweets to laugh with him or at him.

  Lucca

  By John Ledger

  Case #BF3982413273

  Journal transcribed from a suicide note.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  It’s about time I come clean and tell you both the truth. You’ve been right all along dad. I am on drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. The things I’ve done to get my fix would make you sick to your stomach. I’m sure you can imagine as I’ve seen your magazines and internet history. Don’t worry though mom you were right too. All those times you called me a little whore the only thing you were wrong about is I’m no little whore, I’m a big whore mommy. The problem I came across was shooting up, smoking crack and sucking dick just wasn’t enough for me anymore. I’ve tried everything I could think of daddy, I even found some men to treat me like you used to. Remember when I was so innocent and defenseless and you used me as an ashtray among other things? I’m no little girl anymore though so I guess it just wasn’t the same. I needed something more. I tried bondage, golden showers, fisting, role-playing and all sorts of depraved sex acts but nothing could get me off anymore. Your magazines got boring a long time ago and the internet was getting tiresome until I finally discovered him. The love of my life.

  He made beautiful videos about life and death but he was incredibly misunderstood. In the first online video he suffocated kittens with a vacuum cleaner. Around Christmas time another video featured a kitten being eaten by a Burmese python. I tracked him down and he wrote me several letters, he loves me too daddy. Everyone says that he’s gay and some kind of wannabe porn star but I don’t care. I knew deep down inside that he loves me and I thought we’d be together someday. He told me about his masterpiece before it went viral. He killed an Asian man and videotaped it. The video showed the man naked and tied to a bed as he was repeatedly stabbed with an icepick. You can hear ‘True Faith’ by New Order playing in the background as he dismembers and fucks the corpse. He carved off some flesh with a knife and fork and ate some of the man, sharing with his dog of course. He promised me that he would do the same to me and put it on the internet.

  That was then and I couldn’t wait for the moment to come. Now it’s no longer possible because he got arrested and he’s locked up for life. I knew I’d never be able to meet my lover and I was at a loss. He sent me one more letter though with instructions and directions inside. I now had a destination and the perfect exit from this cruel world.

  In closing, mommy and daddy, I hate you and you can go fuck yourselves. I’m going to a place where there’s others like me. Other rejects who understand where I’ve come from and what I’ve been through. Thanks to the two of you the only emotion I understand is pain. These people understand pain too, they understand like you did daddy. They’re going to fuck me and then eat me. It’s going to be heavenly, just like my lover promised.

  Sincerely,

  Your daughter

  Author bio: John Ledger lives in central Pennsylvania with his queen Erica and their four children; Carson, Kaila, Logan and Layla. John enjoys punk rock, serial killers, dogs and Chinese food. You can find him on Facebook talking a bunch of nonsense.

  Night Terrors: Journal

  By Michael Thomas-Knight

  Case #BF6215280833

  Journal transcribed from a dream and personal journal by Andrea Sachem.

  The enclosed item is a dream and personal journal by Andrea Sachem, re
corded between the dates of Sept. 28th, 2009 and October 30th, 2009. The journal was discovered in the top drawer of the night table, in the bedroom shared by Brian and Andrea Sachem, married couple, late 30‘s.

  ***

  ---------------------------------------------------

  At the recommendation of my psychiatrist, I was directed to record a dream journal following a series of disturbing dreams. I was instructed to offer details of daily events included with the dreams to determine any correlations.

  Andrea Sachem,

  Sept. 2009

  ---------------------------------------------------

  Andrea Sachem

  Personal Dream Journal

  Sept. 28th 2009

  The dream is gone and I’m alive, another night I have survived…

  This is the first entry in my journal, but far from my first nightmare. They have been disrupting my sleep for about two months. I’ve had bouts of night terrors before, but it hasn’t happened in years. Dr. Strauss suggested I keep this record of dreams and thoughts.

  I need to begin with a memory, to clarify the impact of the dream I had.

  When I was little, my father would come home from work every Friday with a gift for me. Sometimes it was just a novelty gift he purchased at the newsstand. Other times it was an imitation Barbie doll he would pick up at Jo-Jo's Toy Shop. Despite being exhausted from a hard days work, he would spend time showing me the joy of the little items, slapping a rubber hand against the wall and counting with me until it peeled away from the wallpaper, or molding the silly putty into the shape of a snake.

  This is where my dream began. I opened the door and my father stood at the top of the steps. He was young. His brown eyes came alive when he saw me and a smile spread across his face. He held a gift out to me and I took it, a ‘Betty Doll’ with blue eyes and blonde hair curled at the bottom. I turned to show my husband, and he looked at it, indifferent to its meaning. When I looked back to my dad, he was on the back of a boat, pulling away from the door which was now a dock facing the sea. At a short distance away, the boat began to sink. I turned to my husband for help, looking back into the house, but he had left the room and closed the door behind him. “Brian. Brian,” I called, but he didn’t return. The water rose past my father’s knees, past his waist, and further. He waved goodbye and sunk beneath the surface of the choppy water. I screamed, "Daddy!" and knelt down, placing my hand into the water. I felt his hand grab mine and I pulled. A black gnarled hand with sharp fingernails was locked onto mine. I tried to let go but it held steadfast. I pried the fingers loose just as the featureless face rose from the deep. I jumped back into the house and slammed the door shut. I was still holding the Betty Doll in my left hand. I looked at the doll and it was in pieces with bugs crawling in and out of it. I threw the box down and woke up.

  My heart raced. I felt helpless and deeply sad, missing my father and remembering the times we had shared. I don’t know why I have such terrible dreams about my father. They always seem to end with the appearance of the black shadow-man.

  Tuesday, 10/6/2009

  The dream is gone and I’m alive, another night I have survived… This is a quote Dr. Strauss had told me to say out loud after a nightmare. It helped in calming my nerves and separating dream from reality.

  I laid in bed with my eyes shut, aware of a presence in the room. I opened my eyes a sliver, hoping the intruder wouldn't notice. Several tall dark figures entered my peripheral vision. One drifted close to the bed and I got a glimpse that chilled me. It was a lanky black figure, eight or nine feet tall, hunched over so it could fit in the room. Its arms were out in front of it, bent at the elbows and wrists, resembling the arms of a praying mantis. Its head was triangular, but its features were shadowed. Three of these figures glided through the room without any noticeable leg movement. One came to the edge of the bed and hovered over me. I cinched my eyes tight and prayed it would leave. I held my breath so it couldn't hear my breathing, but my heart was pounding so loud, I swear it must’ve been audible in the room. When I couldn't take any more, I opened my eyes, but the figures were gone. I closed my eyes and didn't move a muscle, worried they might return.

  In the morning, I opened my eyes, half-expecting to see the figures gliding around the room, but the morning sun changed my mood instantly. I had to remind myself these visions were dreams and not to be feared.

  I sensed this dream was different from the shadow-man dreams. They were not of the same ilk. If the shadow-man was a manifestation of repressed fears, these were something else.

  Dr Strauss didn't agree or disagree; he just nodded his head when I told him this. He asked me, “What makes you think they are different?” I had no answer for him.

  Monday 10/13/2009

  I’ve been doing research online and came up with some interesting facts. I don’t know if any of them pertain to my situation.

  Sleep paralysis is a condition where you can partially wake but still have aspects of your dreams playing out while your eyes are open. It is accompanied by the shutting of your motor skills; feeling paralyzed or feeling like a great weight is bearing down on you.

  Night Terrors - the cause of night terrors is basically unknown.

  A dark figure in dreams is often a representation of a repressed memory from childhood. It manifests in dreams as a dark figure in order to mask its true identity and to save your own psyche from the pain and hurt associated with the experience.

  At that point, I began to get search results on paranormal occurrences. Some of these frightened me because they seemed similar to my experiences. Most notably:

  ***Some spirits can influence your dreams, causing an individual to experience nightmares and horrible visions in their sleep.

  Some people report being tormented by entities called, shadow figures. These are different from ghost spirits -- they are thought never to have been human. They are considered evil and often influence people to inflict harm upon themselves.

  I don’t know what this all means or if any of this information can help me. I do plan on asking Dr. Strauss about these when I see him next week.

  Thursday, 10/15/2009

  Dream is gone, I’m alive, another night survived…

  Earlier in the evening, we had gone to a dinner with Brian’s firm, celebrating the acceptance of Brian’s architectural designs by a big account in St. Louis. I had dressed in my best, trying to be elegant and sexy. I would be the youngest wife at the party at age 36 and wanted to look classy for my husband. I also planned on a private celebration with my husband after the dinner. The party was quite pleasant and the food was fantastic. When the conversation turned to architecture, I had nothing much to say. I knew little about it despite being married to Brian for eight years. A young intern that worked with my husband knew all the details of the project and garnered much of the attention. I didn’t like her hovering so close to my husband. I saw the way their eyes held each other's, how they smiled at each other often, too often, as if an unspoken communication passed between them. At one point, she offered Brian praise and laid her hand upon his arm. Her hand lingered too long. She pulled back slowly, letting her fingertips drag.

  On the way home I questioned Brian about his young intern.

  "Alexis? Are you crazy?" he snapped. "I'm 15 years older than her.”

  “I saw you Brian", I told him. “I saw the way you smiled at her. I saw you watching her smooth and shapely legs when she went to the restroom. I saw goose bumps on your arm where she had touched you," I said.

  .

  He said, "I can't believe you're doing this. We landed this deal as a team -- all of my staff made it happen. That is why I was smiling. Apparently you don't like when people are happy. You like to taint happiness until everyone is miserable, like you."

  I attempted to argue but Brian cut me off. He said, "I'm not discussing this anymore."

  We drove the rest of the way home in complete silence.

  Brian claimed he was beat when we go
t in and went straight to bed. I knew he was angry. There was no after dinner celebration. I drank a glass of wine by myself in the living room and went to bed about an hour later.

  I dreamt I was dressing for the party. I admired my dress in the full-length mirror in the upstairs bathroom, a silver sparkling Diane Von Furstenberg with an open back and tailored short to show off my legs. I made adjustments to my pearl choker and matching earrings when a dark shadow passed by the doorway. I turned to look but saw nothing. “Brian?” I called. No response. I heard the car start outside and knew he was downstairs already. The bedroom appeared darker than usual, as if no light from the bathroom crossed the threshold. I looked back to the mirror, checking my make-up, and large shadow rose behind me. I froze. It grabbed my waist and pulled me back toward the blackness of the bedroom. I screamed and grabbed the doorframe molding, not wanting this shadow-man to pull me away from the bathroom light. I looked behind me and saw a coal-like face with no eyes and a row of black cylindrical teeth. I tried to pull myself forward, into the bathroom. The shadow-man clamped his teeth into the back of my arm and a searing pain flashed into my shoulder and down to my fingertips. My grip faltered and I was yanked from the doorway into a deep black void. I had the sensation of falling and I was screaming, as the light from the bathroom receded to a small rectangular square above me. I woke with the sensation of falling and landing on the bed.