Paranoiac Read online

  As soon as my fingers touched the cool, wooden surface, electricity shot through my body. I took a few steps forward and abruptly heard rustling on the other side of this portal to nothingness. My eyes widened with fearful excitement and I started to quiver. Adrenaline was surging uncontrollably throughout my body and my hand was fused to the door. The movement behind the door transitioned into a quiet laughter. My eyes twitched, my body shook harder and from the core. It was the velvet laughter from my dream.

  It was my pallid twins' insidious, wide-smiled laughter. And it forced me to press on the door. A crack of white light spread into the stairway as it opened. My shadow climbed up the granite wall behind me as if it were desperately trying to run away. I pushed gently on the door and inch by inch it began to open. As more light poured in, the louder his laughter got. It was unviable to turn back now. I gave the door one final shove. The door swung open and nothing but white light gushed into the little room. I shielded my eyes until they adjusted. The man of my nightmares was laughing insanely. The light dimmed and I saw a figure standing in the doorway. It was him, the bastard that has haunted me for as long as I dare to remember. His laughter quieted and he just stood there smiling.

  It was like looking into a mirror. I slowly raised my hand to see if my doppleganger would do the same. The pale double mimicked my movements but it was greatly delayed. He grinned even wider and chuckled as he raised the same hand as me. I took a closer look at his hand. It was clenched into a fist, covered in blood. And hanging from his hand was a large clump of black hair. There even were chunks of scalp hanging from the locks. For a second, I just watched blood drip onto the floor. Suddenly he began to chuckle with his velvet insanity. I looked at him with shocked, bulging eyes. The laughter grew louder and louder and louder and louder!

  Journal Entry Thirteen

  My eyes opened and I lost balance in the sunroom’s kitchen. In shock I stumbled backward and my back hit the cold, metal fridge. I could have sworn I was sitting on the tiled floor, leaning on the cabinets before I had plunged into my memories. All I wanted to do was figure out who Molly was and what she meant to me. Too bad all I got was a junk food, booze induced dream. The problem was it really didn’t feel like a dream, parts of it anyway. I know for a fact that some of those memories of Molly were true. No one forgets something that tragically embarrassing. I just can’t stop thinking about the cellar door however and that awful pale double of mine. I absolutely hated his vile laughter. It sinks into my bones like a beast gnawing its’ gnashing teeth into its’ pathetic prey.

  My head was still fuzzy from my nightmarish nap so the world was dizzy and tumultuous. My clothes were still damp too and were twirled around my body. I thought of that hellish monsters' tired, sunken in eyes and the clump of black hair in his hand, dripping with blood. Usually my dreams of him are always the same. He would sneak into my bedroom under the guise of a full moon, emerging from some dark shadow that horrifies me. Then the demon would threaten me, calling me the monster although he’s the pale devil who lives in the shadows. The way he appeared this time was so different. He actually came in through the light. And this time he said nothing. He just stared and laughed with a fist full of someone’s hair. “God! I hope it isn’t Molly’s hair,” I half sobbed out. I wanted to eviscerate this imp of the shadows for giving me that thought. I walked around the kitchens' bar and stared into the garden. I didn’t want to think about Molly or the pale tormentor anymore. I pushed away their likenesses and focused on the muggy dew covered garden.

  For the first time since I woke up I realized it was morning. The rain was gone and it was foggy beyond belief. Hours had passed. I couldn’t believe it. These gaps in time and these dreams are starting to freak me out. How can I even trust my own perception? Am I this tired and strung out? Or did I party so hard the night before that I’m still recovering? I really needed to stay away from the booze. Every time I drink something awful happens or my overactive imagination starts running wild. I have to keep myself away from alcohol.

  To make my point, I briskly walked over to the fridge and drank an entire bottle of cool, crisp water. And then I grabbed another bottle of water, some cheese too, and slammed fridges door. I couldn’t help but stare out at the foggy garden. Drops of water fell from the flora thanks to that heavy storm. I was almost finished with my pointless search around this awful house. What if I don’t find anything? What if I can’t find anyone? I should just leave. Maybe I could check my phone for messages? That is if that bastard hadn’t stole my bag.

  “Of course!” I yelled out feeling like an imbecile. I’ve been here for days and yet I never once thought of checking my phone, that rectangle hunk of glass, plastic and precious metals. I probably had voicemails or text messages pouring out of my inbox from the people who are staying here, possibly even Molly. “That’s why that asshole took my stuff,” I said out-loud, feeling a weight being lifted from my shoulders. I know where the answers are! Now I just need to find this phantom fool and get my phone. I knew the solution was much simpler than I was making it out to be.

  My years of alcohol and distrust have left me twisted and paranoid. Now I would have to live with the embarrassment of my behavior. Luckily only the prankster and I know the bounds of my stupidity. Not to mention once I find this prowler I’ll wring his neck and bury him in the back yard with my mothers' statues. Who would honestly mess with me like this? I don’t have many friends and acquaintances but I don’t think any of them would jerk me around like this. If I catch this traitor I will definitely tear him apart with my bare teeth!

  Too many repressed memories have surfaced from this moronic ordeal. Although I have to confess that I dwell way too much on the past. “What kind of writer would I be if I wasn’t a self-loathing misanthrope?” I said aloud, staring at the pool and its stone waterfall. I sipped at my water pondering my time here. My mind traced its way around the property, checking to see if I missed any rooms.

  Swiftly I turned around, my mind set on searching the various broom closets. I would strip every nook and cranny of this house down to its wooden frames. Folding and tucking this stupid journal into my back pocket, I made my way back to the back patio door. The instant I opened the door a small pebble sliced across the bridge of my nose.

  I stumbled back quickly as another dozen little stones were pelted at me. Most of them missed and bombarded the screen doors and the metal siding. I jumped back into the sunroom and slammed the door. More and more rocks smacked into the door and sunroom. It sounded like hail raining sideways. “You mother fucker!” I yelled over the falling stones at who I presumed was the stranger. The moment I yelled out the stone-storm ceased. Unfortunately it was replaced by the laugh of my nightmares.

  I slumped to the ground with my back to the door. His laughter continued, barely stopping to take a breath in-between his cacophony of cackling. I pulled my knees to my chest, my eyes wide open with fear and my journal digging into my hip. The laughter went on and on and on. Another storm of pebbles started bouncing and smashing into the sunroom. I covered my ears and shut my eyes. All I could see in my mind’s eye was that gaunt, pale twin of mine laughing with a devilish, riant grin.

  “Isaac!” He began to yell, replacing his hellish laughter with that awful, awful voice. “What’s the matter Zac? I thought you were you were going to tear me apart with your teeth and bury me under one of your mommies dear old statues?” My eyes popped open with shock. How did he know that? I don’t even think I said that out-loud. None of this makes sense. “Isaac! Isaac! Isaac!” He yelled out over and over again, interrupting any thoughts I was trying to form.

  No matter how firm I held my hands to my head, I couldn’t block out the interlopers voice. His tone just seeped into my skull. At this point I preferred the laughter over his mocking. As if he were answering my prayers, he continued the onslaught of pebbles and laughter. And when he took a break from his forced laughter, he returned to chanting my name heinously.

  My blood was boi
ling. I couldn’t handle the rocks, the laughter or the mocking. Getting to my feet, I had my eyes fused shut and my hands to my ears. I started to scream, needing to block it all out. It was as if a great pressure exploded from within. The walls were crashing down and all I could do was yell and shout in response. Soon I turned around and kicked the door open. I bellowed at the stranger, “What do you want?!”

  Journal Entry Fourteen

  My head throbbed in unison with my heart as I opened my eyes. The water in the pool was calm and the garden was eerily silent. No one was in sight. I screamed out again, “Where are you? You swine!” Looking around the pool, I kicked angrily at the rocks and gravel that peppered the patio, almost falling in the process. Water was still dripping from the plants and trees, everything was peaceful yet I couldn’t stand it. Stomping through the garden I furiously tore out the plants and pushed over the Grecian statues. I lost my temper just like when I trashed that room and smashed into Molly’s car. I couldn’t believe that bastard got away. In my rampage, I tried to pull a bush from the garden then slipped on the wet, dewy grass.

  I sprawled out on my back in defeat, wanting to cry. In my frustration, I even wanted to break every window in the house then burn it all down. I couldn’t handle any more of his games. I wanted to give up on this feverish hunt. I just wanted to go home. The sky was an overcast grey and a chilling mist was in the air. Too bad it wouldn’t last long. The oncoming storm would only add to the repugnant, southern humidity. I closed my eyes and felt hot tears well up behind my eyelids. I fought them back, digging my hands into the cool, wet grass, taking pleasure in the pressure that pressed into the beds of my fingernails. I was finished and emotionally raw.

  I couldn’t go on. I’m done with Molly, with this journal and with this stupid scavenger hunt. There was no spectacular answer to how I got here, I knew that. I just wanted my life to be more interesting. Tired of my lonely alcoholic life, I wanted things to be more fantastical. Was that so terrible to want? To need? I knew I was a rich spoiled brat. Sure, I was abused, sure I ran away only to lose my dying mother, but there are others in this life who have had it infinitely worse. I never went hungry. I had a great education and even though I was estranged from my father, I still had very loving friends.

  The story behind this hellish nightmare probably came from a drunken party. I most likely invited a few of my close friends to this old vacation home, got shit-faced and then pissed somebody off so badly that they decided to get a little revenge. Maybe I had slept with his girlfriend or made fun of his shabby clothes and boring words. I was a terrible person with a shitty past and spoiled childhood. I was just another cliché.

  Sitting on the lawn, speckles of cool rain continued to spatter on my face. My journal was digging into my back and I hated myself to no end. Even as I lay there with my eyes closed and my will extinguished, I could feel my addiction scratching behind the wall. I refused to give in. I promised I was done. Yet still I wanted to drown the sorrows away until I slipped into insanity though I was probably halfway there.

  Then I heard footsteps in the grass. I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see who it was. The footsteps got closer and closer and closer. My body became rigid. My heart thumped in my chest. I kept inwardly repeating, chanting Mollys' name, though each time another flash of her beautiful face sparked in my mind. Closer and closer and closer. I dug my fingers deeper into the dirt as the tears were burning at my eyelids again. Closer and closer and closer. I was shaking my head back and forth repeating her name compulsively. My body was cramping from its tenseness. Closer and closer and closer. I couldn’t take this anymore. My heart was going to explode. I just wanted him to go away. Closer and closer and STOP. I could hear him standing over me and hear his breathing. Tears rolled down my face but I told myself it was the rain. His clothes shifted and rustled as he bent down over me. The grass moved underneath his feet. His mouth opened and I could feel his hot breath on my face. “Giving up already, Sir Isaac?” He whispered softly into my ear, articulating every word slowly and perfectly.

  The hair on my arms and neck stood on end. Before I could stop myself I was on my feet, eyes wide open and ready to snatch the trickster. But all I caught was a glimpse of someone running around the corner of the house. On my feet again, I was running after him faster than my brain could register. “Catch me if you can!” The intruder yelled from a distance. All I could think about as I slid around the corner was, “I am going to pull out your tongue inch by inch until it tells me the truth!”

  Journal Entry Fifteen

  I followed the sound of his footsteps and his indecipherable, taunting slander. The door slammed as I skidded to a halt in front of a small shed that was on the other side of the house. It was used to store lawnmowers, tools, chemicals and whatever else didn’t belong in the main house. I walked to the door, my hand hovering over the knob. Hesitating, I told myself that I could leave right now. I lamented my miserable self-loathing existence, already giving up, confessing my weaknesses, my fears, my truths. It didn’t feel right. All of this felt so wrong but I couldn’t help myself. I was a hypocrite.

  My hand magnetically fused to the door and I swiftly flung it open. “Who. The. Fuck. Are. You!” I yelled out as I stomped angrily into the shed. It was pitch black, no movement could be heard. I felt around for a light switch and found a chain hanging from the ceiling. I pulled it down and with a click light filled into the room.

  The shed was empty. I ran around the outside of the shed and listened for movement. I could only hear the rustling of the trees in the wind. There was the smell rain and the clouds started to darken. There was another storm brewing in my bones. Out of breath I staggered back to the shed. My emotions were running thin. Why hadn’t I just stayed on the lawn? I betrayed my own resolve but this fiendish trickster had a way of getting under my skin. As much as I wanted to stand here and curse the gods for my existence, I hated him tremendously more.

  Pacing the floor of the shed, staring at my feet, I argued with myself. I felt trapped between two decisions: continue this mad search or go home? The more I thought about my warm home the more I wanted to leave. My home, with its wooden covered patio looking out onto my beauteous back yard. And my countless bookshelves, filled to the brim with my favorite novels and research material. There was my oak bar, stocked full of top shelf liquor and accoutrements. Finally there was my laptop, waiting for me to convert my anxiety to gold. My computer where my journals are kept, were the philosopher’s stone that alchemized my sorrow and angst into life itself. Thinking this over, I continued pacing back and forth. I was trying to leave and trying to stay simultaneously, caught in an endless loop.

  Finally I stood still and looked up into the rafters of the shed. I took a deep breath, noticing the faint smell of cedar chips and polishes. As much as I wanted to stay here and find out who was torturing me, as much as I wanted to find Molly and ultimately figure out how I got here, I knew it was best for me to leave. This house, these memories and blackouts, were poison to me. My time here has done nothing but batter my body and soul. This place made me even more bitter and scared.

  I wouldn’t be leaving this place in new found hope, to return back home to a better and clearer life. Essentially, I would be coming home to countless nights of binge drinking and weeping myself to sleep. Coming home, there would be boundless loneliness and disparity, knowing there were no answers or closure coming from this gateway to hell. I’m not the type of person who can accept things and move on. I’m the person who pushes everything away, blocking out the terrible; the type of disconsolate sod who dwells on unanswered 'ifs' and 'buts' making myself doleful in the process. I can’t move on because I don’t look forward and I don’t let anyone get in the way of my self-loathing. The despairing truth is I enjoy it. I enjoy being sullen and if anyone gets in my way I’ll bring them down with me. I am just as toxic as this house. And that’s why Molly would have nothing to do with me.

  She thought I was brilliant, funny and ende
aring but she hated my misanthropic, dejected, rueful, pessimistic view on life. She felt heavy, drained and crestfallen around me. Molly was the exact opposite. She was joyful, oozing with life, excitement and love. I wanted that so bad. And I had tried with an iron will to block her out over the years and it would take me even longer to do it again. I take pleasure in my misery but hurting Molly would kill me. Just her disappointment in me sucked the color out of life and the fun out of writing. There is only so many times I can write this here before it becomes redundant but I am defeated and it’s time for the long, lonely drive home.

  Journal Entry Sixteen

  Unfortunately the moment I turned around and saw the workbench, I ate my words. I wanted to tear out the last few pages of my journal and eat them when I saw my black duffle bag on the bench. It was zipped tight laying on top of a pile of dusty tools and wooden scraps. “No fucking way,” I all but choked out, slowly walking over to the workbench. A yellow note was stuck to the duffle bag. It read, “Open me at your own risk.” I rolled my eyes and tossed the note aside. All of my doubt, cowardice, regret and fear faded away as I unzipped the bag. I felt refueled and re-inspired. This was my first real success since all of this started. Nothing was missing from my bag. All of my clothes were clean and neatly stacked. My toiletries were all there, aside from the toothbrush which I left in the old room.

  'Success!' I exclaimed inwardly. I had found my phone. It was one of those skinny, fragile, little smartphones. It was a gift from my publisher who was always trying to bring me up to speed on modern technology. Honestly, I think these hunks of glass and plastic are cheap pieces of crap. I pressed the little button on the side of my phone but I was out of luck. The battery was dead and my charger was nowhere in sight. I dug through my bag out of annoyance, dumping its contents on the bench. There was still no charger, to my dismay, but there was something else. A bundle of notebook pages half-hazardly rolled up fell from my duffle bag onto the bench. The pages were crudely ripped out of a notebook and the handwriting scrawled on the page was the same pretty cursive as the little yellow notes. I straightened out the pages and read them carefully.