#madness

I've always found it particularly difficult to start a story. It's easy to end one, but ever since grade school when my teachers would make me write a short story, I could never make a good start. I suppose I'll start by saying this is a story. A story about my best friend. He died about 2 years ago. He was in his living room, sitting, watching tv, and he had a heart attack. And boom. Just like that he's dead. Gone. Bye bye. See you later. It was really shocking when I found out.

Lytle, Texas - August

His name was Dr. Zushioh, PhD. A scientific theory he had developed indicated that it was possible to create organic life. His idea was that if one gathered all of the essential DNA and organs needed then one could create an entirely new species. If he were able to succeed in this endeavor, he would be a god. All he needed were the pig organs he had ordered two days before, but they still hadn’t shown up and he was getting anxious.

The sun was dancing on the horizon, shadows lengthening and the light beginning to fade. Inside the pure white room, only a table and two steel chairs furnishing it, stood a girl no older than sixteen in a shirt and pants the same hue as the room.

“Wake … up … you must … wa-“. That’s when it stopped. Those were the last words the tall, dark figure spoke to me when a white curtain fell over all that I saw, covering the previous scenery with an endless sea of snow.

"Y'know, they say this city, it never sleeps." She tapped the ashes off her cigarette and gazed up at the neon lights. "But I'm just prayin' one day I'll wake up." I looked her over. Watched her adjust the shoulder strap of her dirty tank top, watched her shift her weight to the other high heel. She couldn't have been older than 17. When she had asked me for a cigarette outside the gas station, I had reluctantly obliged, but now she stood beside my car as I filled the tank.

I don't recall ever seeing an actual music box. I mean sure I'd seen them on television but have never actually held one. Why is this relevant you may ask? Well, what I have to say about some things I've experienced recently involve sounds that can only come from a music box.

“Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad” Prometheus, The Masque of Pandora

My eyes shoot open as the tapping echoes throughout the room, scanning every inch of my dark bedroom for something that should not be there. Shit. No. No, no. Not now. Every shadow, every dark corner stands out in my mind as my imagination screams horrifying possibilities what could be lurking in the blackness. My entire body tenses. Closing my eyes, I try to force myself to calm down. Just ignore it, I internally whisper to myself. Just ignore it and it will go away.

Some people say that we only use 10 percent of our brains. The brain is a vast creation that still baffles all of mankind to this day. Scientists know less about the brain than we know about space. That leads us to Ronnie Bradbury, 62, who somehow became able to unlock her full brain power due to a mysterious jigsaw puzzle. October 2 4:04 PM:

To be honest, I've never thought about murder and death. I'm used to just pushing through thoughts like that, you know? Especially for a 27 year old scientist. Don't get me wrong, I've seen my share of coffins and corpses here in Vail, Colorado. But that was before the freak accident with the Tesla coils killed me, and I was a, shall we say, guinea pig of new weaponry for the US government. I'm kinda glad I'm not as human anymore. They're are so petty. They kill for money, ego, materialistic…

I awoke that night to Echo, my dog, barking up a storm. He was perched on the edge of my bed, facing the door and yapping away like crazy. I scratched him behind the ear to get him to calm down and guided him to his usual spot on my bed. In hindsight, him barking was the first warning.

I remember it all as if it were a dreamlike daze. It was a bright and sunny that first day, yet it was quiet. Abnormally quiet, even for the densely forested area that I lived in. Nothing could be heard for miles around. Our neighbors, that lived about a quarter of a mile away and fought often, were out of town. And, my own parents were rarely home because of their jobs. But, they fought too. Which, left me alone. Alone. Day after day with no one around. No one, but the wind that would dance…

The floor was vibrating. The walls shook, pathetically trying to withstand the shifting below the foundations of the apartment complex. The television fell over, coughing up shards of glass in it's last breath. I cursed all the money wasted, calculating the price of the setback in my head. Outside my window lay a contrasting scene of a magnificent Sun shining over the city.

Of course everyone claiming residence in Arthur’s Wake knows tales associated with the Wicker House. It seems that every small province plays host to some structure of ill repute which, as if by supernatural magnetism, draws rumor of ghosts and bogies, wrapping the timber and stone of its foundation in a shroud of darkness and horror. In Arthur’s Wake, the Wicker House fills this odious task.

You wish you had followed your instincts. If only you had not ventured down into the subway tunnel, in pursuit of the masked stranger you had unfortunately encountered less than forty-eight hours ago. You quickly become adjusted to the dim white light, as you look down the seemingly endless tunnel. All too quickly, you feel a quick push and then become aware of the cold rails beneath you. A blinding light gives your eyes cause to squint, as the stars that cloud your eyesight clear. A loud horn…

Lilleth stared up at the ceiling while bundled in her covers. Dimly lit with various band posters taped to the wall, it’s the room of a typical punk girl. She nodded her head to the beat, and softly sang along to the heavy metal playing on her speakers. She heard her mom calling over the music.“What!” Lilleth snapped, annoyed because she knew she would have to get up.

I've lost control in every sense of the word. The steering wheel is slipping loosely through my crimson splattered hands and the cry of a father’s daughter screaming in agony echoes in my conscious. The knife on the passenger seat is sliding back and forth across the leather like a euphoric heretic mid ritual as the grim world outside is reflecting onto its scarlet tainted surface. The rain is growing greater and greater and my car’s wheels barely maintain their connection onto the road as I…

Friday: 1pm Deisha opens her eyes while reaching for her cell phone, “Wow, two hours earlier than yesterday” She shrugs as she attempts to roll herself out of bed. “Ah forget it; what’s the point in waking up earlier anyway? I’m going back to dreamland.” Friday: 4:45pm

It all began when our grandfather died.