#paranoia

I woke up. Sheets were stained with sweat, breath was no longer bated, and unconscious solace began to surcease. Depression kills. Not in a directly physical way, not in a way perceivable by anyone except the sufferer. It made me feel psychotic. It went past the brain tissue, into the atoms of their molecules. I always imagined the electrons painstakingly orbiting a chunk of ice. There was never light in my imagination.

In the United States of America, in the state of Ohio, about forty-five minutes North West of Cincinnati, there is a large, but sparsely populated farming community known as Oregonia. Some of you who have an interest in motorcycles may have heard of it before, as the community is famous for its hills. So famous, it holds the annual “Devils Staircase Hill Climb,” where motorcyclists ride their bikes up a very steep hill hill. It's a lot more fun than it sounds, and it brings in a lot of money…

My name is Harold Granderson, and I've been the director of the Cleveland Opera for 39 years. I'm sure that doesn't sound like much, what with the picture of Cleveland as a post-industrial wasteland deprived of fine culture, but I can assure you we don't harbor talentless hacks. I make sure of that. Admittedly, it's difficult to attract equally discerning ears. We live in the shadow of the Rock-and-Roll Hall of Fame, where the off-key caterwauling of drunken pseudo-poets is worshiped. Even the…

Sitting in the back seat of a station wagon, two sisters, ages 6 and 8 start bickering. One won't scoot over, the other is making annoying sounds. Typical car ride for this family. The parents up front try ignoring the children, but soon enough it gets to be too intolerable. "Girls, be quiet and look out your windows." Snapped their mom.

My bleary eyes struggled to open. Jesus. How long had I been sleeping for? I felt like i’d just awoken from a month long coma. God, my head hurt. The dull pounding in my temples was as rhythmic as the ticking clock on the wall. I couldn’t remember falling asleep, or what time it was, or even what day it was. The one thing I was sure of was how awful I was feeling and how much my parched throat ached for a drink. There was a bottle of water next to the sofa I had fallen asleep on. I took a sip…

They are going to kill you. You just know they are. You sit here, in the back area of the white van. It's devoid of anything, except the chair you sit in, and a white, metal floor with a screwdriver laying lazily near the wall. A fluorescent bulb hangs on the ceiling nearby, casting an erie white glow around the place. There are no windows, and everything not illuminated by the bulb is pitch black. You can't move anything.

A Lucid Dream is when the dreamer knows that he or she is dreaming at the moment. This powerful knowledge can make the dream seem more fun, with the dreamer being able to control everything. Meanwhile, an Out of Body Experience is when the dreamer is not dreaming, but they sometimes believe that they are currently in a dream. However, what happens when a dreamer believes that he is in a dream but realizes that he cannot control it? That my friends is called a Lucid Mystery. Story

Sweat trickles down my forehead; I don't bother to wipe it away, and my eyes sting from staring at the monitor screen for far too long. The office room I had rented for the short amount of time I'm living in this city was cluttered, and the mess almost filled to the maximum capacity of the room--files and recording tapes everywhere. Stacks of loose paper and documents threatened to topple and create more disarray in the ridiculously small room. But my busy mind was focused on the bright screen:…

The police radio buzzed with static. “We got a double homicide reported at city lake. Any units in the area go check it out.”

Ever since I was little, I knew there was something wrong about the storm drains that lined my road. They were stealthy and silent. However, there was always the thought that if I listened long enough I may hear something begin to whisper. I never lingered long enough to hear though, because I was terrified. I could hardly stand to walk across them. Most of the time I would keep a long space between the eerie enigma and myself.

-Breaking News – July 27, 2013- A third murder occurs at a luxury hotel just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. The victims where a mother and her alleged son, little information is known about either of them, or the murderer at this time. Police will continue investigation while the hotel remains open for business. The only sure thing that has been publicly announced was a statement from a house detective staying in the hotel at the time, he said:

Why is this happening to me? I'm not a bad person! I've never hurt anyone; hell, I've never even cheated on a math test! So, why is it here? Why did it choose me? I'm in the hall closet on the second floor, while that "thing" wanders around my home, searching for me! It's the only place I can hide, the only place I feel safe! I don't plan on staying here long, just long enough for it to pass me by. Then, I'll make a run for the front door downstairs!

Growing up, no one had ever believe me. I knew it was out there; watching. Lurking. I could feel its eyes rest upon me like weights as I took to my daily on-foot adventures to and from various stores and school. But no one ever believed me. They thought since I was a kid, that I was just being irrational. They thought I was hysterical to believe in such a far-fetched, outlandish being. Hell, for a good portion of my life, I thought I was crazy. That was, until I had my first encounter with it.

In 1347 the Black Plague had reached it’s peak. Across Europe thousands perished as this vile disease, festered in pestilence, showered the landscape with death. No one rich or poor, nor learned or simple, nor strong or weak were spare from it’s putrid touch. In the inner cities, so many had been wiped out that there wasn’t enough room to bury them all. Mass graves had become common as well as the unfortunate souls who had to collect the corpses. One such a man was Phillipe Deitre and this is…

I awoke to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I opened bleary eyes to see it was still very dark outside. What time was it? After about 5 or 6 rings, the caller gave up. I was tired, but sleep would not come again. Annoyed, I decided I might as well see who it was that was bothering people at this time of night. The number was not one I recognized. I sent a simple text message asking “Who are you?”

I was 15 years old during the weekend in June when everything would change. My mum had decided to skip town to visit her distant family, as she felt that she had earned a break. Nothing unusual about the decision to just up and leave as she often goes to visit 'the other side' as she called it. She'd either visit her parents – a part of the family that I actually enjoy seeing – who occupy a modest cottage up in the hills of some English countryside; or if she was feeling tolerant, she would…

I woke up again last night after hearing the same haunting noise that has plagued me since my early childhood. This time however, is the first time I have heard it during my adult life. When I was younger, I called the noise “sideways static”, but now I don’t give it a name, as I am trying to forget that it exists.

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

Coffee is a damned thing. I hate the wretched bitter stuff, it was never compatible with my mild palate - and yet as of late I've been up to almost four cups a day. Might as well stick a caffeine IV in my arm. In fact, I'd greatly prefer that. But right now my fondness of coffee is really the least of my worries. I have to stay awake.