| General Fiction posted September 26, 2024 |
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When you can't determine what's real and what's not
Voices
by Begin Again
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
"They're coming!" My voice was trembling.
I'd heard them before, but this time, they were closer, echoing in my head. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. They never left anymore. Their chants, often melodic, begged me to follow them.
"Listen." I struggled to sound confident.
Wait! I hear Rachel crying. I want to wipe away her tears, but I don't see her. Was it her or just the wind?
There she is again.
"Rachel, where are you?" I want — no, need — to hold her.
I can't see her, but I hear her cry, "Jackson."
My focus turns to the drum pounding in my head. I call out, hoping someone hears it, too. "Listen! Rachel, do you hear it?"
No answer, just silence. Maybe it was better this way. Perhaps she hadn't understood. No one did.
I shivered, but not from the cold. It was the dread of what I knew was coming. Or maybe it was adrenaline — excitement. Whatever it was, I wasn't afraid.
No, this wasn't fear, not anymore. This was something else entirely. I bit my lip hard, tasting blood, trying to ground myself.
I tried to focus.
The wind howled through the broken windowpane like the old gray wolf that Grandpa shot last year. He'd tipped his head toward the moon and howled as if daring Grandpa to pull the trigger. One crack from the rifle and its voice faded away into the dark. He'd shown his strength till the end.
I swallowed hard. I could be the wolf. Strong. Defiant. Never afraid.
Time was running out. I could hear the beating against the barn door. I needed to act, or it would be too late.
But then again — maybe it was already too late.
Except for the flickering candle, it was pitch black. Shadows stretched across the barn wall. My eyes peered into the darkness. I listened, but there wasn't a sound to hear.
Were they inside?
I couldn't tell what was real and what was just the pounding in my head.
I blew out the candle, plunging my space into total darkness. I tried to quiet the voices and the chaos — the pounding at the door, the screaming in my head, the chanting. I was in a heavy fog, and my thoughts blurred.
"Jackson, I need you."
I called out, "Rachel, I knew you were here. Come to me."
I reached for her. Whispering, "I love you."
I put my hands around her neck and squeezed.
"Jackson, please stop." It was that voice again — Rachel's, but it seemed far away.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked down at my hands.
I wasn't choking Rachel.
They were around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter as my vision blurred. I gasped for air, but it wouldn't come.
I could hear my father's voice now — his eyes wide, his mouth twisted. He shouted at me, but I couldn't hear his words over the chant of demons, a choir of shadows laughing in the distance. It was getting louder, or maybe that was just my heartbeat.
The knife was in my hand now, glinting even in the darkness. From the blade, my reflection stared back at me, distorted and unreal.
The first plunge into my chest felt like a release. Warmth flooded my body. The second thrust, deeper this time, brought a strange calm. I could hear Rachel's voice again, gentle now, almost soothing.
"Jackson, I love you."
I see her, and suddenly, everything is clear. I remember Rachel is dead. A drunk driver — a car accident claimed her life. I see her funeral and her sweet face in the casket as if she was asleep. I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her it will be okay.
My last thought, as the blood pooled around me, was simple. "I'm coming, my love."
"They're coming!" My voice was trembling.
I'd heard them before, but this time, they were closer, echoing in my head. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. They never left anymore. Their chants, often melodic, begged me to follow them.
"Listen." I struggled to sound confident.
Wait! I hear Rachel crying. I want to wipe away her tears, but I don't see her. Was it her or just the wind?
There she is again.
"Rachel, where are you?" I want — no, need — to hold her.
I can't see her, but I hear her cry, "Jackson."
My focus turns to the drum pounding in my head. I call out, hoping someone hears it, too. "Listen! Rachel, do you hear it?"
No answer, just silence. Maybe it was better this way. Perhaps she hadn't understood. No one did.
I shivered, but not from the cold. It was the dread of what I knew was coming. Or maybe it was adrenaline — excitement. Whatever it was, I wasn't afraid.
No, this wasn't fear, not anymore. This was something else entirely. I bit my lip hard, tasting blood, trying to ground myself.
I tried to focus.
The wind howled through the broken windowpane like the old gray wolf that Grandpa shot last year. He'd tipped his head toward the moon and howled as if daring Grandpa to pull the trigger. One crack from the rifle and its voice faded away into the dark. He'd shown his strength till the end.
I swallowed hard. I could be the wolf. Strong. Defiant. Never afraid.
Time was running out. I could hear the beating against the barn door. I needed to act, or it would be too late.
But then again — maybe it was already too late.
Except for the flickering candle, it was pitch black. Shadows stretched across the barn wall. My eyes peered into the darkness. I listened, but there wasn't a sound to hear.
Were they inside?
I couldn't tell what was real and what was just the pounding in my head.
I blew out the candle, plunging my space into total darkness. I tried to quiet the voices and the chaos — the pounding at the door, the screaming in my head, the chanting. I was in a heavy fog, and my thoughts blurred.
"Jackson, I need you."
I called out, "Rachel, I knew you were here. Come to me."
I reached for her. Whispering, "I love you."
I'd heard them before, but this time, they were closer, echoing in my head. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there. They never left anymore. Their chants, often melodic, begged me to follow them.
"Listen." I struggled to sound confident.
Wait! I hear Rachel crying. I want to wipe away her tears, but I don't see her. Was it her or just the wind?
There she is again.
"Rachel, where are you?" I want — no, need — to hold her.
I can't see her, but I hear her cry, "Jackson."
My focus turns to the drum pounding in my head. I call out, hoping someone hears it, too. "Listen! Rachel, do you hear it?"
No answer, just silence. Maybe it was better this way. Perhaps she hadn't understood. No one did.
I shivered, but not from the cold. It was the dread of what I knew was coming. Or maybe it was adrenaline — excitement. Whatever it was, I wasn't afraid.
No, this wasn't fear, not anymore. This was something else entirely. I bit my lip hard, tasting blood, trying to ground myself.
I tried to focus.
The wind howled through the broken windowpane like the old gray wolf that Grandpa shot last year. He'd tipped his head toward the moon and howled as if daring Grandpa to pull the trigger. One crack from the rifle and its voice faded away into the dark. He'd shown his strength till the end.
I swallowed hard. I could be the wolf. Strong. Defiant. Never afraid.
Time was running out. I could hear the beating against the barn door. I needed to act, or it would be too late.
But then again — maybe it was already too late.
Except for the flickering candle, it was pitch black. Shadows stretched across the barn wall. My eyes peered into the darkness. I listened, but there wasn't a sound to hear.
Were they inside?
I couldn't tell what was real and what was just the pounding in my head.
I blew out the candle, plunging my space into total darkness. I tried to quiet the voices and the chaos — the pounding at the door, the screaming in my head, the chanting. I was in a heavy fog, and my thoughts blurred.
"Jackson, I need you."
I called out, "Rachel, I knew you were here. Come to me."
I reached for her. Whispering, "I love you."
I put my hands around her neck and squeezed.
"Jackson, please stop." It was that voice again — Rachel's, but it seemed far away.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked down at my hands.
I wasn't choking Rachel.
They were around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter as my vision blurred. I gasped for air, but it wouldn't come.
I could hear my father's voice now — his eyes wide, his mouth twisted. He shouted at me, but I couldn't hear his words over the chant of demons, a choir of shadows laughing in the distance. It was getting louder, or maybe that was just my heartbeat.
The knife was in my hand now, glinting even in the darkness. From the blade, my reflection stared back at me, distorted and unreal.
The first plunge into my chest felt like a release. Warmth flooded my body. The second thrust, deeper this time, brought a strange calm. I could hear Rachel's voice again, gentle now, almost soothing.
"Jackson, I love you."
I see her, and suddenly, everything is clear. I remember Rachel is dead. A drunk driver — a car accident claimed her life. I see her funeral and her sweet face in the casket as if she was asleep. I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her it will be okay.
My last thought, as the blood pooled around me, was simple. "I'm coming, my love."
"Jackson, please stop." It was that voice again — Rachel's, but it seemed far away.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked down at my hands.
I wasn't choking Rachel.
They were around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter as my vision blurred. I gasped for air, but it wouldn't come.
I could hear my father's voice now — his eyes wide, his mouth twisted. He shouted at me, but I couldn't hear his words over the chant of demons, a choir of shadows laughing in the distance. It was getting louder, or maybe that was just my heartbeat.
The knife was in my hand now, glinting even in the darkness. From the blade, my reflection stared back at me, distorted and unreal.
The first plunge into my chest felt like a release. Warmth flooded my body. The second thrust, deeper this time, brought a strange calm. I could hear Rachel's voice again, gentle now, almost soothing.
"Jackson, I love you."
I see her, and suddenly, everything is clear. I remember Rachel is dead. A drunk driver — a car accident claimed her life. I see her funeral and her sweet face in the casket as if she was asleep. I want to wrap her in my arms and tell her it will be okay.
My last thought, as the blood pooled around me, was simple. "I'm coming, my love."
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