Around the tender age of 11, I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. My parents attempted to convince me that it wasn’t bad, and that I would still be a normal kid, but as years went by, I grew more and more distant from my parents. Living in a solitary world. I would talk to myself, sometimes resulting to self harm to “kill" the voice. I was resented by man and beast alike, the world had transformed to a seemingly endless tunnel of hate and darkness. That was until I met him.
The voice in my head was always a dark, raspy voice. It spoke like the devil, and if the day were to come that I needed to identify the voice, I could do it anywhere. Anywhere. To my upmost surprise, that day came yesterday, introducing itself in the form of an ugly, rainy day. Due to my situation of not having a car, the bus was my main form of transportation. It was almost 5 and I was walking home from the store when it had begun to rain. I instinctively headed to the nearest bus stop, catching it with ease.
The bus was nearly empty, which was odd for this time of the day, and I rode alone until we pulled up to another stop. A single man stepped on. He wore a hood and baggy jeans and with all the empty seats around the bus, chose to take a seat next to me. He sat uncomfortably close and didn’t remove his hoodie. We rode and we approaching my stop, the whole ride in silence. Finally, we pulled up to my stop and I politely asked the man to move so I could get out. He moved and as I walked past him, he clasped onto my shoulder. He whispered into my ear words that froze me in my step.
“You have a nice house.”
You have to understand. The bus doesn’t drop me off at my house. It drops me off 2 blocks away, and I have to walk and I live decently deep in the neighborhood. That was scary enough, the sound of his voice is what made me rush home and lock my doors. He spoke with a deep, raspy voice. He spoke like the devil. He stared at me as I scurried off the bus, into the rain and into my small apartment.
I locked my door, sitting in silence in my living room. I decided to stay up late last night, keeping watch for the man. It was around midnight that I started dozing off. My phone vibrated violently on my lap and I picked it up. It was from a number that didn’t have he proper area code and I was cautious to open the message. Fear be damned, I opened it and instantly regretted it. The contents of the message were chilling.
It was a picture of the back of the chair I was sitting in. The back of my head was visible, and I was able to conclude that this picture was taken right now. I sprung out of the chair, falling to my knees as the voice in my head became extremely loud. It was almost like someone was screaming in my ear, but I managed to pick up my phone and dial 911. They promptly arrived and I showed them the picture.
They stared at the picture and handed the phone back to me saying they would stake a man on my block. I thanked the officer and closed the door. The voices became increasingly louder as I attempted to sleep last night and eventually I dozed off for 5 hours.
I only wish I hadn’t.
I awoke to a loud banging on my door and blood on my sheets. My wrists had been cut severely and polarized pictures hung on my wall. I stumbled around and out of bed and picked off one of the pictures and I quickly realized they were all of me. All of me sleeping. The banging on my door continued and I approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole, to see nobody on the other end. Where is this banging coming from?! Is it coming from my head?!
I have been sitting in my garage typing this, searching for the right words to use. More pictures have appeared in my room and I don’t know where they are coming from. The officer on my block is dead. The banging is still going. I don’t know what to do anymore.
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