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What Have I Done?

By Andrea Bergin All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Horror

Short Story

I don’t know where I am or why I’m here. I don’t think I can talk, or I just don’t want to. There are so many questions running through my mind, the most common question is; what is my name?

I don’t see my body; it is covered by a thick, padded blanket. I can look around the room, it looks so broken… I don’t feel safe here. I try to move my arms and legs but only my legs could be moved. I attempt to move the blanket with my feet; I am not disappointed. I now see that my wrists are tied down with rope to the bed frame.

I untie myself from the bed using a combination of my hands and mouth, which was not an easy task, and swing my legs over the side. I am hesitant to stand up, as my legs feel like lead. None the less I stand up and walk around to get use to walking again. It feels like my legs have not been used for a long time.

I walk to the wall and feel it. I don’t know what compels me to do this but I sense that if I did this, I may obtain a better understanding of where I am. The walls feel cold and repressive, with so many cracks all along it. Am I somewhere abandoned? Am I trapped? Even more questions infiltrate my thoughts. I am still nowhere near figuring out where I am; this just created more questions that need answers.

The last thing I could do was to open the large, metal door. The closer I come to the door, the queasier I feel. I have the suspicion, based on the queasiness that I feel, that something horrible is on the other side of this door. I stop in front of the door and jiggle the handle. I find that it is unlocked.

I unlock the door but do not open it straight away; I contemplate. If I walk out there, will I be okay? Will I find answers? Or will I not continue to live? Even though I am contemplating my options, there is really no point; the curiosity is too much.

I open the door and take a step out the door. I look around, still holding the door open, when I freeze from what I see down the hall. Suddenly, the only sound that fills my ears is the rapid beat of my heat as it drums in my chest. Then I hear a scream, successfully breaking the silence; the scream might have been mine. I hear the steel door shut behind me as it makes a loud noise. I must have let the door slip from my hand because of the utter shock.

Fear starts to consume me as she turns around to stare at me. The sight in front of me, my brain cannot compute; though my eyes are horrified. Before me stands something, that I hope with my entire being, does not exist.

Standing there, now facing completely towards me was myself. Long, red hair; vibrant, emerald eyes and pale skin. But the differences are what stand out the most. She is covered in blood with a sharp knife in her hand, also covered in blood. She also has that crazed smile that you might often imagine seeing on a serial killer.

She starts to walk towards me slowly. The way she walks shows me that her legs have been twisted, to the point that they look like they should’ve collapsed. I snap out of my trance and start to desperately open the door. As I attempt this, she starts to run at my direction.

My heart is beating rapidly in my chest, as I run as fast as I can; it doesn’t last long. She grabs my leg and pulls me down to the floor. This causes my legs to twist. I scream my lungs out as she carves an, what feels to be, uncoordinated mass of lines in my lower back with her knife. It feels like the knife is burning my skin; I am in agony.

Then I feel an urge; to kill. It happened so fast I that don’t completely know what I have done, until after I have done it. I kill her. I stab my other self in the chest, 37 times; I counted. Yet she died with an ‘I was right’ smirk on her face. I have blood smeared all over my clothes and body.

I crack. Laughing hysterically, I run down the hall. I have run a fair way away when I hear what sounds like a scream from behind me. I stop laughing and turn around to see if I can find where it came from.

After a while I hear a door close behind me; I turn back around. With the blood on my clothes, the knife in my hand, my twisted legs and the crazed smile on my face; I see… myself. The look-a-like looks frightened and terrified. I know what I have to do.

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