On every college campus there is a hallway. Nondescript, tucked away, often on the top floor of a building or off of another hall where only a few classrooms have been placed. It melts into the background of every student’s life; drowned out by the music department or wedged between two lecture halls. Occasionally, a lost freshman will wander down it, running late for their first class. Should such a lost soul wander through that hall, all they will find is a single, empty classroom. This room has never held a class, not a scheduled one anyway.
The sign outside its door will always say the number of the class you are searching for and many a relieved student has collapsed into one of the desks, believing they have reached their class on time. When the classroom continues to remain empty, most will scramble back into the hall before the class period has started. They will leave with only a rush of adrenaline that they will later explain away as a result of being late for class. They will then continue their search for the correct classroom. Should they try and access this hall again, it will be gone. But that is for the best.…
I used to love Lucid dreams but I could only seem to realise I’m dreaming when it’s a particularly scary dream, I can always fly away from the threat. That’s how I know I’m dreaming, I can then stay and control the narrative. Now I just force myself to wake up.
It started with rules. I’m not sure how I know about them, how they were made up or who by.
I cannot fly over water, if I encounter water I’ll gradually float back down to land. Also, no wandering too far outside the boundary, not sure how high up it goes but having a cosmic wander is a no-no.
Some might say I’m a bit of a kook in that I believe in things like Astral Projection, Ashakic records and the like. I was never able to put any of this into practice as my desire to do it is scupper end by my inability to concentrate for long periods of time. This kind of sucks because I would love the chance to see into some of my past lives, learn lessons, better myself. Don’t give me that look, I know it sounds like hippie crap but I was a ‘witch’ for like five minutes in high school, okay, I believe in spirituality it’s just, like with most things, I have no follow through.…
The area around me became garbed in a bright light as I turned on my flashlight. The room was a disaster area with shelves toppled over, the books spilling on the cold wooden floor. Each piece of furniture had deep gashes in them as if something unholy had ripped into them. To make things worse, the door I had entered through was nothing but splinters, and one of the walls had a splatter of blood on it, already caking and cracking.
All of this only added to the fear I was feeling.
I was on the run from something that I couldn’t even remember running from. All I knew was that I could hear footsteps every so often. Sometimes the footsteps would get loud enough for me to jerk my heard into the direction it was coming from, only for nothing to be there and the footsteps softening.
I walked further into the room, but once I did my life flashed before my eyes as I heard the footsteps once more, this time sounding more feverish as though it was sprinting. I, of course, made the ever so smart decision to turn around, but when I did, I encountered the scariest thing in my life.…
I was resigned to even writing this journal, and for the first two days I kept my will strong, but even the strongest of minds cannot defeat the allure of distraction from staring at the wall of a cell. This journal entry will probably be the longest of them all. There is a lot to explain about the predicament I find myself in, and the hellhole that I now seem to be imprisoned in for the foreseeable future. To start, I should let you know who I am. I used to be a lawyer. A well off, respectable lawyer, with a family, a three story house, everything a typical american would dream of having. Now, it doesn’t matter. Not a single fucking thing I had changes what’s happening now. As I type this, I am sitting on my metal chair, in my cramped metal cell. Everything around is metal, save the soft mattress. You’d be surprised how grateful a person can be. You get taken from your home, locked in this fucking cell, but hey, we have soft mattresses. I guess that’s just the cruel humor of the world. Anyway, getting on with it. The rest of the cell is just a dull, metal.…
It was a quiet Sunday afternoon when the sobbing echoed through the apartment complex. Everyone rushed outside to find Jacob, kneeling in front of the leafless birch tree, crying. They stared in awe, unsure of what to do. After all, no one knew anything about him. The tenants stood shocked and confused as Jacob’s fingers dug into the soil at the base of the tree – scooping handfuls of dirt into his pockets. He continued until his pockets were full, then the crying ceased, just like that. The silence was so unnerving that some backed into their doorways, as if taking precautionary measure for an impending calamity.
Dirt spilled from Jacob’s pockets with each step as he slowly made his way back to his apartment. His movements were meticulous and deliberate, he seemed to savor each step like a mouthful of delicious food. Step after step his neighbors watched with anticipation, not sure of what to expect, but sure something would happen – Nothing did.
This would be the last time anyone saw Jacob.
Jacob was a strange old man. He would leave his apartment once a day for exactly an hour and stand in the courtyard talking to the ground near that birch tree.…
The slight dripping sounds from the kitchen abruptly ended my post vacation buzz as soon as I opened the front door. Knots that I had hoped were lost somewhere on a Hawaiian beach returned to their home in the small of my back as I began the process of doing mental math. The last plumbing mishap relieved me of a month’s pay and half of my comic collection. Judging by the competing tones of multiple drips, I told myself this was going to be an expensive plumbing emergency.
Rounding the corner, my jaw went slack at the sight of thick red liquid dripping from my ceiling. During my absence, my ceiling had transformed from a bland, sterile beige to an oozing crimson tapestry. I rushed out the door to my upstairs neighbor’s apartment as I dialed 911. My silent prayer for their safety was interrupted by the dispatcher’s mechanical greeting. Before she could finish, I began rattling off the first words I thought of.
“My name is Edward Michaels and I lived at 3710 Santiago Lane. I just returned from vacation to find blood dripping from my ceiling. It’s coming from the Andersons’ apartment and …. Wait, their front door is ajar.”
Numb, I attempted to narrate the scene as I choked back a resurgence of airline chicken.…
“Dude, I’m telling you. Dawn is never going to find out. You’ve got all of your bases covered.”
“I don’t know man; she seemed pretty suspicious of me hiding the phone.”
“Don’t even worry about it. As soon as you get what you want out of Sheila, you can easily ditch her to give your neglected girl all the love she’s missing. You’re golden man! You’re golden.”
“Yeah but what if Sheila keeps calling. . . “
“Ok you’re boring me now” Leo interrupts as he blasts the car’s stereo.
“Dude what are you. . .?” Jeff starts, but before he could finish his question, a horrified looking person suddenly springs in front of the car. The individual’s face appears to visually express the words, Stop! Help me. Unfortunately, Jeff doesn’t react in time to avoid the hit.
Immediately halting the car, he screams with panic, “Holy crap! Where did that guy come from?”
“I don’t know!” cries Leo with an equal amount of frenzy.
“Oh hell! What if he’s dead?”
“What if he’s not” Leo yells back, “He’ll sue or press charges.”
The paranoid pair step out of the car and see the lifeless body on the ground. Leo touches his pulse and gives the he didn’t make it head shake.…
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.”
The 32 yr old is awakened by the song of an ice cream truck passing by. “Wow, it’s almost evening” she tells herself as she stares at the time on her phone. She decides to fight her way out of bed and walk into the kitchen to grab the first few snacks in sight. “What am I supposed to do for the rest of the weekend?” she wonders.
This is a reoccurring struggle for Deisha. Her husband is constantly out of town while she stays home; and she deals with it by sleeping the time away. Her philosophy is the longer she sleeps, the less she has to be alone and bored. Rarely leaving the house, or even communicating with others, the outcast spends most of her days in bed, in the kitchen, and wondering why the world is so cruel. When Jack is gone, she doesn’t find the motivation to clean the house or even maintain her own personal hygiene.…
You’re not going to believe what happened to me. I was alone at an unusually long red light at about 3 o’clock. I swear the traffic light wasn’t staying red by coincidence. Anyway, I was sitting there thinking about how busy my day will be tomorrow when a knock on my driver’s side window made me jump. After I turned to see what it was, my heart skipped a beat. The nuisance was a kid of about 15 yrs old who was wearing entirely black. What really startled me however were his eyes. They were as dark as his clothes. I don’t mean the kid’s irises were black; I mean he had no whiteness in his eyes at all.
I didn’t want to open the window. Who in their right mind would? My gut instinct was telling me to just go through the red light. But I decided to roll down the window anyway to see what the little oddball wanted. He asked, “Hey mister, is there any way you could give me a ride to Part Street? It’s just a few blocks up.”
I had never even heard of this street before, but had no intention on asking more about it.…
What is going on?
I have never known terror as I do right now. Having just woken up, I have found myself in an unimaginably cryptic room. After attempting to call for help, I realized that I can’t open my mouth. I’m so scared; and worst of all, I don’t remember who I am and how I got here. I found this pen and paper next to some forms in the corner of the room. What’s going on? I can’t feel anything. Am I on some kind of drugs? Somebody’s coming! I’d better hide these notes until I know more. . .
I suppose you’re going to be my journal until I get out of here. Earlier a psychotic looking person visited. I think he was a man and a surgeon or something. He was covered in dry blood and had his entire face hidden by an extensive protective mask. After entering, he laid a tray by the bed, walked over to me, injected me with a needle and then get this: He removed a muzzle off of my face! No wonder I couldn’t yell out earlier. After removing the muzzle he put the tray in front of me; it was some kind of disgusting looking cold meat.…