My Neighbor

Where do I start? How could I ever begin to explain the things I see? The things I hear and feel? I do not believe in ghosts, the damned things in stories and tales of the bygone days. What idiotic lives they must have lived; trembling in the corners of their antiquated houses as the shadows of the lamented drew on their walls. What fools! Running before they could walk. Trying to understand the real world only to be blind to the utter chaos within themselves. I do not believe such things, such nonsensical beliefs. But even I could not explain the existence of my very self, of the shadows dancing around my head that encircled me, trapped me.

I have now found myself in a situation in which I do not recall of how I arrived. Uncertainty played in my mind at the feeling of someone other than myself who was lurking inside. I felt something solid and sleek in my right hand, long and heavy, cold and distant. The feeling of liquid seeping down my arms and hands, a slow, agonizing trickle, of something dense and once warm, haunted me. Time slowed for me as I looked down at my feet, the stench of fear emanating from the floor below me, and something else as well that struck my nostrils hard. It was a scent of which you may be familiar with if you had ever cut your skin or bit your tongue.

But, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let me rewind to the very beginning so I may help you to understand this situation, this... predicament I have come to find myself in.

I was having no dreams last night; I never really do. My eyes were shot open in the death of night. Death… what a thought, a mystery really, isn’t it? One may have seen me lying in bed last night, and thought that my veins had been brutally maimed, turning my eyes into lakes of blood. The bags under my eyelids were evident and dark. My ghost pale skin seemed to stretch off my bones as I gripped my sheets in desperation for peace.

The clock mocked me, laughing at my sorrows as his hands never advanced, never shifted. Was it out of battery? I got up and walked over to the cursed thing, reaching to grab it off the walls. As my fingers just lightly touched the clock, a second passed and it ticked, beginning to move once again. It was as if it did not dare move under my watch, then let time resume under my touch. The audacity! How dare it taunt and ridicule me! Wait, no, it is merely a clock, an inanimate object of no other use to me than sharing the time with a tick of its hands. It should not bother me. Why should it? Why would it? It is absurd to be angry at such things… yet here I was. Wanting to throw this innocent object to the ground out of bitterness, out of fear as to why it seemed to never move.

I needed to clear my head, perhaps that would help. I let my feet crawl along creeping floors in my home. My home seemed the only thing normal to me for a long while now. My hands gently grazed the walls, the pitch black darkness concealing the doors, frames, windows and floors, leaving me to my memory and touch to get around.

A sudden harsh rush of air hit my bare back, and a cold chill ran down my spine. I felt the presence of something maniacal slowly begin its way towards me, carrying with it the bitter breeze that abruptly halted. I knew what was to happen next, preparing myself for the worst. Then, there it was: I heard laughter. Each muscle inside me froze to solid ice as beads of sweat poured down my head and neck. Not again… not this again. The laughing. It haunts me, the maddening twisted voice echoes against the walls and exposes me of my deepest fears and darkest secrets. Do you not hear it?

I made my way quickly to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me with the paintings on the walls falling to the floor. I reached for the light switch, the laughing suddenly ceasing as the brilliance of the light bulbs flooded the room. My heart thumped wildly, my back against the door, bracing myself for someone to break it open in a crippling attack.. They never did though… They never really do.

In the bathroom mirror I saw myself. I was pale, with blood shot eyes, and heavy black bags under them, and as I saw myself in only my boxers I saw my bones stuck out from my body. When had I last eaten? My knuckles were white as I clutched the bathroom counter, thinking hard. Trying my best to remember. The past few months were blurs, the days and weeks melting into each other, the light from the sun becoming confused with the light from the moon. What was day? What was night? I had no conception of when to rest, when to eat, when was the last time I left my house.

There! I was snapped from my thoughts as a ghastly reflection caught my attention. The deranged blurred figure was a stark contrast against the brightly lit up room, and it was gone the second my eyes touched its gaze. I wrenched myself to face where it once was in a swift motion, only to see an empty shower with the curtains pulled back. Were they not closed just a second ago? The feeling of dread crept up my body, inching its way up, tickling my spine, as if spiders were making themselves at home. No shadow could be seen as I carefully examined the shower, until, that is, I looked up, seeing what appeared to be a human through the opaque window as my blood ran cold.

The window, distorting my view of the human-like being, had no glow behind it, no way for its brilliance to be coming from behind. Yet somehow, it was, the being was glowing itself. It was as if its eyes had been painted with lights, the devil seeming to dance around me, laughing at me as fear had struck me nearly dead. As suddenly as it appeared, the lights flickered and the outline of the being's face vanished. The lights finally then returned to what they once were.

I rubbed my eyes, making sure my unsteady vision, my chaotic mind, was not playing tricks on me. Indeed, as I saw the window, there was no light, no human, no ghost.

I had seen this before, I could not say exactly how many times, or say exactly when it began. I do not want to be sounding like the fools I mentioned in the beginning, believing in ghosts, but I, for a split moment, believed in them. Now, as my mind began to clear, I knew it was a ridiculous, ludicrous thought, and clearly the culprit had to be of flesh and bones like me. I waited for the scenes to leave, to cease, in hopes, in desperation that I wasn't going mad. I don't believe I was.

There was a thought, though, a thought that kept crossing my mind over and over again throughout the agonizing months. I had kept looking out my windows each day, studying my neighbors and street. They mostly had boring, dull, tedious lives, doing nothing but work, school, dinner, and bed; merely repetitions of each day, always surviving, never living. Ennui knocked on my door to bash me dead each time I looked out the windows at my neighbors, dragging their feet through each routine day.

But the past few months, each day when I looked out my front window, my neighbor across the street was always looking right back.

His eyes always opened wide, his elongated mouth larger than his face as he smiled through his windows. Watching me, and seemingly…

Waiting?

But no, it could not be! Why would my neighbor do such a thing? Why would he haunt me in such an outwardly malicious way when I have done nothing to him? I’ve met the man, Edward; I might have even referred to him as a friend at some point before. But we had grown apart over the years, no exact reason, per se, merely the chaotic stress of each day weighing upon us and our interactions with others. But the thought of this torment he bashed at me all being my fault, weighed heavily on my head. The room was spinning, the world diminishing me for all my wrongdoings. It’s been because of me, and perhaps it always has been.

Now at this point I had become desperate and chilled to the bones, so to speak, I needed to know who was doing this to me, and more importantly, why. I needed answers. I scurried out of the bathroom, flipping the lights and speeding down the newly lit narrow hallway. I moved from room to room, poking under beds, throwing open closets, scrutinizing over every inch, every wall, every floor board in my house. I begged and prayed to find an answer to this insanity, to the unexplainable happening before my glazed eyes and whispering in my fatigued ears. I had to unravel the story, the scroll handed to me in bits as a seemingly unsolvable puzzle, an endless riddle.

As I searched desperately through the house, I found nothing that could give me even somewhat of a hint, nothing to satisfy my ever eternal inner turmoil. I began to violently shove my lamps and books and files off of every surface, sending heavy objects out my now shattered windows into the dimly lit grass and stones in my yard. My house became a rage room in seconds as I looked around in anguish, feeling disheartened and seething from my futile searching.

The psychotic laughing suddenly began once again, my head spiraling into insanity as the voices ridiculed me and every move I made. I tossed over my tables, trying to drown out the laughter by making increasing sounds as I turned my house upside down. My attempts were to be in vain, so I covered my ears only for their volume to intensify, for their mockery to advance. The lights around me blinked rapidly as if they, I could not take much more, I simply couldn’t. I had to find a way to make it all stop.

I surveyed the room, searching for something to make it all end as the light continued to flicker uncontrollably and violently. Nothing in the room caught my attention and held my gaze. The couches that I had torn apart were of no interest to me, of no use, no avail. The coffee table stained deep with booze from half-filled bottles were now shattered across the table surface and floor from my tantrum, beneath my bleeding feet. Damn glass digging into my skin, my shoes were near the front door, too far for me to get to at the moment. Nothing of use grabbed my notice, and I feared nothing would, continuing to search would not help.

But wait, why do I need to find how to stop this mess, when I can go and face the source head on? I knew now, when there was no answers found inside my house, it had to be my neighbor. It could not be anything of ghouls and spirits from unearthly curses and hauntings. It could not be of stories and macabre fables. It was only a human like me, so there was nothing to fear. I could get my life back to normal, back to the way it once was. With glass cut red stained feet, I moved to the front window, pulling the dark wrinkled curtains open as the moonlight shone through the window that was in desperate need of a good cleaning.

I peered out the window, the streets eerily calm and quiet during the Devil's Hour. The street lights were seemingly, and strangely, turned off, the only glow from the moon and the few stars that could be seen from an insignificant human being’s view. I saw a shadow in the house across from mine on the street. There, yes! I see him. The man haunting me was watching me from his window as well right now, as he always was, my neighbor, Edward. I watched his lifeless white eyes, staring right back at them.

This ends now.

At this point, you need to understand, I can't quite remember every detail, or what I did exactly. I only remember bits and pieces, so my story from here on out may not be as clear as before, I apologize...

I rushed to the kitchen, searching for what I needed, grabbing the clean sheared knife from the counter.

The bitter cold nighttime air hit me with such intensity, causing the metal to numb my hands as I began my walk down the lifeless street. There was only the stillness of the houses and cars, and the glow from Edward’s dead eyes blinding me from his windows. I would not stand aside anymore and let him control my life every day, every night. I haven't been able to sleep for God knows how long, I certainly haven't been able to keep track. For a moment, I felt clarity, I recall how precisely everything fell into place almost too perfectly.

I then remember being in a building, a dark, dull, hushed house, with no life, no sound, only the stench of cigarettes and beer could be found inside it. After this, I see flashes of light, flickers of a glow, specks of red, splashes of crimson, I heard deep screams, concentrated commotions, and finally a heavy thud.

Which leads us back to where we started, where I first began telling you of this story, of my issue . . . Do you now understand? Do you understand this predicament that I am in? Now don't go around blaming me, I only did what was right. This man who was haunting me, and probably many others, needed to pay for all the suffering he has caused. I did not mean to end his life, I only meant to make him endure a little agony.

As I now look down, I felt shame and regret rise inside my stomach, making its way up my throat as I suppressed my ever approaching dinner. The pools of ruby were running down the reflective glossy floor, permanent stains forming as it dropped from my trembling hands and taut arms, from his lifeless body and his now cavernous once petrified eyes. But at least, as he lay there, the ghosts of his works would cease to shadow me, day in, day out. I looked up and around the house, my eyes scanning to find any evidence that he indeed was the one who has been tormenting me. I saw nothing... Perhaps I had to search further...

Before I could even move, I heard that same psychotic laugh... Spinning in circles, the voice echoing in the walls as I tried to figure who dare was scorning me. Then, there. I saw it.

A face staring at me through the windows. His eyes opened wide, his elongated mouth larger than his face as he smiled through the window, watching me and seemingly… waiting.

I backed away, mouth agape, mind stunned, the body in front of me, lim. So no. No, it could not be. He'd dead. He cannot haunt me from the grave. This man had done nothing. He had done no crime against me, or against anyone on this street. He was not the one who caused my pain over these days. Then who?? Who was it? Could it be myself? When exactly was the last time I slept? The last time I had even the sense of well . . . a normal life.

The cackling grew, surrounding me, mocking me, ridiculing me, laughing at my mistake, and at the kind, mild, innocent man, gruesomely slaughtered, dead on the floor.

What have I done?

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Sleep Deprivation Psychosis: it can give one Psychotic tendencies, paranoia, hallucinations, and has led to murder.

Sleep well.