Haunted
- a psychological horror story
CNs: Blood, extreme Paranoia, Guilt
John steadily struck the massive stone with his hammer. A hiss accompanied each blow. Again and again. Tiny splinters flew in all directions.
He worked faster and harder until the stone became the right shape. The last sound of the setting hammer faded, and John surveyed his work with pride. Sweat dampened his forehead. His T-shirt clung to his back. He felt a tiny, cool breeze intensely.
John took a deep breath and looked around the workshop, examining his tools and materials— he was instantly overcome by a feeling of security. This was how he had always imagined it in a mother’s arms, a kind mother, not one who had sent him to war. The workshop had long been his little paradise. In this place, his mind was free of everything. Here he was home.
Together with her.
Oh no! Not her again! He especially wanted to break free from her. John’s greatest wish was to finally escape her. But he just couldn’t. He couldn’t get rid of her; she was always there.
Oh yes, she is. She’s everywhere, like a curse.
Why had John given the unknown ancient woman that push? He’d returned from the front dejected. How could he have known what would happen if he didn’t grant her wish? The old woman was determined to fish that stupid lighter out of the stone well. But who throws something like that into a well? It would be ruined and unusable anyway… it had struck him as extremely odd. Perhaps he’d overreacted a bit. These things happen! For goodness’ sake. She shouldn’t have fallen straight down the well shaft.
He swallowed.
She’s here, say hello!
Again, a cool breeze touches his skin.
For the first time, John felt threatened in his workshop. He had no other choice; he had to end it once and for all, defeat her. Determined, he grabbed his stone axe and hurried outside into the adjacent woods. The air was thick with the stench of wild garlic—horrible—and the birdsong was painful to his ears.
There is no escape!
To live with her forever? The thought made John really angry. It brought tears to his eyes. He stumbled from tree to tree, over thick roots, and felt her heavy footsteps approaching. “Where are you? I’ll show you who’s stronger!”
Stomp! Stomp!
The monotonous thumping of the forest floor made John stagger and dizzy. The world seemed to tilt. Trees collapsed around him. John stumbled on, through bushes, fell, tasted the moss and the peaty earth, kicking like a child. His fingers clenched tightly around the axe. Too much wild garlic, wild garlic everywhere!
Stomp! Stomp!
The thought of her bored into his brain like a corkscrew.
STAMP! You can’t run from her!
She leaned over John and looked at him. Effortlessly, she twisted John’s body. Again, that cold, quiet breath wrapped him. Black.
Let her in! Yes, let her into your very core.
Suddenly, silence. Not even birdsong. Only this loud, chilling stillness.
And then he was forced to look into her face, the old woman from back then. Her face was as white as paper. The eyes in their dark sockets glittered. Her cheeks, the wrinkles painted with black, chaotic lines, contorted as she grinned at John like a clown.
She raised her blue hand in greeting.
So, do we begin now, John? Or how long will you hide from me?
This couldn’t be happening! He knew the vile things the ghost woman did to him… It felt like being attacked by hungry rats in a cell with no way out. He could already hear the furious scratching of their claws.
Drowsy, he crawled forward on the moss, millimeter by millimeter. He was no longer capable of thinking clearly. Trapped in his spiral of sheer terror, all he wanted was to end it. The old woman’s voice hammered into John’s brain. With every breath, it penetrated deeper and deeper. He had no choice but to escape her once and for all!
Here she is, John! Don’t run away!
He lingered, struggled to his feet, swung the axe, paused—the world collapsed around him again. His stomach clenched, and he vomited. A salty, metallic taste! The smell of bile filled his nostrils. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Blood! His heart pounded as he looked at the axe in his hand. The old woman must not win again, never again! He jumped to his feet and strode toward her.
John drew back his arm. A powerful blow—a maniacal laugh—another strike—black blood on his axe. Speckled wild garlic.
Hahaha! This time he wouldn’t lose! Hahaha! Not this time!
No one heard his cries. And then it was over.
Oh, please! No applause. It was an honor!