MindHopper

Supernatural Stories | Dec 5, 2013 | 6 min read
8 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
How can I tell these things that have happened to me? How can I say this and still sound sane? Would you only see these words as lies? Will these words be seen and looked at and laughed at as a work of fiction? If so, then comfort yourselves with these lies. Such matters I care not for; this body being too old for simple reactions from those around me. Warm feelings I cannot feel with this wrinkled body of mine. My soles are wasted and I only grow more tired from thinking about how this fragile body I now own.
I believe to be the most appropriate if I begin at a time where I stood at a form different from this. Perhaps it was my meeting to that person; I never felt that encounter to be natural. This happenstance was more like my heavenly strings of fate being pulled by an unknown and malicious force. Either way, I met this person rather oddly. As I walked past the edge of the city park, the road I use as a shortcut en route to my complex, I saw a lone figure sitting by the sidewalk. He was in ragged, unkempt attire but what picked my interest was his lonely figure. Usually the homeless and destitute took shelter inside the park at night so it was not rare to have a few of these people sitting on the surrounding sidewalk by day. But there was only one person, an uncanny figure with pearl white skin and bony hands. From the many times I had come through here, I had yet to seen such a pale man. And even though his clothes where cut, upon closer inspection I notice that the clothing was relative new and clean. I passed by him, and he muttered some words under his breath. ‘yes?' The words barely escaped my breath and his tone suddenly grew in vigor, ‘the quarry responded' he said, before going to his original tone ‘…for an offering… …need… …possession of this…' and the old man kept muttering to himself. I barely grasped the situation when he began reaching out for me. From what I understood, he wanted something from me, so I threw him my spare change and ran. Fortunately, he scampered to the floor as I set forth my escape.

A strange dream came to visit me on that night's slumber. I felt uneasy, wriggling in sweat from the sweltering heat and humidity. I felt constrained and in a constant fuzziness. Then the dull buzzing of a faraway source brought me to my senses. I was subjugated to the floor, and with the chains of bondage to each of my arms and legs I felt in alertness. Strange markings surrounded me in the floor but even stranger were the hooded figures around me, slowly waving their numerous extensions without making a sound. Then, the figure with the most humanly features finally broke the silence. It spoke in a foreign and complex tongue, which all syllables tied fluidly together, causing a sweet euphony that lulled forth my drowsiness. The others followed by only moving, slower at times but faster at others. Then, they slowed their movements with the drowning soothes of the preacher. As my mind drifted away from this Sabbath, I caught a glimpse of the main priest, and since it stood by my head, I think I saw a familiar face under his hood…

Now, the second part of this dream is the stranger to me. As I drifted in my sleep, I suddenly felt wide awake. My eyes were open in what seemed to be my room. I was in an odd position. I could see my bed, the cupboard and the doors in the dim light. It seems I was hanging by the ceiling due to some invisible hand which clasped my very presence. Or even worse, I may have been in exempt of the physical laws of this dimension. I tried to move but it seems like I had no tangible body, much less a space which I am supposed to occupy. Minutes passed in what seemed like hours, but the minute counter in the clock by the cupboard seemed legitimate to me, more factual than my sense of time. Finally, the first beams of sunlight began to hit my window panes and the only thing haunting me would soon come to light. My horrors came to me with the sight of the body of mass buried under the covers of my bed. Was that me? If so, will I return to my body upon awakening? The dream before gave no help on my worries. Suddenly, a swift swing of a hand pulled off the covers, releasing the body hidden under layers of sheets as well as all my fears and worries, and I awoke.

With a strong gasp I woke up from this horrible nightmare but something was not right. I felt aching all over, buried under mountains of trash. I dig myself up to find myself in a waste disposal unit by the park. I look around and see blurry faces of morning people, each giving only a glimpse or two before hurriedly rushing off. I looked at my hands, bony and pearl white. These were familiar hands but not the hands I used to have. I move them around and with the striking pain of arteritis I knew that they were now mine.
The park was now empty; I guess all the morning joggers scampered away. What looked like a nice police officer walked up to me and helped me out. It was a slow and painful experience with this new body of mine. ‘Don't you know of the new relocation project?' his nice voice inquired. ‘Yes,' I answered. That project has been on the news for a while now, there was this kind of movement to make homes for the poor and destitute just to get rid of "the eyesore of our community" and spend more money on our parks and recreations. The officer then said, ‘are you here just to make my job harder then?' Before I could process the question, his kick threw me against the dumpster wall. He crouched in front of me and picked up my head by my hairs and whispered, ‘first you steal away all of my taxes and now you made me come here with a report of public discordance. Since you're so old, why don't you just die?' From his sudden threat my eyes widened from fear and the man, having perceived my terror, seemed to be enjoying it. I looked around and found my savior, a late jogger, and perhaps a future witness. The officer followed my line of sight and understood. ‘And that is why you shouldn't move this much so early in the morning' he said aloud in his now friendly tone. He helped me stand up and patted the dust off my clothes. ‘You should go now,' he said, ‘before you get into an accident.' I understood and walked away towards the new relocation center.
The registration process and room assignment was quite easy; I had no belongings and no personal information. I had to make up a name in this body but that was only a menial task. The whole day went on in a slow and numb process, one so senseless and empty that I didn't even realize when it was over. By the time I realize I was already lying in a coarse bed assigned to me by a number. I felt like a glossy dream of some unknown drug. I stepped outside and saw the barren site; a simple bench, a dried oak, and desert like grounds. All this things lay under a street lamp's shine shrouded by the darkness of the night. I sat on the bench and compared the surrealism to my life.

And here in dismay, alone by the presence of a hollow oak, I stand in mere silence. The cold frigid night gales start to whisper, whispering the deep secrets that the young mind perceives not. Then and there I truly realized that I am not myself in body but someone else. All this is real, not a dream, not some fantasy, and not an illusion. I was in the ragged old figure that I once saw, and my thoughts are proven with the mocking winds, calling to me, speaking of unknown vistas that trespass the bounds of mortal thought. I turn my head only to be greeted with a whip slash of neck's pain, bringing me into reality and away from these devilish temptations. I then hurried my sluggish body to what I considered a place where I could go back.

This is where it all started, I could say, this is where I first met this body whose former owner, if that thing really was the real owner, stole my body. It is the death of night but I know he is here. ‘Hello' a nice voice comes from the darkness of the running trail. Then the blue clothing of a uniform appears before me along with a charismatic face. In his hand is a bloody bayonet, guess I am not his first one on his night rounds. ‘Goodbye,' I answer back.

At such corners of the world, I start to feel the immeasurable horror creeping up my spine; like a wicked recluse down a wall of a child's room. But this fervor is further emancipated by its recognition; this has not been the first time. Although at first it is felt as fear, one cannot really testify what it truly is. Maybe during your last grasps of sanity, when going through immense pain and fear, do you realize that such pain and endeavor is only to run away from death. But when you open your eyes and see that everything's eventual, you feel welcomed by a primordial force, beckoning you to become one with the universe. Maybe we run away from it due to pride, for such massive energy truly does belittle you; but I now have one thing to say. I, in full resolution, have no fear of death, not anymore.

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Richard Schnelzer Dec 6, 2013

very intense writing, love it!

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