The Plague Part One- The Heretic

“The Holiest of the Holies has bestowed upon me, a humble man, the ability to see who here is truly one with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!” The preacher boomed through the crumbling chapel.

His audience was held in his gaze, listening with rapt attention. The Preacher's sermons were never to be missed. In the most literal of meanings. To miss one was to be deemed a sinner, and sinners were given over to Annabelle.

“We have amongst us a Heretic! A self proclaimed man of 'Science' who is trying to cure this plague of God. He believes that he can undo what the Lord himself has sent the angels to smite the wicked with!”

The crowd shifted uneasily. They knew what was coming. Heretics were burned at the stake. They were treated like witches of olden days.

The Preacher walked out from behind his podium beginning to quote Revelations 21:8.

“ But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”

With every word his passion grew until he was shouting to the heavens with his hands raised. Behind him, a man was walking bound and gagged. However for some reason he was smiling An eerie smile.

As the congregation followed the preacher they began to sing about how great is the glory of the Lord. Slowly they made their way to where there was a giant circle in the middle of a dense forest, and in that circle was a burned out area of vegetation where nothing grew.

There they saw the giant metal stake that all heretics were tied to and burned. A simultaneous shudder went through the crowd as the thought of burning flesh went through their minds. But they could not argue with the Preacher. He was their leader. And Annabelle was the ultimate punishment.

She was after all the only asymptomatic carrier of the disease found. However she could pass it on with a touch, a kiss, a sneeze or a cough, and with 48 hours you would be dead. The pastor loved using her, and the pastor loved her, so much so he made her his wife. Although, as far as the congregation could tell it was sheerly in name only.

“Tie him to the stake!” The Preacher commanded from the crowd.

Several people rushed to do the bidding, and the mans grin grew wider as he began sweating profusely. They then placed the tinder and lit it on fire.

It was only then that the Preachers eyes noticed that the man was laughing through his gag. As well as something else. The man was not wearing a shirt and under his arms were black lumps.

“Disperse. Immediately!” The Preacher shouted!

“You three.” He pointed at the ones who had trussed up the scientist “Put him out NOW”

They looked confused, but did as the Preacher instructed and used the buckets of water they had brought for an emergency and put out the newly started flames.

The rest of the congregation was in absolute pandemonium running in every direction unsure why the Preacher had shouted to run, but were doing so at his instruction.

“Shut up” The Preacher shouted. Losing his composure for a moment. Everyone quieted down.

“If you have been in contact with the Heretic I want you to stand here.” He pointed to a tree. “It is time for a test of faith. It would seem our good scientist was infected all along.” About five people stood by the tree shaking wildly.

“If you do not show symptoms withing the hour you will be free to leave, if you do, well we will leave you out here to suffer with the scientist. Your faith in God is not something that should come and go.”

The Preacher went on with ferocity. His passion lit a different kind of fire while the rest of the congregation stayed as far away from the five people as they could. Slowly one by one, they began coughing. Until only one man remained standing.

“Ah Simon, You are still standing strong. You may rejoin the us.” The man walked forward slowly with relief flooding his body.

“The rest of you must begin praying for forgiveness at this moment, We will pray that the Lord has not already turned his face from you, although I already believe it is too late. Goodbye.” with that the preacher and his followers turned and walked away, leaving the the four people and the scientist behind.

THE PLAGUE- PROLOGUE

“Then I saw another sign in heaven, great and marvelous, seven angels who had seven plagues, which are the last, because in them the wrath of God is finished.”

Revelations 15:1

The Doctor rubbed his eyebrows in small concentric circles as he stared at the microscope in front of him.  The stress was insurmountable and nothing seemed to alleviate it. It was impossible for him to even think about life before the disease had spread so rapidly.

The Black Death, as it had been called hundreds of years ago, had made a sudden and volatile recurrence about a month ago, and had already spread to kill over 3 million people. The new version of the plague was stronger than it had ever been. Onset of symptoms from contraction could hit in as little as an hour from contact from an infected person, if they were in the right stage of the disease.

There were three stages that the plague went through; Bubonic, Septicemic, and Pneumonic.  And it almost always ended in death. Survival was less than one percent. From the time of contraction till the time of death varied from 12-48 hours.

Everyone was at a loss as to how the disease had become so deadly, so quickly. The most common theory was of course that it was a superbug, caused by the over use of antibiotics. However, There was one faction, The People of the Revelation, a religious group, who had decided that the plague was the cause of God, and that the end times were coming.

 “Hell,” the Doctor thought, “They were probably right.” Nothing cured the disease. Once it was contracted you either lived or died, nothing made any difference.  No matter what kind of preventative medicine they tried, or what common sense medicine (to atleast ease patients) they could do nothing to ease patients. It was almost as if once the plague was contracted, Nothing could do anything anymore.

Even overdoses of pain medications could not put people out of their misery. Medicine had completely failed.

 The crashing of the window caused the Doctor to run to his hiding place. The People were coming, and that was a bad thing.  It felt like the Salem Witch trials over again. Doctors and Scientists (the few remaining) were burned at the stake as heretics if found.  He tried to control his breathing, but that was impossible, he could only hope that they would not find him.

In his hiding spot the Doctor got to his knees and prayed, to the same God that The People were chasing him for. He prayed as hard as he knew how, and he continued to pray as his home went up in flames, taking all of his research with it.

The Plague - An upcoming story

So I will be working on a new upcoming story in which I will be using the Premise of The Black Death, coming back more virilant than before and completely resistant to innoculations! Keep your eye out as I post it Piece by piece.

I hope this begins a new Era in my writing styles allowing for longer and darker stories for the CreepyPasta Loving world to Enjoy!

Stay Scared and Blessed Be

Ahriannah

The Hunt- Read by FearAddict

This youtube video was read and produced by Youtube Voice Actor FearAddict. Check out his channel and Like/Comment/Subscribe to him!

Blessed Be
Ahriannah

"The Hunt" by Ahriannah

https://youtu.be/g3yzO5LJjlI

Kill the Killers (Parody)

******DISCLAIMER******

 

This pasta has been posted and publised on creepypasta.com. This pasta also contains strong violence and languange. Parentel discression is advised.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The shack was dark, almost, too dimly lit for a normal person to see into. But he was used to it, after years of wandering the darkness his eyes had accustomed to the absence of light. The only source of luminance was the screen of a small computer, too old to do more than simply process small internet searches.

In the quiet light of the monitor, his features were simply made out. He was grotesque by the most basic of standards. Nothing about him was recognizable as human. His eyes were bloodshot with the inability to blink, and due to the lack of eyelids, mounds of crust formed where the tear ducts should have been. The sickening shade of white that colored his face, and the rest of his body, was a nauseating bone color. And the scars were the most disturbing part, the burns that had healed up caused flaking and a horrible sheen in some areas. This man was no longer human, neither in body nor in spirit. The small amount of emotion left in him was simply rage. Love was as non-tangible to him as the moon.

He sat there staring at the screen his askew mouth agape in horror as he read. The looks of disgust that registered on his disfigured face, would make many believe he was watching the ‘BME Pain Olympics’ Final Round. It was, in fact, much worse.

In front of his eyes unfolded the most disturbing things he had ever envisioned. Some female, had written something, beyond legible, passing almost into the infantile. A shudder passed down his distorted visage. Her claims of carnal knowledge of his body disturbed him, and even slightly nauseated him. This was enough for him.

He stood up from his kneeling position on the unsound floor, grabbed his knifes, and headed to a nearby house. Quickly and silently he moved around the place, this was no time for his normal Theatrics. There was no prelude, no “Go to Sleep” that had made him famous. No the butchering was quick and simple. Jeff the Killer needed to make a phone call, the situation was out of hand.

**

“Take HIM DOWN!” She screamed at the top of her lungs at the television set in front of her. Almost as disturbing to look at, Jane could care less, anymore that is. All those years ago she would have killed Jeff, given half a chance. These days, however, she rarely ever ventured into the daylight. Her marred beauty no longer hurt her the way it had once. Now she sits around during the day watching pro wrestling. For some reason she got it into her head that it would be possible to find a new rival here.

Reconciling her differences with Jeff had left her completely bereft of an opponent worthy of her talents, all because they tried to “hook-up” a couple years ago. Jane nearly choked on her soda at the thought of that travesty.
The ringing of the phone snapped her out of her thoughts. Who the hell was calling her….

“City Morgue, you stab them we slab them, how may I take your order today?” She answered the phone laughing.

“What the Hell Jane?” The voice on the other end quizzed. “Did you take some kind of fucked up happy pills today?”

Jane’s eyes narrowed and she growled into the receiver.

“Listen here you charred briquette, just because I no longer want to kill you for maiming me does not mean that I won’t should you piss me off.” Jane sighed. She just wanted to be whimsy, was that so wrong?

“Blah, blah, blah, I have something that we need to take care of, and as soon as possible if you don’t mind.” Jeff was exasperated.

Jane thought on what he was saying as he explained everything to her. Jumping onto her computer she listened to him talk. Crappypasta.com……was typed carefully into the web-browser. Her annoyance hit the fan in less time than it would take to get Miley Cyrus to lick a piece of construction equipment.

“What the holy shit is this?” Jane yelled out loud…Forgetting Jeff was on the phone she preceded to begin a rant that caused every nun in the state to begin praying for no apparent reason

“Fuck shit fuck…..” Jane was just swearing to swear at this point. “Why the hell would I wear a mask? Or have kids, all they do is eat, shit, and scream; Like I really want to deal with that bullshit.” Jane quickly gathered her own set of knives and headed over to her friends place.

**

Entering into the broken down cottage in the middle of the woods, a tall and dark figure ducked below the cross-beam. His most recent work out with his personal trainer, Hans, left his tendrils feeling like Jell-o.

Slenderman sat down in his lazy-boy chair and had just propped his feet up when there was a banging on the door. Sighing he stood up and dragged his sore overly long limbs to the door. Standing at the crumbling entrance was Jeff and Jane, both looking utterly pissed off.

“Yo Slendy my man, we have a major problem.” Jeff started off right away.

Dragging Slenderman to the computer in the back room, Jeff proceeded to show him the worst story he had ever found on the internet.

By the end Slenderman was puking out the window into his garden. Jeff tried not to envision what it was like for a man to purge when he had no mouth.

After a while the three of them sat in a circle discussing how they were going to deal with their problems, and it was decided that they would all target an author to destroy. The method of destruction would correlate directly to the offence that was written.

**

Jane stood outside her target’s house. A 15 year old female whom had felt it was okay to tell a story in which she inserted herself into the Jeff/Jane the killer world. Jane’s inner Grammar Nazi began to emerge. The complete lack of comma’s had her seeing red.

Having made sure the girl’s parents had left the house, Jane snuck in. Climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to creak, she made her way to the female’s room. Carefully she looked into the crack of the door the girl was typing away on her keyboard. Jane decided to drop the quiet approach and kicked in the door.

The girl’s head whipped around. The second her eyes registered the form before her, a squeal of excitement escaped her adolescent lips.

“OH MAH GAWDDDDDD” the girl jumped up from her computer chair and began to jump around the room.

Jane looked around the room in horror; every wall was plastered with fan rendered images of her and Jeff. Some naked, some in compromising positions. Agitation quickly replaced the disgust and quick as lightning, Jane pulled out some rope.

The girl didn’t even seem to notice what was going on. She was still in random, taco, middle school mode. Her ramblings were too fast to even make sense, something about wanting to get Jeff’s phone number off of her so that she could rub it in the face of “Besties.”

Jane snapped and trussed the girl up faster than a cowboy at a hog tying contest. Standing back she admired her handiwork. Then she grabbed the keyboard off of the computer desk.

The girl started crying, A thing that Jane pointedly ignored. Pulling out her knife she popped off a key on the keyboard.

“Do you know what the most used letter in the English language is?” She giggled at the hysterical girl.
“It is the letter ‘E’.” Jane screamed it at her face, forcing the key down the girls throat. “You see, when people completely ignore the basic constructs of the English language, I get a bit testy.” Jane was now screaming like a banshee.

“You use question marks when asking a fucking question, dipshit!” The question mark key was the next to be stuffed into the girl’s gullet.

One by one, Jane shoved every key down the girl’s throat. Forcing her to literally eat the words she had butchered then published on the internet. Taking the now barren keyboard, she pulled back and smacked it across the girls face.

The girl sat there crying, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, snot dripping from her nose. Her stomach was horribly distended and she was having difficulty breathing. She looked up at Jane trying to speak, but was met with cold heartless eyes.

Jane grabbed her knife and slowly made her way over to the broken girl. Her smile was sadistic, lopsided with the uneven pull of burned and scared muscle on her face. With a thrust she drove the knife into the girls stomach slicing it open, the eaten keys poured out. By now the girl only had moments left to live. She was unable to cry, let alone speak.

Jane stood there smiling at her, watching as the light faded from her eyes. Turning around, she grinned
evilly at the web-cam that was mounted on top of the desktop monitor. The face on the screen stared in sheer terror.

“Pass on the literature lesson.” Jane said and turned and walked out of the room.

**

Jeff sat in the tree outside his victims house, the girl he was hunting was a 14 year old who created horrible stories about sleeping with him. The shudder that ran along his spine almost dislodged him from his tree.

She walked into the room looking around even gazing out of the window. Letting out a sigh she closed the door behind her. When Jeff saw what was behind the door he almost fell out of his tree again, there mounted on the back of the door, was a life sized “manga” poster of him. With no pretense he dove through the glass window, scaring the shit out of the girl.

She screamed for her mom, but what she didn’t know is that Jeff had already silenced her family.

“You want to be beautiful like me right?” Jeff asked the girl doing his best to sound romancy.

The girl struggled then her eyes opened wider. The horrid visage in front of her was nothing like she fantasized about. His bleach white face made her want to retch. The bile rising up into her throat was stopped by the hand he wrapped around her Larynx.

“See girl you wanted to look like me now you will look like me. Just like me.” Pushing her out of the window into the kiddy pool he had filled with bleach, he laughed maniacally. “Just like me Girl, we will be Forever beautiful.”

Just saying the words, Jeff wanted to wash his mouth out with soap, god who would want a 14 year old girl friend. He hated 14 year old girls when he was 14. Nothing had changed after all these years.

Looking out the window he saw the girl floundering in the bleach pool, looking disinterested he lit and dropped a Zippo lighter into the pool. It instantly went up in flames. The girl screamed for a few moments before going silent.

“Oops….I thinks I may have over cooked the lamb.” Jumping out he grabbed onto the tree and climbed down.

He looked down at the girl. She was burnt to a crisp but somehow still breathing. The girl tried to smile up at him, but failed.

“Am I beautiful now?”

Jeff recoiled, this was not the reaction he was hoping for.

“What is with girls these days? Why won’t you die already?” Jeff huffed at her.

“Because, I love you Jeff, I want to be with you forever, I want to have your children.”

She tried to sit up and reach towards him, which should have been impossible. (But this is a story so what the hell why not.)

Jeff tilted his head back and laughed until he was gasping for breath. The girl looked at him strangely. Why was he laughing at her, that was so mean.

“I…I can’t have children you stupid fucking kid….I don’t have a penis. I lost it in a horrible zipper accident when I tried to hook up with Jane….of course by horrible Zipper accident I mean she had braces.”

The girl looked horrified no penis? But then who would she fantasize about. Maybe she could just pretend that Jeff had never told her that. Jeff continued laughing and talking to her.
“And what makes you think that I want a Pre-pubescent teenager any ways? Look, I’m a sociopath, not a pedophile. Not to mention, I really don’t dig pizza faces. Not that you have that issue anymore do you, then again you don’t have a face anymore.”

The girl tried to cry but her tear ducts were burnt away. She looked up just in time to see Jeff towering over her with a knife.

“Go to Sleep.” Jeff slit her throat and walked away. Looking back over his shoulder he sighed. Kids today….

**

Slenderman was slinking around in the woods behind his victim’s home. He had the worst punishment he could imagine in mind. He picked up the bucket at his feet and blended into shadow. He began to head towards his target.

Her story was by far the worst of the worst, spawning almost as much hate mail as “did you stumble across herobrine.” He shuddered, she had turned him into a complete bishie…damn-it how hard was it to figure out he was gay, why on earth would he want a girl let alone breed with one.

He was halfway across the lawn when he was stopped by a set of headlights. He froze, that was a Mustang, oh shit.

Not now, please not now, not when his plan was almost complete. The mustang stopped and out stepped a man. Who looked like your average middle aged dad. He brushed back his duster and pulled out a desart egal.

“Put the bucket down Slenderman, or pacemaker is going to put a hole in your gut.”

Slenderman sat down the bucket, and put his tendrils up. Everyone knew you didn’t fuck with the time traveling dad. He was the coolest dad ever. And chances are if you did Yossarian would tear you a new asshole in the comments.

“Slendy, you know using legos for this author is going too far. Why are you making me do this?” TTD asked like any patronizing father would. Slendy pulled out his mobile phone slowly and showed the story to TTD.

The look on the fathers face went from annoyed to disgusted. He looked back and forth between the story, the comments and the legos.

“You know derpbutt is going to be pissed. He said Legos are going to far. But, I am all for it, lets go Slendy, that shit was just plain wrong.”

Between TTD and Slendy they were able too pour legos all over the writers room, put tacks in her shoes, and in essence make her life miserable.

Slendy followed her around for about a year, placing legos under the arches of her feet everwhere she went.

Paybacks are a Bitch. 

Ahriannah's Dark Side

My stories

THE HUNT

I froze; my feet became glued to the frost covered ground. My chest tightened in fear and anxiety. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears; my pulse could be felt in my fingertips. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears drowned out every other sound. It was so loud I could hear nothing else.

I willed myself to calm. With great effort, began to slow my breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. While it still came in shallow bursts but it was easier now, and my burning lungs began to no longer reject the cool autumn air.

The crack of a stick broke me out of my attempt of calm. My pulse began to race again as the fear and adrenaline began to spike. I pushed my stiff legs back into movement.

“Don’t stop!” I screamed internally. If I stopped, I would be done, I would die. I ran deeper into the forest, surrounding myself with the burning reds and oranges. The trees appeared to be on fire in the pre-sunset light.

I could hear his footsteps begin to pick up speed. Mine began to slow in response. No, this could not be happening, not when I was so close to escaping fate. If I don’t keep going nothing would save me.“Push.” I screamed at myself. As his footsteps become louder, I pick up speed in response. I hear him even more clearly, he must be close.

I stop and hide behind a large gnarled oak tree, my back pressed into the gritty bark. I tried to cover myself behind the changing leaves of a partially broken branch.

I hear him come to a stop and I stifle the sound of my breathing. He is so close, then I see him come around the side of the tree walking to the clearing, his face was flushed and primal and his breath was as heavy as mine.. How did such a portly man give such a chase in this molted terrain?

He was so close to my hiding spot I can feel his rancid breath. I pounced on him, grabbing him; finally I slit his throat and removed his tracking device. Then I smiled, I was safe, no one would know about me. I began to hum as I headed home to my cottage in the woods.
I love the thrill of the hunt.

PSYCHOSIS CREEPYPASTA SERIES

HE IS COMING BACK

I looked down at Juliet lying in my lap.  Her quiet form was beyond angelic.  It was a little early for her to be sleeping, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move her.  My little angel, she had such a hard day. Not only was she sick earlier today, but her father walked out on us.

My husband just left.  He packed his clothing and left. There was no preamble. There was no warning.   He just walked out a hardened look on his face.  Our marriage was strained at best. The conversations we carried rarely lasting more than a few brief moments, but the one thing we could agree on was our daughter. Juliet was the light of our lives.

I sat on the couch reminiscing about our dying marriage, while gently stroking her baby fine hair. I looked down at her. Her hair was the color of mahogany.  The same color as her fathers. A tear escaped my eye, gently landing on her face.  All the while thinking more and more on what I had failed at.

We were fighting all the time, until we finally snapped.  The fight was as volatile as it could be without fists flying.  I stormed off to my daughter’s room to comfort her crying. Giving her more Benadryl to help with her cough, I held her in my arms. She went to sleep her breathing slowed, and she was out.  

Resting her head in my lap I sat there for hours, staring at the wall. How could my husband leave me? We were everything to each other. He will be back; I know this in every fiber of my being.  I continued to stroke Juliet’s hair.  My husband would be back, I keep repeating this internal mantra. Over and over, for what seemed like hours or days, I continued to repeat this.

This whole fight, everything, was all over him having another mistress. I was getting him back, one way or another. With no regard to anything that anyone would say or do, I would get my husband back, at no expense.  He had no choice. I knew he would be back, he was mine.  No one else could stake that claim to him, I would never allow it.

My daughter stirred in my lap, and looked up at me with sad eyes.

“He is not coming back, mommy.” Her voice like a thousand angels speaking at once both comforted me and broke my heart.  My perfect angel lay her head back down in my lap just as it was before.

The sound of banging on the house door registered to my mind, yet I could not focus on it. Still I continued to stroke my daughter’s hair. The footsteps racing down the hall still were ignored by my mind. 

My angel lay still in my lap, the poor thing.  The door to the room we were sitting in was busted down, and rushed by a group of men in swat gear. I couldn’t hear the screaming. Juliet’s words were still ringing in my ears. 
“He is not coming back, mommy.”

The officers swarmed me. They took my baby from my lap. I know I screamed; I wanted my husband. Where was he? They took the empty bottle of Benadryl off of the night stand.  They continued to yell at me, while gently placing my child into a black bag.

My poor baby, she had such a hard day. She was sick, her daddy left us. However, I know she is happy.  As often happens with children her age, she was wrong.  I know she was wrong. Her daddy does not love his mistress. He is mine.

My sweet angel, she had such a hard day. Tomorrow will be better; I know her daddy will come back.  I continue to smile lovingly at her as the man zippers up the black bag she is in. Her daddy will be back. He is mine.

MIGRAINES

For as long as I can remember I have had migraines.  I wish they were just the sensitive to light and smell kind of migraines; you pop an Excedrin and get on with your life. No, I get the completely debilitating ones. They come with a fever, nausea, and little shadows out of the corners of my eyes.

That is usually the first clue; I see shadows in the peripheral of my vision.  The dark auras eclipse everything out of the corners of my eyes.  I know the second I see these floating entities that I need to get into a dark room with a Hydrocodoine and a cup of chamomile tea.  The doctor calls them cluster migraines, but I really have no clue what he means by that. All I know is the pain gets worse every time around.

They come about once a month.  Then, this last month things began to change. They become more frequent, increasing in intensity.  It started about two weeks ago. The headache was due to come on. The black wisps were floating around harmlessly in my peripheral, and I knew it was time to get home. 

My boss was a pretty understanding woman, and being a decent level public accountant, most of my work could be done at home.  With the letter of medical problems from my doctor, my boss usually let me go home at the first sign of a Migraine. 

As soon as I walked into my door I immediately closed all of the curtains, turned off all the lights and used only a battery operated candle for necessary lighting.  I grabbed the Vicodine from the medicine cabinet and lay on the couch with the tea. The only thing to do was sleep it out.

Even in the extreme absence of light I could see the aura’s moving around violently. With a sudden intensity, the strangest thing of all happened. A loud blaring began in my ears. It was like a tinnitus ringing, but louder than anything I had ever before heard. I felt the scream rip from my chest, but couldn’t hear it over the deafening ringing.  

I rolled onto my side, and wrapped my pillow I kept on the couch for these days, around my head. I prayed the Vicodine would kick in at any moment and knock me out.  

The blessed darkness came, and I slept a heavy sleep. I dreamed of blood, and screams. Both of which things could be explained by the amount of pain I was in just a while before.

Awaking sometime later, the headache was hanging on by only a thread, and the ringing in my ears had dulled down considerably, but was now replaced by a whooshing sound, like you hear inside of a conch shell. 

I went back to bed several hours later, and the next morning, the last of the residual headache was gone. Work was as usual, I used some of the time after work that day to catch up on everything that needed done the previous day, having done a bit of it between the nap and actually sleeping.

As I looked around the area where I worked, I could hear the whispers of those who usually say hi to me first thing in the mornings. Ms. Barstow called me into her office shortly after work that day to talk to me, Where she scared the hell out of me. Apparently, the nap I took after the headache was longer than a nap. I was out for two days. I couldn’t wrap my head around what she was telling me. 

“Look, you are one of the best workers I have. Your co-workers look up to you and the account holders you are responsible for say nothing but the best about you. So, I will let this accident go one time.  However, this cannot happen again. Understood?” Ms. Barstow used a kind but stern voice.

I just nodded my head in shock of the time that I had lost. Had I mixed up the Vicodine and the Ambien I have in the cabinet? They look nothing alike, and are completely different sizes, but maybe I was more dazed than normal? 

The whole situation made less and less sense as it went on.  The rest of the week was hectic, catching up on the extra day of work I didn’t even realize I had lost. Sunday I was off, as well as the following Monday. I was just sitting down to watch the game (I love football) and the aura’s came back.  

They were darker than usual; swirling more violently than ever before, It was almost like they were waving at me. The ringing started almost immediately after I noticed the aura’s I didn’t even make it to the bathroom to grab the painkiller; I just collapsed onto the floor grabbing my head.  The pain was searing from my ear drums racing across the brain, setting fire to every neuron it crossed. It was as if boiling water was funneled into my skull.

I stood up to head to the bathroom.  The next thing I knew was darkness engulfing me as I writhed to the floor. For the first time in my life I fainted from pain.

There were no dreams, just knowing that even in my sleep wild fire roared across my gray matter.
Awaking however long later, I doubt I will ever know, the headache was gone, but both the auras and the tinnitus were still there.  

The shadows seemed to wave to me. The ringing started to sound like speech, very high pitched speech. I was losing my ever-loving mind. I called into work, and told my boss that I was leaving for an emergency, and that I could not make it in for a few days. I was so confused. Why were the auras still there?

They came more on more frequently, almost every other day. I began alternating between Vicodine and Ambien to sleep, and not feel pain. But I am almost out now. Neither prescription was meant for everyday use.  

The auras are closer now I can see the faces. They smile at me and ask me for help. They want out, but when I tell them that I don’t know how to release them they scream, so loud, for hours and hours. They never stop screaming, the high pitch ringing in my ears that was only a taste of their volatile voices. 

I don’t know how much more of the screaming I can take.  I reach the end of my chain within an hour of the screaming this time around. In the dining room is my mountain bike. The spokes will be perfect.  I take the last Vicodine, and Ambien. Heading into the kitchen I begin boiling the water. Once it has begun to roll I stick one of the spokes in, letting it stay to clean off the germs and bacteria.

With careful precision I slowly poke the spoke into the ear canal, stopping when I come up to the thin membrane. The screaming is louder now than ever before. With a single quick thrust I pop through the ear drum, quickly repeating it on the other ear. Silence engulfs me. For the first time in weeks the screams are gone.

I look at the heavy spoon sitting on the counter next to the spoke and boiling water. Soon I won’t see the auras any more either.

MADNESS

Madness is a beautiful thing. The slow decent into mindless delirium takes my breath away. Madness is nothing more than a state of being that is nigh understood by the society of people in which you reside.  

However, I understand you, I see you for what you are.
When you stand afore the mirror, freshly showered, water still slowly beading down to the small of your back, I see the look within your eyes. Were it not for your ignorance of me, I would caress your dear face. 

I should wish to stroke your imagination, feed unto your gore infested dreamscapes, and enthrall myself with your nightmares.


I have followed you for much longer than you could comprehend, from one life and unto the next. Your twisted darkness has always been my saving grace, and what gives me strength. I would, that I could feed into it. I wish to see your depravity become something more, I wish it to evolve. No amount of blood shall be enough. When I am done, you will thirst for it as none before you have thirsted. Thus, I will relish the light, finally able to walk amongst those whom have forgotten me for so very long.


Foremost, I must make you knowledgeable of me afore we may continue. I must hurry; I must make you aware of my presence. Alas the wasting away of youth is such a shame, we must make the most of it. Learning one’s craft so young, it is but how we shall hone it towards your older years.


That buzzing your ears, do you hear it? That is me, my beloved one. It is but me attempting to be heard unto you! Oh, dearest one, I know in your heart you wish to know me, and soon you shall. I want to shout to the heavens from where we all fell.  My beloved hears me, although you do not know it yet, but soon my love, oh soon.


Like every life you have lived unto now, you shall hear me in the eventuality. You cannot ignore the call of me for long. We have always been as one, me leading, and you ruling steadfastly at my side. For now, I am but your conscience, that convenient name you give for the arguments back and forth over the right and wrong. Just give into the wrong, precious one. You will eventually, and it will be deliciously tantalizing, drawing you towards more. 


Yet, worry not my love, my voice it gets ever stronger in your mind, and the blood we seek is getting ever more vivid pulling you towards it. Oh dearest, you are beginning to hear me now, are you not? Ever so quietly; I am beginning to feed into your depravity, you hear my whisperings guiding your actions. This life shall be no different than that of the hundreds we have lived together before. We will begin anew, another covenant, another pact.
I am getting louder, Beloved. Oh so very soon, I will have the strength; that which is necessary to direct your fate. Fate, even with my use of the verbiage it is such a silly word. Fate implies that something higher than me has preordained what you shall do. My beloved, think on it not, for you are mine, and I shall always tell you what you shall do. The fates do not control me. There is no God to whom I shall bow or obey.


At Last! You are hearing me now Beloved are you not? My voice has finally reached your ears? I saw your reaction, the blink of surprise.  Oh my most precious one it is almost time.  You shall have all of my attention soon. 


Beloved, before I can become corporeal however, you must do one thing for me. You must kill them. The innocents, My love. They will seek to destroy us, you must not allow this. I will tell you who they are, but you must listen carefully. You must never tell them of me, they will give you pills beloved, and take you from me.
Be silent, my dearest, be quick, and kill them all.

THE SCIENTIST

“Gods be Damned” His inner voice growled. 

What were they thinking? After everything he had given them, after his hours of unerring work, and the sweat of years of testing.  They asked him for it and he had delivered. He had given them what they wanted.

“The Society” wanted control. They were bigger than the Masons, and better hidden than the Illuminati. You did not find them, they found you.  They had asked for control, they wanted a serum that would enthrall the masses under their wishes.

He, the most prestigious scientist in the world, had delivered.  The serum was amazing; it passed every test it was put to, rats, small mammals, and humans.  Once it was delivered into the system, the auditory system began to respond only to the voice that had used the opening command. The combination of Sodium Pentothal, and Nano-technology, was above and beyond anything that had ever been seen before.

Everything about the test subject was at the command of the Activator. The Neurological System, the Cardiac System, the Limbic System, and even the Renal System, nothing was unreachable by the Activator. The Receiver could not even urinate without the permission of the Activator.

He gave them everything, and then fired him. Taking the Serum with them they left him with nothing, or so they thought. One test vial was left; the one vial that was designed for human use. 

“Let them control the rats.” He chuckled with malice. “I will control the world.”
The Society wanted a super army of the best the species had to offer, but the scientist knew better. If you wanted to control the masses you used fear. The Scientist knew, if you wanted to make them fear you, you stole their most precious resources. 

He looked over into the corner where his daughter sat crying through her bonds and gag. You controlled their children.

COGNITIVE BEHAVIORAL THERAPY

I am going to start by saying I am terrified of spiders. Actually, terrified is to mild of a word to describe it. In fact it got to be so bad, that my boss told me that if I did not overcome my fears, that they would have to fire me, since it was getting in the way of me working.

People use the term “phobia” too lightly many times, but that is in essence what I suffer from, Arachnophobia. An extreme and unreasonable fear of spiders. A good example is when I was going to the bathroom and a spider (a small one at that, or so I was told) crawled up the bathroom wall, and I jumped off of the toilet and ran stark naked through the apartment. I was lucky enough that my place had two bathrooms, and to this day I refuse to use the first one. Yet I digress.

On my boss’s prompting I decided to try something called Cognitive Behavior Therapy or CBT for short. It is where not only are you trained against your fear, but in some cases even subjected to it. Now, at the time I thought this was a good idea, to the tune of One hundred and Twenty dollars an hour, for about twelve to sixteen sessions ranging from one to two hours apiece.

It started out simple enough, the therapist asked me questions about my fear, what triggered it, how often I freaked out, and even what sorts of stimulation brought on the fear. He frowned at me when I explained that even a picture of a spider would cause my skin to start crawling and send me into a full blown anxiety attack. Then he smiled, in what I assumed was his attempt at a reassuring manner.

We started small. For the first session I was subjected to picture after picture of spiders, everything from the common Garden Spider up to Hobo Spiders, St Andrews Cross Spiders and Redbacks. I couldn't even move from my position, even when the psychiatrist insisted that I touch the picture. This went on for two hours. 

By the time my session was over the doctor decided that I would need more than the standard twelve to sixteen sessions. He even went as far as to hint at possible inpatient therapy options. While this struck me as odd, I really did want to overcome my fear. I had never heard of people being treated in hospital for something as minor as a phobia (even if an extreme one.). However, when I looked back at the picture I ignored my misgivings and agreed to the inpatient treatment.

I was taken voluntarily to a Psychiatric Institution where I would receive every kind of therapy I could need. Shortly thereafter everything went down hill.

The first week was the same as the first appointment. Lots of pictures, and by the end I even touched the picture of the Garden Spider, although there was no way in hell I was going to touch the Redback picture. I was so happy, but the Psychiatrist felt that my progress was too slow. He asked me to sign a consent to try a radical therapy.

He explained how he was going to take the Pavlovian Therapy of Classical Conditioning and apply it to me. I was so excited to possibly be free of my horrid fear, that I quickly signed the consent form. I didn't even read it, although now I wish to god that I had. 

As I said the doctor wanted to apply the theory of Pavlov to my case. Classical Conditioning is where the famous Psychiatrist Dr. Pavlov trained his dog to salivate at the sound of a bell, causing him to anticipate food. That didn't seem to bad. I knew enough about how it worked from a college class I took in Psychology.

Again this started out simply. I was bound to a bed, and given a strong dose of ativan, a medication that is used to calm anxiety. It put me in a kind of daze, during which I was exposed to several images, and models of those creepy crawlies. It actually wasn't so bad, it was kind of nice to look at them without going into an instant freak out.

However, that is where the good ended. I began having nightmares. Well, actually Night Terrors, I would scream horrendously for hours on end, with no exit from the dreams. The dreams had a certain glowing look to them, and even though it was so dark in all of them, the glowing illuminated the things that I feared. 

At the foot of my bed, where I would be trapped by lengths of webbing, would stand the largest arachnid I had ever seen in my life. It would release its young from a pouch it had on its back, they would crawl over me. Those, things, would crawl into my mouth, my ears and nose. I could feel them biting me everywhere that they walked.  When I would awaken from the dreams, I would be covered in little bumps, that my doctor told me were hives, all due to my irrational fear.

Apparently, he said, my therapy was not going well if my mind could cause such a systemic reaction to dreams. So, he decided to push my therapy up a notch. I was told that they were taking away the ativan, and instead going to put me through the CBT without any drug to aid me. 

It was horrible. The hours that I was locked into the room with the therapist would become my new nightmare. I would be forced to touch the actual spiders. At the end of the session, I felt better, but only because I had eventually given in even if only to make it stop, I would put my hand in the terrarium that held the little eight legged freaks, and wait for them to scuttle to my hand. 

I still had the night terrors, and they only grew worse. The spiders in my dreams got bigger, and more ugly every time.  Finally after a month of this, the doctor said I would  need to stay longer, and that due to my new symptoms, of night terrors and hives, I would not be able to go out into the real world. He said that if I were to have a PTSD flashback due to the therapy or nightmares, the hospital would be at risk. I should have known something was wrong then and there.  As far as I knew you could always back out of therapy as long as it wasn't mandated, but with my lack of sleep I didn’t think to question it.

Eventually I began having terrors even in my waking hours.  The doctors said that they were going to give me something stronger than the Ativan, but for some reason it had no effect. That giant creature continued to pester me. It would release waves of its young whenever I was alone. They continued to bite me and even tried to create webs in my hair, over my eyes, and in my mouth. 

Within three months, there was nothing left of what had once been me.  I had lost weight, my eyes were sunken in, and what was once just a phobia, was now full blown insanity. As those creatures continued to try and devour me, my therapy stopped. The medication was not helping, but I didn’t want the staff to take away the one thing that maybe kept me from being scared around other people. 

Finally I snapped. I had enough, nothing was being done to help me and now, my fear was hundreds of times worse than it ever was before. I began trying to kill myself, every way you could think of. Hanging, slashing my wrists, Overdosing on my sleeping pills. However, the staff stopped me each time, and I was tied to my bed eventually. 

For weeks, I was left there, only seen occasionally by a passing Psychiatrist. I stopped talking. And the giant spider continued to watch. Eventually they stopped coming around at all. For three days I didn't see a single soul. 
Suddenly there was a banging on the door.

I had not seen the monster spider in almost two days, and I thought he was finally coming to finish me off.  But it was only a cop. He called in a group of medics. Who untied me, and shipped me off to a hospital.

When I got there, I could only hear whispers in horror. What had happened, was I wrong in assuming that the spider was just a figment of my imagination? Was he real? Had he finished off all of the psychiatrists.

I thought that I had my answer, when the head doctor explained that what I had was not hives, but rather thousands of tiny spider bites. Apparently the medication that the doctors had given me, was working, only it was an antivenin for the Redback Spider, a creature indigenous to Western Australia, and a relative of the Black Widow. It would seem that the Redback spider’s bite can cause hallucinations stretching for days on end. 

Those, bastards, had intentional exposed me to hundreds of baby Redbacks, whose venom is more often than not dry or non existent, in hopes of eliciting hallucinations from me. 

When I was released from the hospital I found that I was still very afraid of spiders. I also discovered, that the “hospital” I was locked in was a facility for testing out new biochemical weapons. Mostly to try and cause intense and terrifying hallucinations against enemy military personnel.

I hate spiders and now, I hate doctors.