pareidolia

Years Active: 2017 - 2018

Genre: Thriller

Published: No
Available on: N/A
Pages: 185 (A4)

 

Written by: Jordan Tury

Edited by: TBA

Cover Design by: Jordan Tury
 

 

01. - HOLLIE

We are all born into this world with our own fears, passions and traits – all designed to accomplish or demolish our designated goals.
Some of us succeed and become corporate lawyers that smashed their fears of failure; and some are defeated and go nowhere – still afraid of spiders and petty things.

Fear is a funny thing; and regardless of what someone tells you – we all have them.
So no matter how tough a man can be or confident a woman may portray herself as – they are still afraid of something.

Whether it being physically or mentally – we are all hiding them; pretending like they don’t exist, when really they linger in the back of our minds on a daily basis.

The fear of the dark? I think it’s safe to say that it’s a pretty common thing, and that at least one in ten people share this petty burden.
And yes, I am in fact one of those unfortunate one in ten people.
It’s cute when you’re a kid, but pushing twenty-one? Now that’s just kind of embarrassing.

From a small one bedroom flat in Bristol city center; I am not exactly one to be living the high life just yet.
And other than a cat named Rolo, I am actually insanely lonely here.
No boyfriend to clutch onto me and protect me in his muscular arms, nor a best friend I can call upon to stay with me as I suffer through these lonesome cold nights.

It’s me against the world in this tiny apartment, and day by day – my fear only grows even more shallow and aggressive.
As I tuck myself in each night under the thinness of a meaningless duvet cover; I hope, and I prey…that the darkness won’t come out to grab me by the ankles.
I feel trapped in this place, almost imprisoned with only my mind to keep me company and sing me to sleep.
Pathetic, yes – but necessary.

And not only is it the dark that bothers me; but the things I see at night too.
From mosaic silhouettes in my doorway to grudge-like ghost girls disguised as hoodies in my wardrobe.
I feel them all…watching over me every night as I close my eyes.

From the repetitive flashing battery light on a phone to the shudder of a silk curtain brushing through the wind – it all frightens me.
And I’d love nothing more than to say that it’s only a phase; but it isn’t.
This shit is with me for good; and is honestly the bane of my god damn life.

I can no longer rest my eyes and dream of butterflies and ocean breezes; because that echoing reaper only seems to linger around my bedside.
With his scythe at my throat and devilish bag of black sand dancing up into my innocent little mind; I am left filled with only fear and nothing more.

From such a young age I have had this fear; and dread that it may in fact remain until my dying days.
And even talking to people never really had much help – not one bit.
‘You are not alone’ they said; when really in fact – I am.
Alone…so fucking alone.

Through thin worthless sheets and a useless pillow I am left to fend for myself every single night; and no matter how many lights I leave on…I am still so alone.
One eye closes; and another threat poses.

I feel them…closing in on me and leaning on the edge of my bed with cold hands inches away from my whimpering face.
But I have no idea what they want from me; and I am oh too afraid to dare ask them.
Are they a threat, or are they only trying to help?

Throughout my younger years I would see a mixture of silhouettes and creepy patterns; but as I pushed through my teenage years they began to slowly fade.
Up to the point where I was no longer seeing anything that posed any form of threat anymore.
The only thing that remained was the eerie sounds of the wind screaming through my window hinges and one or two drain pipes creaking in the walls.
However; something in my mind still hammered away at me like the devil on my shoulder, whispering to me every night – ‘their still here’

And as I began to slowly gain a little more sleep at night; I was living my life again – one more hour at a time.
Insomnia still held a dreadful hand over me and pulled it’s strings every night.
But with a shit load of pills and a gallon of water…I was able to get just a little bit of beauty sleep that kept me somewhat sane.

 

For years this went on, right up until my twentieth birthday.
With no more tricks or paranoia; I was able to sleep at night with the comfort of knowing I was really alone, and nobody was standing over me - watching me sleep.

 

I was struggling at the time from manic depression, purely for that fact that my life was shattering from both lack of sleep combined with a broken heart.
You see, I lost someone very close to me, and when the moment finally arrived of his passing, I let myself go.
Out into a sinister and bleak world of coffee scoops and burnt toast crumbs, afraid of losing my step and falling deeper than I had ever planned.

But then that night came…when somebody finally did knock at my door after so many sleepless nights; with the determined hammering of two fists.
Knock, knock.
At first I ignored it; and continued to force myself to sleep with only the comfort of my arms and whispering words; ‘there is nobody here…everything is okay…’
Remembering what the therapist would say and keeping everything under control was no walk in the park I’m telling you.
This was incredibly hard and to banish everything from your mind takes a whole lot of courage.

But it came back to visit me, every night.
And to this day it still carves it’s knuckles away at the other side of the door – begging to gain access to me.
Only I fear that it’s getting a little too close for comfort; and that one day it’ll be bursting through that door to get me.

I was clearly informed that I was and am only seeing things; and that it’s only my fucked up little eyes that are bringing me all this paranoia.
A twisted imagination, or just another psychopath on their way to the padded cells?
Do I believe them and what they say?
Shit, it’s hard to with the things I’ve seen lately.

It’s funny, because ever since the passing of a loved one I started seeing little white feathers wherever I went; but only on important occasions.
On the drivers seat of my car as I passed my test to wedged in the letterbox of my first day at a new part-time job – they were there.

And call me naïve, but shit – some little part of me had a feeling that they were all connected somehow.
And that maybe, just maybe these feathers had something to do with him.

Strange I know, but a big part of me wanted to believe that he was still here with me in this world – watching over like my guardian angel.
I continued to locate these feathers all at convenient times, and it kept making me smile, and was my own little escape for a while.
It was giving me peace of mind; and helped me slowly drift off to sleep every night.

But the more I grew addicted into finding these feathers; the more strange things started to happen.
The more I indulged into this sour fantasy; the more I began to tie myself up into a deranged psychotic world of insomnia and darkness once again.

I read a dozen books a month; all in hope that I could fill my eager mind with knowledge on the afterlife and meanings behind the feathers.
It was that little peace of mind I was after that kept me on my toes and sleeping at night.

But before long…things changed.
Nights became darker and duvets felt thinner than ever; and before I knew it…the feathers had stopped appearing.
Only they had been replaced.

Replaced by what I thought.
Perhaps a different object was laying around that I just hadn’t quite discovered yet.
But no matter how many conclusions I drew – I could never quite come to terms with one that felt realistic.
I eventually found out on a cold night in December, six nights before Christmas to be exact.
It was on that first night that it appeared, on the other side of my door.

I remember it ever so clearly; as if it had been witnessed a thousand times before.
I crept open only one eye to see neon blue digits on the clock; reading four minutes past two in the morning.

Black curtains trickled and floorboards creaked.
For me it was just the same as any other night – paranoia and pure insomnia.
I tossed and I turned; eyeing up every single corner in the room, checking for anything that looked out of the ordinary.
But nothing.
Not until another minute struck past on the clock that is.

Knock, knock.
I felt it.

The doorway crept open ever so slightly, and before long I could feel the blistering cold draft throw itself through the door hinges and towards me.
I clutched my arms with my fists and kept both eyes locked dead on the creeping doorway.

Knock, knock.

Footsteps could be heard pattering around on the other side of the door; determined to gain entry and see me.
Icy cold breathes exhaled into dusty white clouds; all seeping through the door frame.

A matured snigger appeared from beyond the doorway; and confirmed all suspicions I had had.
This was not a dream – this was real.
Something was standing beyond my bedroom doorway – ready to burst in and approach me.

Knock…knock.

HE had arrived.

Days after I began to research paranormal activities and whether or not ghosts may in fact exist.
But not once did I get a reasonable answer; only a million forums full of pranks and a dozen mixed reviews on religion.
 
Like a drug I lost myself with these forums; and eventually stopped seeing old friends and even my own family.
Through hiding myself in this little cavern of mine – I lost everyone.
Rotting away in an armchair filled to the eyes with endless questions and very little answers.
All because of this stupid little venture; I neglected the ones who I was supposed to love.

I turned people away who once offered me help; so devoted into solving the problems myself.
I was eager to discover the truth behind the silhouette beyond the doorway; hoping and preying that it could in fact be him.
Fuck, it’s too late to go back now.

I lost my mind, if only for a while – but a while seemed like a bloody eternity.
Nights filled with stacks of books and endless shovels of coffee granules; I become the girl I never wanted to be.
With a million questions and nobody around to answer; I began to go crazy, still petrified of crawling into bed each night.
It was then I started seeking help; and that’s when I found this group for ‘special people who saw or felt things’
Or in other words – fucking fruitcakes.

It was nice though; hearing other people’s stories and what they had to share.
And to be fair; it is kind of nice to know I’m not the only one experiencing these sleepless nights.
For I do feel sorry for one of the people at the meeting; Taylor, I think his name was?

Now that kid has it rough.
Yet he speaks to us like he’s always seeing ghosts over our shoulders, and has white irises like he’s constantly afraid of his surroundings.

His stories were a little different from my own; but all evolved around the same topic.
Pareidolia.
Something so bitterly cruel and effective that it can destroy anybody’s lives with the snap of it’s icy cruel fingers.

He spoke of a presence that lingered over him at night; and was in fact his deepest, darkest fear.
He whispered cold words as he sat in his little chair around the circle…so croaky and weak.
“I see them…” he said.

For a while nobody replied; only edged themselves on their seats with elbows against knees, eager for him to continue.
His eyebrows raised slightly as he gazed over each and everyone’s shoulders; looking out for the ones he once called ‘his friends’

“They are here…”

But nothing – no more words.
Only paranoid eyes from thirteen people filled the room; all petrified at this boys unkind and squeamish croaks.
He shivered slightly and rubbed his arms to bring back some form of heat in to them; even though the room was a scorching twenty degrees.

He did nothing, only continued to look through the eyes of every patient.
Until he reached me…and stopped.

“They are…” he murmured.

I leant forward in my chair and suddenly felt a sour breeze tickle down my spine as if two fingers were walking along it.
With all hairs on highest edge I felt consumed and singled out; terrified of his twitching eyes.

He raised them from my collarbone and just past my forehead, until he was staring directly behind me with bulging, crazed eyes.

“They are behind you…”

 

….that was my first session.
And although I felt sorry for him; I still had my own fears to hold onto.
And even now, I see no escape from this knocking at my door, and it feels oh so close now until it opens fully.


HE will enter, and all of my questions will be answered.
So for when the time is right and I have raised enough courage; I will leave the safety of my bed and venture over to the door.
I will turn the knob and swing it wide open; screaming the words,
‘Who’s there?!’
To which I will be welcomed.
But to what I wonder?
In the arms of my own flesh and blood, or to something much, much worse?

 

I am close now, and feel it in me that this night of discovery is only around the corner.
He will knock…and this time…I will answer.

 

…Tonight is the night it will happen.

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