Demons of Irony: Prt I

So begins a tale I have had trouble to wring from my mind. The police that knocked on my door did not believe me, and when I was locked in a cell, my mate did not believe me. I told the court the most extensive version of my side of the story, but none looked at me without a raised eyebrow and a wary conscience. Even when I was placed in an asylum, my story had no effect on those that listened. I write my account in this journal with hopes that someone, somewhere, will understand. I cry and cringe with every thought of what had happened only a few days ago – though I swear it has been longer. I was different before they say I went insane (I did not, you can be sure of that), and never believed in anything supernatural. That is, until something happened on the night that “It” happened, the very night I shall write about.
Ah, but this doesn’t mean that I’m insane, per se. Oh, I am impatient to tell you all of my troubles in sooner than a minute but, to fully understand my case and actually see the proof that I am quite sane, you must hear out my story. I had no previous encounter with madness, so it is safe to say that no hallucination or freak of nature could have brought me to what mistake I had made so unaware and yet so misfortunate. Please, I beg you, hear me out and do not think me crazy now. Once you see how I was tricked into committing what I did you will weep at the injustices of what I suffer diligently.

A warm breeze blew deeply into the lavish plains next to my house. The browning grass that stretched for miles – about two of the acres belonging to me, Wooster Akron, and the rest belonging to a farmer and his fetid barn down the road – were bent and twisted against the breeze’s powerful will. The small birch tree in front of my house swayed like an upside-down pendulum; as though enjoying a deep rhythm. I could feel the affectionate summer whisperings pass through my hair; mussing it up into an insane frizzle. I didn’t mind because it was a good kind of mess, and only in this situation would I let the wind touch the short blondness on my head and form it into its own sculpture. It was nearing the end of summer and the faraway trees were beginning to brown, despite the fact that the temperature was still quite mild. My birch tree had been shed of its leaves as of last week, and it stood helpless in front of my house. If the temperature did not change soon, I would probably be wearing the same outfit in mid-fall as I was that beautiful night: knee-cut jeans, a blue T-shirt and a pair of black sandals.

The Kentucky breeze felt soothing to my senses, and watching the sun give way to the purple haze that was the night refreshed my mind and left me in a perfect and focused harmony. The air wavered in the last light of day and it was like watching an egg yolk simmer in a vat of a sparkling violet sky. The house, by itself, was a little repulsive, but in this light it seemed to be a good kind of ugly, if there was such a thing.
There was green mold surrounding almost every clapboard, and some of the shutters on the front porch were unhinged and hanging delicately as though placed there by god himself; a perfect setting for a prequel to Evil Dead. Only, in the place of a creaking porch swing, there was a sagging hammock and, unlike most old houses, the door didn’t creak at all. All that was truly needed to complete the picture was an old black woman swaying in a rocking chair with a banjo in her arms. Despite the beautiful picture, it still felt a little eerie whenever I stared at the house. It was odd how darkness would be able to throw the scene into a jumble of black emotions, and I felt the need to leave before it got so. I had bought the house more because of the price and less because of its beauty – as anyone could tell. A lack of a lot of money puts one into those sorts of positions. My job wasn’t too great.
My job was at the back of my mind at the moment, although I admittedly found it difficult to quell the thought of returning after my week of vacation. I was a recent graduate from college, and already I was low on the corporate food chain. I worked at the Meran Cape Bookstore, owned by an odd foreign-looking individual. Had I the sense to realize what he had given me that night, I would not be where I am now.

It all began on that night when I walked into my house. There isn’t really much to say about the inside except that it wasn’t too different from the outside; rustic and crumbly. I had just moved into this new home, and the U-Haul trailer with all the materials from my old apartment hadn’t come in yet. Somerset was a little dismal, but when you graduate from college and find such a great deal on a house you find that some of the best things in life aren’t things.
Had my old friend David Lodi heard me say this, however, he wouldn’t have thought I was acting myself. This was true, as I was never one to settle down. However, I had rethought my life recently and, with some difficult consideration, found that I had to take my life in steps. You know, get a little house, get a little job and make a little money, and then build from there. I was an aspiring actor and, although being far from the community meant that I had to travel a long way, this new house gave me a lot of open privacy; a lot of screaming room was available.
David used to be one of my roommates on campus of my college, and we became fast friends. So when he got an apartment a little ways in town, he notified me of a vacancy next to his and I moved in. When I moved out of the apartment about three months after I graduated, he helped me load up into a trailer and said he would drive it down in a week. In the meantime he offered me his couch to sleep on.
This was the third time this week that I decided to look at my house, and that very day I had hiked all over my property for good measure. I had one more day before David could finally take my things to my new home. It had only a floor with a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and living room, and a small basement.

As I stepped onto the bare hallway floor I could hear a noise coming from the kitchen. It took me a second, but I suddenly remembered that I had set up my phone in there in case anyone wanted to call me. It sat on the counters that bordered half of the room, and the ringer was loud enough to pass for a shrieking alarm clock. Quickly, I threw off my sandals and ran bare-foot across the wooden flooring. Passing through the kitchen doorframe at a quick speed, I managed to stop myself before I battered my head on the cupboards hanging a few feet above the counter-top. I grabbed the gray phone and brought it to my lips first, speaking a swift “Hello?” and then bringing the other half to my right ear. I held it to my head with my shoulder and, putting my hands on my hips, awaited an answer.
“Hey, Wooster. I’ve been calling you for the past three hours! Where were you?” Said a voice on the other line. It was David, and by the tone of his voice he seemed frustrated.
“Oh, hi Dave. Listen, I’ve just been walking out on my property for a while. S’there something you need?”
I turned around and reached into my wooden cabinet – and I honestly could say my wooden cabinet – and pulled out a pile of Styrofoam cups I had bought at a gas station on the way.
“Yeah, man. It turns out my girlfriend has let go of the leash for a few days; she’s gone to her parents house because her sister just got back from a yearlong trek to the Rocky Mountains…”
I turned on the tap from the sink and filled my cup with water. Peering inside, I checked to see if there was any floating objects I didn’t want digested. There was nothing but clear water. Surprise, surprise.
“So what does this mean, here?” I muttered.
“Well, basically it means that we can take the trailer over there and unload tomorrow morning.”
I downed the whole cup as he was talking, and I exhaled in relaxation. I hadn’t drunken a thing since before I walked the property and I had been incredibly thirsty.
“I’ve got a better idea, Dave.”
“Oh?” He asked. I could almost see his eyebrows rise.
“Yeah. It’s only, what, seven o’clock? It’ll take me about fifteen minutes to get to town, right?”
The thought seemed to have dawned on Dave, “Oh, god no, Wooster! I don’t want to have to drive back at, like, midnight!” My plan to unload that night seemed to diminish.
“No, you don’t have to. I can just sleep on the hammock outside, and I’ll pull out that folding bed and you can sleep on that.”
“Uh, I don’t know, man…”
I knew I was losing him. His mind seemed to be made up, but I had to convince him, I had to get that trailer unloaded tonight. I wanted to sleep soundly in my own home, and if it meant sleeping on a hammock outside for one night, so be it. I had to plea at this point.
“Aw, come on, Dave!” I whined, “You let me rest at your house all the time, and I just want to repay the favor. Just this once, okay man?”
There was silence on the other line. Silence was good. It meant that he was trying to reconsider.
“Dude, I don’t know about that…”
“Listen, I’ll pick up some beer on our way here and when we’re done we’ll watch a video or whatever, drink a few and then hit the sack.”
There was no way he would refuse here, and it was almost certain he would accept. From his tone of voice you could tell that he really wanted to, but he just couldn’t give up without a fight.
“Mmmm,” He hummed thoughtfully on the other line, “whatever, I’ll do it. Just remember, I’m not going to unpack into the morning, alright?”

Pulling backwards out of my dirt driveway, I could feel my tires rolled onto black pavement of the street. I had to hurry off to his apartment if I wanted to unpack before midnight. The day grew darker, and the moon began to poke its head out of the veil of blackness that began to spread. It was dark enough to turn on the headlights, and as I did I noticed my house in a different light once more and I stopped my car for a moment.
In the pale light of the headlights my house seemed more than ugly. It seemed haunted and horrid and the light produced an artificial shadow directly behind the house, making me shudder for a second. At that moment, I felt a little afraid. Of what, I couldn’t tell you, but I distinctly remember feeling anxious as I stared at the dirty windows; as though perhaps I was staring at something behind them.
The gossamer limbs of the small tree in my lawn cast it’s own shadow on the house and it will seem childish to you when I say that the tree itself seemed a part of the home. You would sooner say I’m crazy, wouldn’t you? You think I joke? When people tell you that you’re insane for thinking such things, you agree with it and become relieved that a name could be put to it; something you could blame. I’m not insane though, you see, so there was nothing to blame. I am glad I am here, though, because being a captive in my own home is crueler than this foul prison where I rest. My home, in a sense, taps the very essence of evil, if you could believe such a thing.
Oh yes, a foul abode with its very skeleton fused together with the blood of demons. A crude imitation of a Pandora’s Box that sheltered only a spiteful aura. I couldn’t feel it when I first toured the house, and I could not feel it when I answered the phone, but when the pastel house shone in the headlights of my red Escort I began to dread coming back to it.
Silly, I know, seeing as how I saw beauty in it only an hour earlier, but the house was illuminated in the darkness, so to speak. For a moment I almost regretted buying it so cheap. I think I know why…

I’m sorry; I seem to have gotten off track.

I drove on for about a mile before I reached my place of work. Here is where my real trouble began. It was perhaps the beginning of my so-called “insanity”. My headlights brushed over the ever-familiar sign to the right of the road that read “Meran Cape Bookstore”.
I tired of seeing it, and as soon as I saw it again my heart plummeted. The bookstore was fairly small, and you could tell it was a house before it became a bookstore. Barely anyone went in, and the shelves were packed tightly so that you couldn’t search for so much as a magazine without feeling claustrophobic. Dusty, musty, ugly and smelly, it was the only place close by where I could find a job that paid about $7.50 an hour. This, in my mind, was phenomenal pay for a small bookstore. Seeing how rare most of the books were, though, it was no surprise that Jacob, the owner, had enough money to keep the place up.
The store lot had a tall lamp in the corner, and with it I could see that the store was closed and dark inside. Even from the road you could see that the place had cobwebs on the corner of the windows. I had been working there for a few days now, and the owner let me take a week off because I was moving. I needed to find a new job that paid just as good in the week I had because, truthfully, I was beginning to dislike my job and the building itself – no offense to the kooky owner. Seeing it’s grimy windows assured me that this work experience would be short lived. I felt sorry for the owner, more or less.
I chuckled and looked back at the road in time to see a form standing directly in the middle of it.
I gasped in utter surprise, and my first reaction was to jam the brake pedal as far down as it would go. I had only been going about fifteen mph, but the figure wasn’t far from the hood of my car. My whole body began to shift forward as though I was being sucked into the steering wheel, and the car came to a screeching halt.
When it was over, I let my head fall gently onto the steering wheel and I breathed heavily in after-shock. For a few seconds I forgot the figure and my mind raced in confusion. Looking up, the figure was gone, and my breath stopped short.
Where did it go?
Did I hit it? I didn’t hear it hit.
What was it? I began rolling down my window to look out.
“Wooster.” Said a deep voice.
I shouted loudly in fright and hit my head hard on the ceiling of the car. Rubbing the newly formed sore spot on my head, I turned to my left to see the face of Jacob. His face was dimly lit by the lamp in the parking lot to the right of the car, and his face was recovering from shock as well, so it seemed. He had a chocolate colored moustache and was in his mid-forties, and in this light he seemed manically sinister; like an Italian mobster. His arm was propped on the frame of my open window, and his other was hidden from view. Had I not known him, I would have thought he would mug me and leave me for dead. He was dressed in his usual work clothes, which consisted of brown dress pants, a black and white striped button-up shirt and a large red apron that read “Meran Cape Bookstore”.
“Christ, Jacob, you scared the hell out of me! What were you doing standing in the middle of the road?!” I demanded, still rubbing my head.
“Scared you?!” He cried out, “Scared you?! Jesus, you could have run me right over!” He seemed to pant for a few seconds, and then exhale; a look of reprieve washing over him. “I guess I should have seen you coming. Just… You watch where you’re going, too. Had both of us the sense to look, it might not have turned out this way.”
He seemed to be less upset than others would have in the same situation. I sighed in relief that he didn’t scream loudly at me in frustration. I suppose both of us knew what we had done was foolish, and there was nothing further to say about it. Had Jacob been a city man I would have “lawsuit” written all over me.
Suddenly, Jacob suddenly went from calm to exited. His hidden arm came into view and in his hand was a small book, which he put through the open window and handed to me. “Funny you should be here, Wooster. I had a customer tell me that he wanted you to have it. I just happened to close a few seconds ago, so I’m glad you came along before I had to wait a while. Wow, is this weird or what?” He chuckled.
I took the book and set it on the passenger seat. True, it was an odd thing to happen in one night – a near accident and suddenly a coincidental pop-up. A logical, if not silly, explanation was sure to follow in the coming hours.
“Listen,” He said, “I’m heading home now, I just had to pass that in to you.” He lifted his arm, stood up and was in the process of turning around when he suddenly remembered something, and jerking around again he leaned down to the window. “Uh, say, how’s that moving coming along?”
“Uh, great, just great.”
“If you need any help, bud, I’d be glad to help you out.”
“Oh, that might not be necessary.” I lied.
“Alright, I’ll stop by late tonight and check, just in case. Got a lot of free time on my hands, you know? Is that okay?”
This was where the “kooky” aura set in when one was talking to Jacob. Although he probably meant well, he just didn’t know how to present himself as mentally sound. Despite the peculiarity of his offer, I thought it over for a second. In the end, I subsided my stubborn side. Besides, I might have needed the help. “Sure. Thanks, Jacob.”
“No problem. I’ll see you later, Wooster”
I nodded, and this time, as he walked away, he didn’t turn around again. He simply walked back into the road and went in the opposite direction, no doubt heading off to his house close by.
I was glad at the fact that he wasn’t truly upset, but was a little nervous as to how someone knew I was coming this way at this time.
I looked down at the book and felt it’s rough texture. Reaching up, I turned on the light inside the car and lifted the book up to my face. It was leather bound with intricate designs cut into the cover and a small leather belt was wrapped around it. I opened up the book and began flipping the pages through for an ultra-quick skim. However, it came to my knowledge that it was a journal full of empty pages. Interesting… I thought.
Stranger yet, it is the journal I write upon even now.
Then, I came upon the first page. I shouldn’t have read it, really. Maybe nothing would have happened if I hadn’t read it. There wasn’t much on the page, and at the time I had thought nothing of it. Oh, how I hate myself for doing it, but how was I supposed to know?
A short poem and a note was written on it:

A midnight bell rings hard and true,
And things you thought were after you
Turn up, and yet they follow through.
You’ll find a deep and crimson hue
Where you should least expect it.

The midnight bell will ring on high,
And someone, sharp on time, will die.
The demons take before they lie,
And go ‘fore end of midnight cry,
When you should least expect it.

12:00, Wooster. Better watch out.


Was it just me, or was that a threat? Was it a warning? For a moment, I didn’t know what to think. No, wait, that’s untrue. The first thing that had run through my head was “oh, crap” and I was prepared to duck and cover in case the journal blew up in my face. However, this was silly, much like the next thought, which was “Stalker. Oh my god, I‘ve got to call the police” and “I’m not even safe in my car”. The next thing, which was a little more logical, was “David Lodi”.
There was the source. Maybe he was getting back at me for pushing him into helping me. No, what a stupid thing to assume. I became angry, but then a question – one that contradicted all my assumptions – popped into my head. How or why did Dave ask Jacob to give me a journal with a threatening poem? A sick joke. A prank. No other explanation was necessary. I had to get it out of my head. There wasn’t anything seriously wrong
Not seriously wrong
with it. I’d been waiting here too long to be able to care about it. I had to go
Had to go
and get the U-haul down here. Hopefully David would help me
Help me
pack whatever other little stuff was necessary and then help me unpack into my ugly home. The motor was still running, and so I pushed on the gas pedal and drove down the road to town, trying to rid myself of the imagery I had received from the threatening poem. What horror was in store was simply a developing photograph in the back of my mind.

I pulled up in front of the tall and white apartment complex and noticed, right off, a blue truck with a U-haul trailer attached to it parked close by. It was pretty big, and I knew I had to pay a whole lot for renting it. It filled me with dread to think how much it would cost to borrow it for half of a week. I had rented it in hopes I could have moved out in less than three days, but David had troubles and offered to take it inside of a week.
I entered the complex and started my way up the carpeted stairs and into the second floor where David’s room was. I remembered that it was the third door, on the right, from the stairs. As I neared his door I caught a glimpse of the apartment next to his, which had a sign on it saying “Do Not Disturb”. It felt kind of odd thinking that I was there only four days ago.
I knocked on his door; half expecting that David was going to wait for me to enter anyways. David sometimes sat lethargically on his couch watching television or, even worse, sleeping. He wasn’t such a huge couch potato, but when it came to work you could never really find him. It was a miracle in the first place that he decided to help me.
After about ten seconds I knocked again. There was no answer. No footsteps. No television. No burning popcorn in the microwave. I actually got a little worried and twisted the doorknob, almost knowing I’d find him in his boxers, mumbling “What U-haul?”
The knob was locked. Great, the dork locked me out.
There he was, telling me that he didn’t want to unpack until the morning. Here I am, waiting at, what?… 8:30? I checked the clock hanging nearby in the hallway. Was it really 8:30 PM?
My head bubbled with fury for a moment, and already I was playing a scenario in my head: him complaining that it was taking too long, him wanting to rest at 11:00 and then working until one in the afternoon the next day. I knocked again, a little faster in representation of my anger. What if he was doing this on purpose?
What if something was wrong?
Slowly, a veil of fear slowly spread over me. I was reminded of the letter, and I could feel the pores on my face opening up in preparation to sweat. I fiddled with the knob again. Sometimes I don’t twist it hard enough to get it open and struggle with it foolishly for about five minutes until I realize just how easy it is. Nope, I wasn’t struggling in vain. It truly was locked.
“David?” I said, my face mashed against the crack in the door. No answer.
I said his name a little louder. Maybe I was overreacting. Pretty soon he would appear in the doorway and make me feel foolish.
I knocked harder. The door shook, and if that wasn’t enough to wake him up I didn’t know what was. Could this really have something to do with the letter, or was paranoia really getting the better of me? Possibly.
“Dave!” I shouted, “Dave, can you hear me?!”
The apartment next door, the one I used to call my own, opened as I finished my cry. It was a fat woman in a flowery nightgown, a cigarette glowing in the corner of her mouth. A plume of smoke erupted as she opened her door, and the smell of cigars and utter pollution followed with it. Her hair looked as if something had exploded in her vicinity, and one of her plump hands clutched a large beer bottle.
“Shutup, you inconsiderate jerk! I can’t even hear my damn TV!” She said in a deep and thick Boston accent.
I dismissed her ridiculous rudeness, and stifled an uncouth return-comment. “You, Miss. Do you know if David is in here?”
She made a face that resembled frog roadkill, “I don’t know a David. How should I know? Why don’t you go in and find out? Something besides disturbing the peace.”
The woman waddled out of view and the door slammed, a puff of smoke dissipating as it did so. I would have shouted something back, but I was in panic. I turned to knock on the door even louder and harder, in spite of the obese woman’s request, when I came face to face with David.
The door was open, and in the frame there stood a skinny man with a pair of boxers with smiley faces printed all over. His short hair was in a frizzy mess and his goatee was a bit out of proportion. His eyes were slits with a grey cloud infecting the bags under his eyes.
“What the hell is it, Wooster?” Said the groggy monster.
I felt like throttling him at that exact moment. I felt like punching his teeth down his lizard-like neck. I stood in an angered stupor as he stared at me as though to say, “And you’re here, why?”
I held my cool and said slowly, “ Do you, or do you not remember the U-Haul?”
My envisioned phrase, “What U-haul?” popped into my mind. I braced for it, because I knew that if he said it I’d have to lay him out, just deck him with my whole bodily force. However, he did not.
“Uh, yeah,” He muttered, “I’ve got it all ready man. I didn’t know you’d get here so soon. Come in, come in…”
He scratched his chest and moved aside for me to come in. Squeezing by him, I stepped into a whole different environment; a messy and disorganized world. The temperature was a few degrees higher, and his living room had books lying about it’s carpeted floors, and a large sofa with crumbs on it sat opposite of a mute television with an episode of “Cheers” running. There was an open door to my left that led to a different room, and to the right was a kitchen; a microwave was on and his refrigerator was open. Dishes sat on the counter next to the sink, and apparently he was in the middle of something before he finally decided to open the door for me.
The door shut, and I quickly turned to face the bleary David.
“David, I swear to God you’ve got to stop doing that!”
He gave me an innocent face, “Stop what?”
“David, you scared me to death! I knock on the freaking door and started to shout and somehow you still manage not to hear me. You do this deliberately!”
His shrugged his shoulders, “Hey, sorry man. I just… fell asleep. Not my fault, you know?”
“Bull crap.” I snapped. He did this constantly to me, and it was a habit of his to either not pay attention or just to go off on some mind-blowing daydream and leave everything behind.
However, I was suddenly reminded of what was really bothering me. The journal.
“No, seriously!” He began to protested.
“Alright, forget it. What happened on the way here is what really ticks me off, Dave. I almost hit Jacob with the car, and as if that wasn’t bad enough I get this journal with this threat written on the first page...”
Suddenly I knew something was wrong. I would be able to see if David was being facetious, but his face took a serious form and I knew that I had crossed into the twilight zone with him.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I almost ran over Jacob on the way here…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on. ‘Jacob’ your boss?”
“Don’t play stupid, man. The only Jacob you know. He told me that you told him to give me this leather journal that had this… this threat message on the front...”
I began to stutter when I realized I wasn’t getting anywhere. His hands were on his hips, and his posture suggested that he had no clue what I was talking about. Suddenly, I felt the urge to ask him the one question I hadn’t planned on asking.
“Did you… did you tell him to give me that… thing?” I asked with caution. It was nearing the point where my frustration was converted into worry. It had to be him. Who else could have done it?
“Wooster, I have no clue what you’re talking about,” He started. His eyes gave off an innocence I didn’t think could ever have existed before, “and even if I did, you don’t have a right to just burst in here and accuse me! Look, you want the trailer out, fine! Whatever you dealt with isn’t my problem. I mean, hey, that sounds a little freaky and I’d probably be freaked out too.” He squinted darkly at me, “You’re not… pulling something on me, are you?”
“I thought you were pulling something on me…”
I could feel my face turn cold, and my expression went from confused to utterly baffled. Suddenly, I felt alone despite David standing there, almost as confused as I was.
I had thought for sure he was the only one who’d know I was coming. Maybe Jacob had something to do with it. I probably should have asked Jacob who it was, maybe even a description of what the man had sounded like so I’d know. Crap, I should have. Why didn’t I think of that?
“No, man. Listen, we’ll talk later. I’m going to get dressed and we can unload the trailer.” He turned to walk into the other room that was, most likely, his bedroom. The only thing in the room that could have been distinguishable, however, was just a bed. He paused before he entered as though there was something he wanted to say.
He faced me again, “I mean, I’m sure you’re freaked out about it, but it’s probably nothing serious. College buddies, jerks, someone. These things happen.” he chuckled, “If you want, we can report it tomorrow morning at the police station downtown.”
In my mind, I was aware of the fact that the journal had mentioned a time. “12:00, Wooster. Better watch out.” Would tomorrow morning be too late? Again, I told myself to stop being so paranoid. David made me feel a little more calm, and I nodded my head in agreement.
“Besides,” He said, “you at least got a journal out of it, right?” Dave began to chuckle, and then he suddenly realized that I wasn’t impressed. His chuckle died down and a frown took its place and he walked sullenly into his bedroom and shut the door behind him, changing into something more formal.

It was about 9:00 when we left the apartment. It wasn’t pitch black, but the moon didn’t seem to be enough to light anything at that moment. He got into the trailer, and I into my Escort. Pulling out, we headed to my house. He stopped at a gas station for beer, and I went towards home. As I spun the steering wheel into my gravel parking space I found that my sense of security became extremely askew. Was it the poem that made me feel like that, or was it just coming back to this eerie house?
The lonely birch tree stood naked in my yard, and the headlights drew a crooked shadow of the tree on my white house. My house was uglier than when I saw it earlier, and the gray roof shingles seemed to split and groan as my car came to a stop. I shuddered at the sight and wondered what drew me to this haunted pile of splinters in the first place.
I turned off the headlights and found myself engulfed in a world of darkness, realizing I had thoughtlessly forgotten to turn on the porch light on my way to Dave’s apartment.
Luckily, my car key had a light on the keychain and I stepped out of the car and clicked it on, bringing along the strange journal as well. It seemed incredibly bright for such a small flashlight, and I found my way to the porch easily. The door wasn’t locked – as I never really needed to lock it anyways considering there’s nothing to steal – and so I opened the door, reached through and flipped on the light switch nearby.
It flickered on, and as I was turning around I heard a very strange noise. At first I dismissed it as a problem with the light bulb in the porch light, but it continued even after the light had been turned on. I stopped and listened. It was a noise one would sort of hear when you step on dry leaves. Only, when I decided to turn completely around I saw nothing save the horrid birch tree and the pale brown grass.
I was just being paranoid. That was okay, it happens to everyone. Right?
The darkness was getting to me. That’s what it was, darkness. Only darkness. All darkness is, is simply an inability to see, is it not? Yes, that was all.
I stepped back into my dark home, switching on the hall lights. Just for good measure, I turned on all the lights in the house. Immature as it would seem, I could honestly say that I would do it again without feeling foolish.
The only place that I had a problem with was the basement area. The stairway was immediately next to the entrance to the kitchen, and as I opened the stairway door I felt a cool, damp wind drift upwards in my face; enveloping me in an old and musty smell. I felt a little unwary at first, but then I felt a little silly – acting like a little kid afraid of the dark. Despite feeling foolish, I decided that we’d have to turn every light on anyways when we unloaded the trailer.
The light switch to the basement was actually in the basement, and I started down the creaky stairs with baited breath. I relayed, in my mind, all those obvious horror movies where the victim, stupid as he-or-she was, always inserted themselves in the very situation they wanted to be away from – such as going down into a dark basement to turn on the light when they know something evil is lurking nearby. I chuckled aloud at my infantile thought, and when I reached the bottom of the stairs I turned on the light in defiance of my ridiculous fears. There was, however, something creepy to be said about the basement I now stood in.
Its horribly lumpy cement walls were painted a thick and pale white, whilst the floors were an ugly green that looked nothing short of stomach acid. It looked a lot like a fruit cellar; holding enough room for several cabinets, a big rug and a large freezer. Another set of stairs led up to a back entrance to the outside. It looked like a perfect spot to store things, and the horror setting I had imagined only moments ago faded away. I walked up the steps with a grin, planning the rest of the house in my mind.
When David got there it was around 9:30. We got to work instantly and began pointing out what needed to go where. This process was simple, as the house wasn’t very big and I had already planned it while he was away. The trailer was about eight feet tall, eight feet wide and fifteen feet in breadth. As we opened it’s door, we discovered that the first thing we had to carry out were some couches. This took a solid hour to do, seeing as how one of them was stuck.
It was odd seeing David working as hard as he did; in one moment he could seem so lazy and unreasonable, and the next he could work difficult tasks without breaking too much of a sweat. This was displayed, in full, as we lugged out boxes of cutlery, plates, cups, silverware, books, disks, computer parts and other essentials. Bookshelves came next, and soon all that was left was a large freezer, a TV, a box with a VCR and a couple of videos, a box of spray cans, a box of leftover junk and, lastly, a microwave. By this time it was already 11:00, and we rejoiced over the few things we had left to pack. It would seem that David would get his wish, – finishing before the crack of dawn – only reaching morning a little after we would have everything packed.
David picked up the box of spray cans and headed into the house and into the basement. As I stood inside the trailer, I noticed something poking out of the top of one of the boxes. I dragged it out into the illumination of the porch light and opened it up.
It was the box of leftover junk, and the item poking out was actually several pieces of paper stapled together, scriptwriting and highlights all over the pages. "Act II" was written on the first page. It was an audition script for a play I was thinking about doing at a local, low-budget actor’s guild. It was titled “Much Ado About Nothing”.
I remember quite well of what I was to say. I was acting the part of Leonato, and it was one of the beginning parts.
"By my troth, niece," I proclaimed in the cool night air with a smile, "thou wilt never get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue."
I chuckled, and read through the unhighlighted parts.

ANTONIO:"In faith, she's too curst."
BEATRICE:"Too curst is more than curst: I shall lessen God's sending that way; for it is said, God sends a curst cow short horns; but to a cow too curst he sends none."
With enthusiasm, I read my next line.
"So, by being too curst, God will send you no horns." My line was soon followed by my own heartening laughter.
My laughing was stopped short as I heard something quickly pass behind my back; a noise that resembled a car traveling by at 60mph. I spun my body around as quick as my frightened muscles would allow me, and was immediately face-to-face with a black form.
My breath became silent, and my body went completely stiff and rigid.
It stood silently in front of me, watching me with its black eyes. Its black mouth was open in a black smile, it’s dark teeth bared. My heart was beating quite quickly now, almost prepared to erupt with every spastic pound. I followed the form’s invisible eye, and saw it was looking at my chest.
My heart, perhaps?
It was then that I noticed its black, open and spread wings – only noticeable because of the bright specks that were scattered about it.
Its black arm began reaching towards me and I shuddered, but could not move. The black hand was nearing my heart. My voice was stifled by my own tightening throat and I tried to look for a way out. I first eyed the front door of the house, and it was open and calling to me; offering me a safe haven from the darkness that was ready to rip my heart from my chest.
I looked back in front of me to find that the black form was gone. In its place was the night and it’s stars, glimmering in the horizon.
It was now that I realized I was holding my breath, and I gasped for air. David, who was just exiting the house, noticed me and asked me if I was alright. It took me a few seconds to answer him. I said I was alright, though I could have sworn that the black form was still around.

11:30. The last thing to go in was the freezer, but we decided to take a break after David felt his stomach gurgle with hunger. Reaching into his truck, he pulled out two bags of chips and a six-pack. The TV and VCR were already set up in the living room, and David was already seated in my brown couch when I set up the videos on a small shelf nearby.
Despite his wishes, I was more determined to sit outside for a while in the chilly air than watch a video. He shrugged his shoulders, adjusted the TV and set a cool beer on his lap. In a sudden flash, David’s shadow was portrayed on the wall behind him; the television now entertaining the vegetable on the couch. I walked outside, shut the door and sat on the top step of my porch. The movie inside was already becoming noisy, and I could hear David bellow with laughter.
I, however, was contemplating whether or not I was insane. I was thinking about the black form I had encountered only twenty minutes ago.
How could I lead myself to believe that there was actually something there? On the other hand, what had I actually seen? My mind, as the cliché goes, was playing tricks on me. Had I no control over what I saw? Again, I had to ask myself, what did I see?
I slapped myself hard in the face. I had to collect myself, foolish as it was to do so in such a manner. My heart had simply frozen up in the presence of the black thing, and nothing I could have imagined could have done that, could it? I was, indeed going crazy. Or so I thought.
It happened while I was sitting there, beginning to think that, once again, I was being childish. There was a loud smacking noise, and my sight went white for only an instant. I heard my front door creak as it ricocheted from whatever it had hit. It was then that I realized my head was the source of the noise, and pain began to kick in. I had gone from recovering from temporary insanity to fury, and spun my head around to yell at David. As I had somewhat assumed, the door had opened from the inside and hit my head with ferocity. What I had not assumed, however, was that David was still in the living room watching television, oblivious to what had happened. My body stiffened, and cold sweat poured out onto my face as the door came quietly to a close. The door clicked as the pin entered the hole in the frame.