A Writer's Scorn

When you have fallen into a deep enough depression, you begin to have odd feelings about yourself, and about everything surrounding you. You begin to feel as though every single little tap on the roof that is only the pitter patter of gracefully falling raindrops, or that every single bang on the ground that is only the dropping of a ignorantly placed item, is the Grim Reaper finally ready to take you away from this hellish Earth and take you away from the seemingly eternal pain. You begin to feel like everything you’ve ever done or accomplished in your feeble life has always ended up worthless trash, and that you have nothing on this God given Earth to live for. You begin to feel as though every living, breathing thing is against you, against everything you wished for, when in reality they are only trying to stop you from pulling that trigger, from tying that noose, from making that jump.

In my case, however, it was the exact opposite. As I held up my pen, it’s tip coated with blue to show the glistening color of the writing utensil, just under the untouched, unsullied white piece of paper at my mahogany desk, I felt as though the various voices in my head were actually egging me on. In my moments of silent solitude, where there was absolutely no physical sound made, that was when the voices in my mind screamed at me. I did not know where they had come from. They were quite possibly the voices of the people that had been mercilessly slaughtered, coming back from the dead to punish me, the writer of their demise that physically knew. I felt as though everything was calling for me to begin my own story of death. To end my life just how I had ended there’s. My mind was now lost in the depths of my depression, and it now seemed only right to end my life, as if it would somehow atone everything I had done over the course of a few weeks.

I apologize, let me start at the beginning. My name is Todd Newman. I work…well, used to work as a CEO of a popular corporate company. It was a mediocre sort of life in the work aspect. Pile after pile of paperwork that would always have me the last one out of the building, late home every night. My beautiful wife, Jessica, did not mind. That was why going home was about as exciting as when a young child comes home from school after a long day. She was such a loving and kind individual. We had met back when we were 16 years old, and the love was there in an instant. We dated until we got out of high school, taking the same college and living in a one bedroom apartment until we were done with college. About a year afterwards, I proposed. I’m 32 years old now, having been married to her for 12 years. She was the only thing that seemed to keep my mood up like a rocket ship. Not to mention she was one month pregnant with our very first baby, which put a glowing mood in the both of us. Sure, work was hard, but it kept us well above the poverty line. It seemed like it was the perfect life, at least for me.

Recently, my wife had been trying to get me back into writing, because she loved to read my stories and she thought it might relieve my stress by allowing me to express my locked emotions on a piece of clean paper. I wrote one or two short stories when I had to back in high school, and she used to absolutely adore the stories, as well as everybody else that read them. They all told me I should have aspired to be a writer. Hah, if they saw me now.

Finally, after what was a few days of convincing me, I decided that I should possibly try it out again, if only just some short stories. So I got out my trusty pen and a few pieces of paper, and began to write random stories. At first, they were mostly love or romance, or some kind of poetic writing that would make my beloved swoon. But, as I went farther along, I felt myself become more drawn to the death or horror versions of writings, that involved at least one person dying in some way, shape or form. Though it wasn’t in my repertoire, I felt that it was worth the try. Once I began to write it, I felt as though something in my mind has clicked. Like something inside of me, buried under loads of work and stress, had emerged from the depths of it all. An unknown talent in horror writing. Even Jessica had told me that my first horror work was the best that she had ever seen from me, or anyone that she had come to know. I still attempted to work myself back into the other works of writing that were previously my prowess, but that wasn’t happening. I was now suddenly hooked on writing horror. That was now the only thing I wrote.

Luckily, such addiction to writing did not effect my job. As a matter of fact, I got myself promoted up to an executive, seeing as I was the best and most reliable one of the bunch of CEOs. I had asked the president of the company why I had been promoted, when there were a full board of executives in office. He replied that one of the executives had mysteriously been found dead with claw marks all across his chest. His name was Jack.

I hadn’t really thought of it at that point in time, but as I shook the president’s hand and thanked him for the new job and the generous raise in money as well, that was the time that in the back of my mind, I began to wonder. Just last night, I had randomly put in Jack as one of the men who died in my short story. A monster emerged from his closet and began to claw at his chest, meanwhile he had died of shock. Initially I had shook it off as just a coincidence, but maybe if I had realized it then, I wouldn’t have let the greed get to me. Then again, I probably would have either way.

Jessica’s face was one of pure thrill when I had came home with the amazing news. She hugged me and kissed me, and wanted me to come to bed so we could “celebrate”, but for some reason that desk and that paper called my name more than usual, to write another gripping horror story. She smiled and acted as though she understood and her lips curled into a fake but understanding smile, though her eyes told me of her worry that I hadn’t really touched her in a few days. For some reason, that desk made me forget about that, and as I went out into the dining room she just sat on our king-sized bed and watched television in the midst of me writing yet another story, pouring any emotion I actually did feel onto the paper, leaving me void. This one, was about a girl named Susan. She was in her room, sleeping soundly, her face content. A shadow formed as it began to crawl from under the bed, it’s claws many inches long. People would think it was an old guy watching her sleep, but that wasn’t the case. It was really a shadow. Said shadow opened it’s mouth wide, licking it’s lips with it’s snake like tongue as it pounced onto Susan, ripping her to pieces as she screamed and eating the majority of her remains, with the exception of a few limbs.

By the time I had finished the story, Jessica was sound asleep, her face not as content as Susan’s face was made out to be when she was sound asleep. Again, being void of emotions from the leakage he had made writing such a story, I had somehow not really cared, and curled up to her to sleep next to her.

A few days went by, as work had prevented me from creating anymore of my famous stories. I had come back from work a few days after my promotion to find Jessica crying, and she ran and hugged me as I entered the door, her anxiety evident by the trembling she was making, as she grasped onto my shirt and sniffled into it. She began blabbering about how her best friend of fifteen years had went missing and been found in her home brutally murdered, her entire body completely vanished with the exception of only one arm and one leg found neatly placed atop her bed amidst a puddle of blood. At least that was all I caught of it, but that was all I needed.

My face went pale as my eyes seemed to pop from my head. My heart began to take a faster beat, and I could swear I was trembling along with my wife. It was the first time I had shown emotion in about two weeks. For I was frightened beyond belief. It was too much of a coincidence, what had happened. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Her best friend’s name was Susan.

After such a shock from both of us, her being the mourning of her best friend being gone, and mine being the anxiety of what I had done, neither of us had gotten much sleep last night, and I had called in sick that morning. The chairman of the company was furious, stating that I was now walking on eggshells. For missing one day? Christ, what a douche bag.

I just sat back onto my bed, my beloved wife having gone to see Susan’s family. She said it would be better if I didn’t go, that she have some time alone with friends. That might have been the first time I had realized my recent neglect for her, the fact that she didn’t even want me around when she went somewhere. In fact, she didn’t want me when she went anywhere anymore. But as how most times were now, I could only press those thoughts into the back of my mind, as my fear for my possible powers had seeped back through.

I just sat in my bed, looking up at the ceiling fan as it rotated around and around above me. I couldn’t believe that my own stories had killed people, completely accidentally. I hoped that nobody would figure it out. However, I quickly dismissed such a notion seeing as Jessica used to be the only one to read them, and she doesn’t even bother to read them when I finish them anymore. It seemed to have been too overdone for her taste at this point. That thought wasn’t the primary, however. What really scared me, and what really caused me to worry for the people around me plus my own self and my sanity, was the fact that I wanted to do it more. I wanted to write more horror stories. Not caring if I knew of my cursed powers, I was now addicted to the stories I can so perfectly create.

And then a thought came to me. Such a thought would finally crumble any sort of barriers I had against the sinful thoughts that had been coming to my mind ever since I had discovered that I withheld such a life changing power. I began to think of my boss, the chairman of the corporation. He was a real douche bag, and frankly, I didn’t think he even was deserving of the title of ‘boss’. This thought was accompanied by another. The fact that I knew I was much better than the other executives around me, and would more than likely rise up in the ranks. And that was when I came to the conclusion that I could use this power for my own greed. And now that I look back, I realize that was when things began to take a spiral.

I immediately jumped out of my bed, a sinister toothy smile plastered on my face as I ran to my mahogany desk that held my pen and my piles upon piles of papers and stories. I got out a few unblemished white pieces of the rectangular paper, and began writing about my chairman, Frank. Frank was walking around his home in the middle of the night, unaware that someone was looking at him through the bedroom window. When Frank had gotten what he needed and walked back to the bedroom to lay down, he still did not realize it. That is until he heard a tap like a rock hitting a window. Perplexed, Frank opened the window to see who it was. As he was looking into the pitch black, he felt himself suddenly being pulled by a pair of hands and thrusted out of the two story window, impaling himself on a fence around the home and dying upon impact.

Once I had finished penning such a master piece, I sat back on the chair and looked at the story over and over again, my sinister smile growing larger upon my face with each read. Not only would this be a test to see if what happened with Susan was or was not just a coincidence, it would also bring me to chairman status. I was ecstatic, and as it was getting late, I went to bed early before Jessica had arrived home.

I had awoken that morning to find Jessica still not home. Puzzled, I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand adjacent to me and called her, asking her where she’s been. She said she was still with her friends and would be back when I got home. The odd thing was, she was breathing heavy throughout the entire phone call. Maybe she was partying too hard, that had happened to other people I knew. I didn’t really think much about it, I said I loved her, then headed for work.

Once I had arrived with a cup of coffee in hand, I was immediately pulled off by the president, saying the chairman had died a horrible death last night, with marks that would suggest murder. Yet, nobody knew who could have committed such an act, for there were no valid fingerprints anywhere. I had to suppress my smile and my inner laugh, for my powers really had worked. I had killed the chairman. I had no idea why, but I felt so happy. I was even happier when I was told I was now promoted to chairman, only a week or so after I had been elected as an executive. I thanked the president and shook his hand, thanking him for such an amazing promotion. I then spent the day sporting a kind looking smile, that was under toned with sinister intentions, thinking about killing off the president of the corporation next, and taking my place as the head of it.

I of course headed home a happy camper, the corporation closing a few hours earlier than usual in honor of the tragedy. The sun was still up, and it was about five o’clock in the afternoon. I spent the entire commute home plotting how I would kill the president of the corporation, how I would destroy more lives afterwards. I had truly begun to lose my mind. I had even been in work, writing random horror stories where random names of people in the workplace died on this very night. But I wanted to save killing off the president of the corporation until that night. I finally got home, and walked in the house and opened the door to the bedroom. I found it odd that the door was closed, but I just wanted to tell my wife the amazing news before I began writing. I turned the golden knob, and pushed the door open.

And that, was when everything good shattered. And the last of my sanity shriveled up and died.

I saw a random male in our bed, one that I did not know. He was naked, his bare arms wrapped around my wife’s naked body. They both were making moans of ecstasy, as who I thought was my best friend and lover for the rest of my life whipped her head backwards, writhing in ecstasy as the man traced up and down her developed smooth body that had not shown the signs of her pregnancy just yet. Her place that I thought I had owned all this time, was being thrusted into. The body parts I thought were only for mine to be in contact with, were being groped. My wife had become an adultress right before my eyes, and she did not seem to show any guilt. I only stood there, watching as she screamed for this male to fill her up, and based on the pleasured sounds they made, that is exactly what happened. This man, had now made me obsolete. The last of my heart had broken, and become a black hole in what had to be a fraction of a second.

It took the both of them a few seconds to realize the door had been opened, as a sudden draft had come throughout. They craned their heads towards me, both of their eyes widening, Jessica’s basically popping out of her head as she instantly propped herself away from her, the male backing away from her into the wall. Before him or her could even explain themselves, or why they were doing such a thing, I instantly pounced onto the male, not caring that he had no clothes atop his person. I began to have a brawl with him, getting the first few punches before he got on top of me and began pounding me, amidst my wife’s screams to not hurt me. That killed my pride just as much as the cheating did. I wasn’t even able to fight the man who had committed such an act.

He finally got off of me after I had withheld many scratches on my face, one gushing from my forehead, and a nosebleed. I slowly stood up, panting, telling the both of them to get dressed and get out. My wife looked at me with what had to be pure sorrow for what she had done, but at this point, I did not care. I repeated my first sentence, and they did as I asked, leaving the premises and going to god knows where. I went to the bathroom and wiped the various amounts of blood and mucus from my face, dabbing my wounds with alcohol and holding a tissue at my nose. I growled, my mind still on what I had saw. And then, looking back at the desk I had meant to go to, my mind went blank, and rage took over once again.

Without even thinking, I suddenly sat down at the mahogany desk, grabbing my pen and a piece of paper. My mind went blurry as I messily and grammatically incorrectly wrote of the both of them being attacked and killed by a group of hounds in an alleyway, being torn up and killed in a rather quick and painful way. Right after I had finished the short and horrendously written story, my forehead began to gush out blood once again, impairing my vision. I fell off of the side of the chair, hitting my head and passing out at that same moment.

I awoke to a knock on my door. I lifted my head up weakly and tiredly, looking at the mahogany door, and noticing a police car parked at the front of the house. I was puzzled, completely forgetting about last night’s happenings for a moment of peace of mind. In fact, now that I look back, I had forgotten everything that had happened in the past two weeks. It was almost like for those few moments that I stood up from my awkward placing on the ground and slowly walked to the door to open it, my mind was once again sane. Like how it used to be. I even wondered where Jessica was when I looked towards the bedroom door.

But once I opened it, the police started explaining. Jessica and a male accomplice, who was apparently named Robert Canton, along with her were walking on the sidewalks of the city after leaving here, and they were attacked. Not much remains were left, with the exception of Jessica’s head next to her abdomen that was bitten off by the rest of her body, her unborn fetus still inside of it. They said they had initially suspected me, but they looked like bite marks of an animal, so that was immediately dismissed. I did not hear much of that last part, because it all had come back to me. All of the insanity, all of the events of the past two weeks. My powers. My promotions. Jessica cheating. And then the messy writing. My knees buckled, and I sat there, bursting into tears. The police thought it was just mourning. Sure, it was that too, but it was also the realization of what I had become, and what I had done. Not only did I kill an innocent and my beloved wife, but I had also killed my unborn child. It was too much to bear. Along with the tears, I felt a horrific pain in my forehead as the gash and my nose began to bleed once more, where the police proceeded to drive me to the hospital as I had a fit of sadness.

I had spent a couple of days in the hospital, recuperating from a few blunt head wounds and my gash, but quickly was released back to my home, with all of the hospital’s condolences. It’s funny. They never asked about the cuts. Maybe it was that they knew it wasn’t me, and didn’t want to bother me with investigation. The fact that I was passed out at home and it was animal marks with witnesses saying I didn’t leave the house should have been enough, right? They just didn’t know about what was really going on.

I have spent two and a half weeks on this chair, staring at all of the stories I had created. People tried to call me, to get me out of the house. My job tried to get me to come in, but I refused, eventually getting myself fired for being absent for such a long period of time. I did not go to the funeral, for I was too weak and I felt that I didn’t deserve to be there, though a friend brought me some of her ashes, as she had always wished to be cremated. I did not care for any of that, for everything I had loved had been lost. So I just sat there, looking at the reasons all of this had happened. From the early romance stories that warmed my wife’s heart, to the horror stories that lead to a domino effect that destroyed my entire life and sanity. Jessica was most definitely wrong for cheating on me, but in hindsight, I was neglecting her since I had begun these damn stories. But the way he had held her in his arms as he made love to her…the way she enjoyed it….the way she asked for him to permanently make her his by releasing himself in her…It was all too much. It still did not justify me killing her and this Robert fellow. It never did. Everyone that had called me showed the upmost empathy, but really, I didn’t deserve any of it, nor the sympathy. It was all my fault. I was the cause of many murders, four being people I know, not including Robert. I had let myself fall into the sinful path of greed and wrath, allowed myself to get addicted to this writing, my power. I had been drunk on it. The fact that my unborn child and Jessica’s head were the only remains aside from the various puddles of blood, could only be described as the lord’s way of telling me what I had done. How wrong I was for doing this. For not stopping the second I had realized what was happening to me.

The voices began their screaming again as I held up my trusty blue pen. I could vaguely hear the voices of Jessica and her lover, their voices going from low toned to being the loudest of the group. They were haunting me, making me want to end it. I had been contemplating it since I had gotten home from the hospital, and the voices were only growing louder. A salty tear escaped from my eye, running down my cheek and dripping off of my chin onto the desk, as I realized that it was time. I brought the pen down to the paper, and began writing. Writing about Todd Newman, who was sitting in his chair at this moment in the night, when suddenly a being of shadows jumped down from the ceiling and grabbed him, tearing his head from his shoulders and crushing the head to a paste. I tried to make it short, as the screaming had made it furiously difficult for me to think. After I finished, I sat in my chair and awaited for it to happen. My death.

Hours passed as the clock struck midnight. Still nothing. I was completely perplexed at this, and began to write another story. Again, nothing. Another led to nothing. I even wrote one about me doing something to myself, and I did not feel compelled to move. There must have been ten stories involving my death before I realized something.

My sinful ways. The way I approached this power and used it for greedy and selfish reasons. The fact that I had caused the cold blooded murder of my beloved and amazing wife and my unborn child, along with various other innocent people, knowing of the power. All of that led to my powers being taken away. By God himself. He had stolen these powers from me, making it so I could not end myself in this way. The bastard, he decided to let me suffer in my lonely, desolate mind filled with screaming voices and horrid thoughts.

I raised my head up high to the ceiling, and let out a rage and vengeful filled scream at the skies, as the voices tried to scream over me.