10 Seconds

Mental illness - dealing with the devil within

 

13th of April

 

Have you ever had a nightmare? One so particularly terrifying that when you finally manage to snap yourself awake everything doesn’t seem quite real? The room is too dark, too quiet, only the sound of your shallow breaths echo through the black as you try to figure out where you are. That initial jolt from sleep runs a current through your blood stream, alarming all senses with fear-based adrenaline. The remnants of the nightmare seem to seep out into the corners of the dark, threatening to reappear as you desperately try to escape the hold that your subconscious has over you. This usually lasts a couple of seconds until the familiar feel of your soft sheets and the warm glow of the bathroom light drifting through the crack in your door slowly brings your racing mind back to reality.

 

Trace found himself stuck in those 10 seconds of Limbo. Those 10 long seconds you question what’s real in the midst of a fear-filled mind. However, his 10 seconds didn’t grant him with a happy ending. With 8 seconds left of questioning his surroundings, Trace was unaware that despite overcoming the hold his nightmare had over him, it would soon be replaced with a fear more real than any other, 7… 6…5… for reality wasn’t something he could run from, it was completely and utterly out of his control…4…3. That warm bathroom light that seeped through the cracks of his door was instead, a cool blue light that struck his senses like an unexpected cold snap, running goose bumps from his fingers to his toes…2…1. He wasn’t home. His sheets felt stiff and rigid like cardboard. 0. Reality hit, he hadn’t been for 2 weeks. He found himself wishing his subconscious hadn’t worn off, for what he had awoken to, was a living nightmare, one that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t wake up from.

 

*   *   *

 

Trace Wetherly was a brown haired freckly boy from Oxford, Mississippi. He truly hated freckles, he used to look in the mirror and try to picture himself without them. His mother told him that his freckles were like the sprinkles on a cupcake, pleasing to the eye, but he never really understood that analogy.

 

Oxford was a small town, firstly known for its abandoned town hall, fenced off and un-touched as long as anyone could remember. Everyone knows to keep out.

 

Trace had lived there with his Mother his whole life, he and her for the past 13 years just how she liked it. His father, Bruce Wetherly, left a year after he was born, decided that playing the fatherly role “just wasn’t for him”. Knowing what Jane knew now, it was probably best he left when he did. He had been in and out of Mental institutions  ever since, diagnosed with Multiple Personality Disorder. Jane never really understood what that was, she wasn’t even sure of his where about’s, he was constantly dropping off the grid. Jane never really questioned his erratic moods, odd encounters and paranoia, she was just glad he wasn’t around to take it out on Trace. Trace unlike his father, was daring, he liked the thought of pushing the limits, feeling the rush, channeling emotions that made him feel alive.

26th of March

 

 

It was a rainy summers evening, the day’s humidity had brought muggy rain clouds overhead and there wasn’t much to do. Trace’s mother had left for dinner at her friend’s house two streets down and he found himself home alone with nothing to do.

 

Trace’s friend Joel lived 3 houses down the road; Joel was like Trace, just a plumper version. Trace enjoyed his company because he wasn’t one to say no, however, he never liked his competitive nature, although Trace was competitive, Joel was extreme. It wasn’t Joel’s drive Trace was jealous of, though, more that he was always coming in second place behind him.

 

They enjoyed a good game of truth or dare, it was really only a game of dares because for a pair of 14-year-old boys nothing was too interesting about knowing each other’s deepest secrets. Trace walked down the road to find Joel in his front yard with his dog, Russell.

 

“Wanna come over for a game of dare?” Trace yelled.

 

“I’m always up for a game of dare, I bet you I’ll win, AGAIN”

 

*   *   *

 

“Okay Joel, it’s your turn to ask.”

 

“ Hmmm let me think.

 I dare you to knock and run, Mr Nobles house.”

 

Trace sighed with disappointment. “We ALWAYS knock and run Mr Nobles house, common’ let's do something exciting, or different.”

 

“ Okay okay, I dare you… to break into the abandoned town hall” He said in a confident and cocky tone, “I already know I’ve won, there’s no way you’ll do it.”

 

Trace found himself battling between fear and adrenaline, but soon enough he found his trembling legs planted firmly into the ground outside the Town hall. Trace had been overcome by this burning desire to once and for all show Joel that he was going to win.

 

The muggy clouds rumbled as the rain began to sprinkle onto the pavement, Trace found himself staring into the darkness of the unknown. The fence wasn’t really stopping anything from getting in, every 3rd pailing was missing, it was really just common sense to not pass sneak through and everyone knew it. Trace channelled the fear and turned it into adrenaline. Within a matter of minutes, he found himself walking up the steps towards the large double door entrance. He felt fear swelling in his mind, making thoughts burst like balloons in his head, his trembling hand reached forward to turn the cold brass doorknob and as the rain got heavier overhead he found himself sheltered in a large empty room.

 

He moved through the room cautiously, the wind shuddered through the building, whispering sounds too similar to that of a human voice. Something caught his attention deep within the room, forcing him to move further forward to investigate. A large wall length mirror at the end of the hallway was covered in a thick murky grey dust, he used the sleeve of his jumper to make out a small clearing level to his face to find a boys face staring back at him. However there were no freckles covering his face, it was as bare as the oak trees in autumn. Trace couldn’t understand why he had not run out of there as fast as he could, but something intrigued him about staring into the darkness of his own eyes and freckle-less face.

 

The face disappeared after a matter of moments, right before Trace could grasp the full understanding of the uncanny experience. He heard hollow whispers calling him upstairs and felt a presence engulf his figure. His limbs set out for the staircase like a puppet being controlled by a master.

 

Outside, Joel was looking up to see the sky turning greyer by the second, he could hear Joel called to him from the other side of the fence “ Trace, cmon it's raining buckets out here, let's go back, you win!”

 

Trace heard himself call out to Joel, “I dare you to come in here too!”

 

The rain got heavier, Joel didn’t really have much choice. Joel ran inside but found himself alone.

 

“Trace don’t you dare try to scare me, c’mon, it isn’t bloody funny!”

 

“I’m upstairs, you have to see this!”�" Trace’s voice echoed down the wooden staircase, making the floorboards creek in voices.

 

Joel lightly followed the trail of his voice to a room right of the stairwell, however, all he found was an empty arm-chair in the corner. He walked over to the chair, it looked reasonably inviting for the fact it had been abandoned for God knows how long. Joel wasn’t the fittest of people, the stairs had tired him. He took a seat in the chair right as a large gust of wind howled down the hallway and slammed the door closed with an echoing bang.

 

Panic struck as Joel moved speedily towards the door to find it stuck, frozen over at the hinges. He screamed for Trace, to hear nothing but deafening silence in return.

 

*   *   *

 

 

 

Trace was reunited with his freckle-less self in the spare room to the left of the staircase, rummaging through a drawer frantically. Trace witnessed the grin on his face grow in the darkness. He saw those eyes again, but they were filled with determination, a determination so strong that the glance he gave was unshakeable. The boy’s glance slowly moved from Traces eyes down to a black object he had retrieved from the wooden drawer and back up again with a grin so wide it was like the night's sky. Trace heard the heavy footsteps coming up the staircase and trail into the room opposite him, but his eyes were locked on the object in the boy’s hand and he found himself as stiff as concrete, paralysed with fear. It was a gun.

 

Within a matter of seconds, the dark hollow eyes of the freckle-less boy disappeared before him, followed by the slam of a heavy door across the hallway. Trace could hear Joel’s fear-filled screams in the midst of heavy rain and almost found peace in the sound of his pleads. For once he felt on top.

 

*   *   *

 

Trace almost hesitantly moved towards the cries and grasped the doorknob in his strong palm. You could hear the wind howl through the room and the heavy rain batting against the roof. But above the horrendous weather, there was a single voice that sounded as much worried as it did terrified. In a quivering recognisable tone, Trace heard his name; it was Joel.

 

Trace found himself inside the room staring straight through the eyes of the freckle-less boy again. The boy flashed him another wicked smile and turned to face the armchair. Trace saw Joel sitting back in the corner of the room, his face white as a ghost and knees trembling with fear.

 

“Trace”  he cries, “ What, What are you doing?

Stop it Trace, you’re scaring me. Seriously stop it! put the gun down!”

 

The confusion came over Trace’s face as he looked down at his bare hands and back to the Boy’s.

 

“Joel, I don’t have a gun. He has the gun.”

 

“Stop it, Trace,” he begs, “Stop it, please!”

 

The Boy turned with an evil smile, cocking the trigger of the gun slowly and pointing it right at the armchair.

 

“TRACE!” He screams with fear.

 

“It’s not me! It’s him, It’s him!”

 

“There is no one here Trace, Stop! ,” he says desperately, “there’s no one here but you, stop, please stop”.

 

Trace looked back at the Boy again.

 

“ Joel I’m not holding a gun! Look at my hands”

 

The Boy snickered causing thoughts of doubt to run through Traces mind. He didn’t have the gun, yet his palm felt heavy, empty, but heavy.

 

The Boy’s finger closed around the trigger, pointing it directly at Joel. Trace felt in his chest that he was going to kill him.

 

“No!” Trace screamed desperately charging at the boy, to only find himself fighting with the cool night air. 

 

Trace felt heaviness in his palms as he struggled to get the gun from the Boy. But the Boy regained his stance and pointed the gun back at Joel. It was in that moment that Trace saw the determination in his eyes, a similar determination to what he felt deep inside.

 

“We are going to kill him. We are going to kill him!”

 

“ STOP Trace, please! STOP ” Joel cried in desperation, but it was too late.

 

Something happened; the boys face turned to face Trace one last time, one by one tiny speckle's appeared on his face, freckles. Trace saw himself staring back at him with a smile of deadly determination.

 

For 10 short seconds, Trace was in limbo between what he felt and saw.

 

His ears were deafened by the thunder of a gunshot.

 

 

*   *   *

 

Bruce Wetherly stared at the TV, not quite believing what he was watching, even as the newswoman told him the facts one by one.

 

“Police arrived at the old town hall in Oxford to find that someone had broken in…

 

A gunshot fired… 9pm... Trace Wetherly… Fourteen… holding the murder weapon… Joel Buckley… deceased… a bullet wound to the chest.

 

After an extensive examination, Trace … schizophrenia … severe Multiple Personality Disorder…Trace’s father… history…  severe mental illnesses …

 

We are still waiting for more information.”

 

 

Bruce turned off the TV and sat, staring at it in shock.

 

 

 

13th of April

 

Trace’s subconscious had completely warn off and at the conclusion of his 10-second snap back to reality, he was able to identify the spine-chilling blue light seeping through the cracks, as the hallway light of the child and adolescent psychiatric ward. His nightmare had only just begun. 

Author's Note

This is a piece i have written inspired by " Multiple Personality Disorder" and mental illness. It challenges our fear of the " Supernatural" by replacing it with the societal reality of dealing with mental illness "the devil within"

Reviews

[John Sheridan]

Such stories are not horror, but all too often, reality. Well done, 12.09am.

[Stan Lee]

Woo this was super spooky and smooth. I was captivated throughout. Interesting how each of the paragraphs was almost a story in Its own right. I like your style! :)

[Charnell Hall]

I like this story. It is one of the few stories that I read all the way through. I especially like how the story was tied together by the multiple personality disorder that apparently runs in the family. At first I thought something supernatural was going on.

[PWyates]

Nice work taking a very real, and serious subject realistically without making it too dark too remain entertaining. Definitely a difficult tightrope to tread!