The Strange Case of the Jackson Building

Chapter 8 - Hysteria

Chapter Eight

Hysteria

She was running, but didn't know from what. All she knew was that her survival depended on it. All she knew was that something was chasing her, something that was thirsty for her blood, hungry for her flesh. Something that was ready to rip her body apart, without mercy, take her soul and drag it to Hell.

She couldn't see where she was going, everything was pitch black, yet she felt trapped, caged, hopeless. She knew what was hunting her was patient, it had all the time in the world. It would never get tired, never give up, never be defeated and its hunger for her would never die.

She was terrified, knowing that what awaited her was worse than torture.

Hands shaking madly, she opened a wooden door and got inside. As she was locking the door, she couldn't help but notice her hands were bigger and stronger than they should. Also, most confusing of all, her skin was several shades darker.

Looking around, she found a mirror. Slowly, she walked towards it, fearing what she would see.

She gasped in shock and had to fight herself to suppress a scream. She wasn't herself - literally. Somehow, she was trapped inside the body of a grown black man. Her hands flew to her face, as if to make sure it was really there.

A loud noise came from the door, startling her. It had found her and it was furiously banging at the strong wood. Tears of despair fell from her eyes and she fell to her knees, grabbing her head and uttering prayers she didn't even know existed.

Her time had come. She was doomed.

The brutal banging stopped for a moment and she allowed herself to hold a little bit of hope.

But it didn't leave. It knew she was there.

Instead, it was pacing, back and forth in front of the wooden door, like it always did.

The sound of the mechanical, unnatural, beastly steps, coming nearer and nearer, then getting further and further away only to get closer again, was enough to bring her to the brink of madness. They were always slow and methodical and unnerving, patient and cold.

It was its favorite torture device, the waiting and knowing, the anxiousness and rising panic.

The shrilling sound of those cruel footsteps stopped, but this time, she knew better.

It banged on the door again, with more power than before and, despite knowing it was coming, she still jumped at the sound. It continued to furiously hit the wood, nonstop, scratching and tearing it apart with its blade-like claws. The noise was unbearable and she just wanted it to stop.

She dragged herself to the opposite side of the room, brought her legs close to her chest and covered her ears. The fear was so consuming, she was on the verge of throwing up. Her heart was almost beating out of her chest, breathing was a painful ordeal. She couldn't believe she was about to die, she couldn't prepare herself mentally for all the pain she was about to endure.

Why wasn't anyone around to help?

Please, God, can someone please help?

I don't want to die.

The sound of the door being violently wrecked was getting louder.

Please, please, someone!

It wouldn't stop.

Help me, please! Help!

The wood was cracking.

I don't want to die.