I am really messed up.
I figure I always have been, to an extent, ever since I found out I had Dyslexia when I was ten years old. My a's were upside-down, my words were jumbled, my B's were backwards and I couldn't read a sentence to save my life.
And then I found out that I had Scoliosis not long after, which as I grew taller, made my torso lean awkwardly to the right. I also had to, and still have to, wear a rather embarrassing back-brace every night that would surely scare anybody willing to be my friend off. Good thing I didn't have to worry about that.
But that's not why I'm so messed up.
I'm mostly messed up because one night, at around two-thirty A.M., I woke with a start and a strange feeling. The only light that illuminated my room was the grainy moonlight that seeped through the slits of my blinds.
There was a man standing across my room, his back facing me and his features too dark to decipher.
Only the mysterious man was not only standing there - he was slamming his head into my wall. His neck was arching, bending and snapping forward at full-force in the most horrifying motion. His forehead repeatedly bashed against the dark blue drywall.
The sound was even worse. I could hear the wall cracking beneath the power of the man's thrusting head so clearly, so loud that it echoed and practically shook the small house. A low, monotonous groan emitted from him as well. It seemed as if he didn't even stop to take a breath - his voice was a flat and dull, continuous line.
My eyes were as wide as saucers as I took in the sight in front of me. My thoughts were swarming and my face was drenched with cold sweat, as all I could do was blink.
I tried so desperately to scream, or make any type of noise, but my voice was trapped in my throat. When I tried to jolt up, my body seemed to be forced down with what felt like imaginary weights piled on top of my chest. The invisible weights also seemed to restrict my breathing, making my lungs tight and compact.
I could only watch.
The strange man stopped and stared at the wall for a few seconds, his back still facing me. The man had stopped groaning, and the room fell silent. It was almost deafening.
My chest was moving up and down rapidly. I could hear my own frantic breath but I couldn't seem to form a coherent sound no matter how hard I tried.
I could only stare at the back of the mysterious man's head; all that I could see was the short length of the man's hair and the large jacket he was wearing. The silhouette behind him stretched and faded across the empty wall where he stood before me.
The only sound that filled the room at that moment was my breathing, and my whispered, heaving attempts to speak or cry.
When the man finally turned to me, I would have screamed so loud if I could have.
The strange man's forehead was completely mangled. The flesh was falling off, skin hanging from his face and beneath it, inky blood seeped down the dip of his nose, lips, and neck at a slow pace. His eyes were wide, his pupils were small and locked on me.
He reached up and peeled the skin of his mouth off, revealing the bloody insides beneath it as well. All I could see was the strange man's two rows of rotted teeth.
I would have thrown up if I was capable of doing anything but staring.
When he stepped closer to me, a rush of overwhelming terror melted through me and shook my body so vigorously I could practically hear my bones rattling beneath the sensation. I wanted to run; I wanted to pick up my old, metal baseball bat off the ground and slam it over the guy's head to make sure his face wasn't the only part of him gushing blood.
YOU ARE READING
Ethan's nightmares are terrifying. He hates falling asleep; he hates having to witness the twisted world that he's forced into when he closes his eyes. But when they begin to blend into reality, facing them may be his only choice. #87 in horror - 5...