It's dark, it's cold and there's nothing, nothing to stress over. Frank liked it that way. No people to worry about, no noise. Frank was a writer. He wrote for the local paper in town as a advice columnist. Three months ago someone wrote in about needing help. Frank ignored the letter thinking the person who wrote it must be crazy. The letter consisted of paranoid ramblings over being followed in the street by some monster and even dreaming about it. The writer of the letter later killed herself in front of the newspaper building. Frank couldn't deal with the event or the constant questioning. He felt as if he was to blame and could have helped had he done more. He moved out to the country, far into the country. The house belonged to his grandmother who left it to him. Frank wanted to escape the remorse he had fet and to find himself. He didn't know exactly what he needed. Everything had always just fell into place and he had never gone through something like this.
His soul searching started at the house in the country and would hopefully end with a grand idea, or plan. One thing Frank could always do was write, even if just to relax. So he decided to start a new story just for fun. The story would be a journal of his quest in self discovery. A manifest of the things he cared about and wanted to explore. And maybe in the course, a way to forget the tragedy that changed his life.
Frank's house was 100s of miles away from town, hidden in a tree farm that his family owned for 4 generations. His cell phone would hardly get reception and only in one spot out in the yard, but Frank wasn't concerned. The weather was clear and sunny. Also the house was equipped with a shortwave radio to reach the nearest police station if an emergency were to occur.
The night was cold. There was a soft mist in the wind. Frank shivered and crossed his arms. He stood on his deck gazing into the night sky. He felt at peace there for the first time in months. He still needed to work and kept thinking to go set down at his laptop and write, but he was more interested in the sounds he heard through the woods. He did not miss the loud city. He felt at home there.
Frank's hands grew cold and he was suddenly shivering cold. He tried to walk back into the house from his porch, when all of the sudden he locked up! His legs, arms and back painfully cramped up and he fell forward to the floor of the deck. He tried to move around but it was as if he was being folded backwards. He cried out in pain trying to regain a normal form. Even his fingers seemed to felt like they were being bent back. Then as Fank turned his head towards the open field in front of his house the pain stopped and was replaced by chest clenching paralysis. Then right in front of his view was a ghostly apparition of a young woman whose face had been mutilated. She smiled but not in a happy way, but an anxiety filled rage! "STOP"!
Zac "The Poet "
- 14 days ago
