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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

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Thank you !!

Chosen (full story)

Initially published on r/nosleep.

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PART 1

How does a religion die ? Most people would say that a religion dies when there are no believers left.

I know that’s wrong.

When I first heard about Hadès, I was eight. My teacher gave us homework on greek mythology, and being the nerdy kid I was, I pretty much ran into the library straight after school and started digging up all the books I could find on the subject. There was none in the children’s section, so I went into the science and history section. There were several, but one in particular grabbed my eye. “ Greek mythology : The Forgotten Gods ” It was beautiful. It was a bit too complicated for a 8 year old, though, so in the next few days my mom helped me read it and note down all the information I needed for my homework. I loved it. The myths, the power, the drama (even though I realized later that my mother kept the most violent ones and the sexual ones away from me).

Hades was my favorite. I remember how the book said that little to no shrines were dedicated to him, but that he was always mentionned during funeral ceremonies. I found it sad that people expected him to protect them in death, but ignored him through their whole life.

My mother is a Christian. She taught me to pray every night before bed.

After learning about Hades, I started adding at the end of my nightly prayer “And may Hades help me through my whole life and death ”. It wasn’t disturbing for me to talk to a different god. I don’t think I fully understood the concept of Gods yet. I pictured Jesus and God as real men sitting on clouds somewhere above my house, and Hadès as a real old man sitting on a cloud in Greece, and for me, Greece was as distant as the sky.

That’s when the odds started to be in my favor. It wasn’t much, mind you : the teacher making us watch my favorite Disney movie, my mother agreeing to letting my best friend and I have a sleepover two week-ends in a row, getting the last one of my favorite pastry, having dogs walk up to me in the street and let me pet them…

You know what children’s prayers are like.

I wasn’t truly expecting Hades to listen to me and grant me my wishes, I just mentionned him in my prayer because I felt bad about him not getting many prayers, as the book said. In my child mind, I figured that he must feel lonely if no one cared about him.

I kept mentionning him in my prayers until I was about 12. By then, I had a better understanding of religion and it just felt silly to pray to an ancient Greek God. I noticed that things were getting harder for me, but again, I did not think it had anything to do with my prayers.

When I was 14, my mother decided to make me take a calligraphy class with her. She never told me, but I realized later that she saw it as a way to spend time with me. I wasn’t a difficult teen (didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, wasn’t rude, and my only shoplifting experience was a lipgloss from the supermarket), but I did spend every minute possible with my friends, and my family resented it.

I was reluctant to go, but against all odds, I fell in love with calligraphy. I was the younger in the class, and for a few months, I was the teacher’s pet. Her name was Eleanor, and she always dressed in long, flowing skirts in bright colors. I loved her from day one. We started with just one letter, then the word “Home ”, then “Hello ”, and then a full (albeit short) sentence : “Happy birthday to you ”. By then, I was getting pretty good, and soon enough the teacher allowed me to try and work on a personal project : I could write whatever I wanted, and embellish it to my liking. She gave me different colors of ink, thick paper, and recommended that I stuck to one word to start.

I decided my word would be a name. I had always liked the way “Hades ” sounded. It sounded strong, powerful, and, yes, clean, somehow. It had a natural authority, and I felt that if I managed to embellish the H and the S the way I pictured it in my head, it would look great. I worked on it for hours. I started in class, but I took some of the supplies home (with Eleanor’s agreement) and worked on it the whole weekend.

Eleanor didn’t like it one bit. For a second, she looked almost angry, then she composed herself and asked me why I chose that name. I told her I’ve always been interested in Greek mythology, and she asked me if I believed in it. That struck me as a strange question, because no one still believes in Greek mythology, right ? So I laughed and said I didn’t, of course, but I loved to study it. She then told me, in a cold tone she had never used with me before, that Hades was way too harsh sounding of a name, and that I should have written my own name instead.

I did love it, though. It was black and gold, the ink had runned a little, but it somehow added to its beauty. I hung it out proudly in my room.

I met Hades two weeks later.

When I got to the calligraphy class that week, there was a new student. He was the only male in a sea of middle-aged housewives (plus one awkward teenager), but what made him stand out the most was his outfit. The other women wore mom jeans or flowing dresses, I wore mostly black, ragged jeans with Converse. He, on the other hand, wore a dark red suit, with a black shirt and a crimson tie. And he was beautiful. Black straight hair, tanned skin, and the kindest, warmest, striking blue eyes I had ever seen in my life. He introduced himself as Sean.

He was friendly, charming, and won all the women over in a matter of minutes. All of them, except for Eleanor. Despite the newcomer’s obvious talent for calligraphy, she barely talked to him and seemed to avoid him as much as possible. As you can imagine, that started rumours among the students : during our usual coffee after the class, Eleanor and Sean were the center of every conversation. Was he his ex ? Did he leave her for another woman ? Did he leave her for another man ?

I didn’t care much for this kind of conversations, but it was pretty funny to see those 40 something women acting like teenagers.

The next week, some of the women decided to ask Sean to join us for coffee after class. He agreed. He ended up sitting next to me, and congratulated me for my Hades art. I thanked him awkwardly, as I wasn’t used to sitting next to attractive men in their twenties, and let the conversation go on another subject.

It was only when I got home and saw it hanging on my bedroom wall that I realized that I had finished this piece and took it home before he started coming to the class. I figured someone would have told him about it, but I felt like something was off.

Staring at my Hades piece, I realized how long it has been since I last mentionned him on my prayers. As much I knew how silly this was, I felt a ping of guilt at thinking of Hades, alone on his Greek cloud, with no one caring about him. So that night, at the end of my prayer, I added “And may Hadès help me through my whole life and death. Oh and also, get Aaron to notice me. And an endless supply of chicken nuggets would be great, if you have time to do that for me. Thanks, Hades ”. I didn’t take it as seriously as I did as a kid, but it couldn’t hurt, right ?

When Aaron asked me out the next day, I nearly had a heart attack. I was on cloud nine for the remainder of the school week.

Friday afternoon came around, and it was time for the weekly calligraphy class again. My date with Aaron was scheduled for 7pm, so I wouldn’t stay for coffee this time. My mother would probably embarass me by telling all the others about my upcoming first date anyway, so I was happy to skip that, thank you very much. So as soon as Eleanor called the end of the class, I started frantically grabbing my stuff. Being the awkward teen I was, of course, I ended up dropping half the contents of my backpack on the floor. Sean reached down to pick my books from under his chair, and when he handed them to me, he said : “Have fun at your date with Aaron, Cara ! ” Mom. For fuck’s sake. Did she really have to tell everyone about it ? “Erm, thanks ”. “I’ll see what I can do about the chicken nuggets.”. I was too stunned to react, so I just watched him wink, put on his suit vest, and walk away.

We talked a lot, after that. Both in person and in my mind. I’ve heard stories from times no human were born, and of all the times humanity needed Gods.

Hades isn’t the cold, heartless God we picture in history books. Oh, I’m not saying he’s a benevolent, loving Savior either. Gods aren’t good or bad in nature. Those are human traits.

They can choose to interact with us, or not. Those people who claim they’re talking to God and God is speaking back ? They’re not crazy. They’ve been chosen, like I’ve been.

When I started mentionning him in my prayers, I was the first human in over 1800 years to call him. Even when greek gods were routinely worshipped, speaking his name out loud was supposed to be unlucky.

Hades gave me only two conditions to maintain our relationship : 1- My firstborn would have to be christened in his name. 2- I could not, under any circumstances, trust Eleanor.

The first one was an easy one, for me. Knowing all I know about Gods, I could not give my child a Christian baptism anyway. My mother will be mad, but she’ll get over it.

The second one, though, is intriguing to me. To this day, he has always refused to tell me the reasons why I couldn’t trust Eleanor. All he said was “That’s family issues. You don’t get to know that ”. He’d get angry everytime I even mentionned her name.

I dropped off the calligraphy class two months after I met him, and got enrolled into a new one a few miles away. My mother was annoyed at having to drive further, but she did it anyway, so we could spend time together.

Having Hades in my life has been a blessing. My life is a hundred times richer and more interesting thanks to him, and, above all, I am not afraid of death anymore.

But something happened today. Two things, actually.

The first thing is that I found out I was pregnant this morning. My husband and I have been trying for the past six months, and I was getting worried. I’m overjoyed, and of course, the first thing I did was yelling for my husband to come to the bathroom. A minute after, we were both crying happy tears.

I decided that we would go out for lunch, to celebrate. Our workplaces are about a 10 minute walk from each other, so I decided to walk there at about 12.30 and surprise him. When I arrived, however, he was already outside the building, sitting on the bench with his back to me. Next to him was a woman with long, silky auburn hair. As I approached them, I overheard her saying : “At last. That’s great news, Mark ! We’ll need to start organizing the christening soon. It will take a while to prepare. ”

Erm. Who was she and what made her think she had a say in my child’s christening ? I know people can be quite bigotted in the area, but still. That’s something I always made very clear to Mark : I won’t get my child christened at the local church just to please friends and coworkers. I don’t care if people talk. (Obviously, I left out the part about christening our child in Hades’ name. What he doesn’t know cannot hurt him, right?)

I put a smile on my face and said loudly : “Darling ! Hi ! I wanted to surprise you and… ” I stopped abruptly as the woman turned around to see me. We both froze in place.

It’s been 19 years since I last saw Eleanor. She hasn’t aged a day.

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PART 2

She composed herself really quickly and introduced herself as “Anna”. She said she was Mark’s friend from university.

He never told me about a “Anna”.

“You look strikingly alike a calligraphy teacher I had when I was a teen” I said with a smile.

“Oh yes, I get that a lot. Eleanor, right? Apparently I have a doppelganger! I’ve had people stop me in the street telling me how happy they were to see me again and I’m always standing there like ‘Sorry man you got the wrong person’!”. Her tone was warm, but her eyes were cold.

She quickly excused herself to “let us celebrate”, congratulated me on the baby and walked away, her long, flowing green skirt dancing in the wind.

I felt uncomfortable during lunch with Mark. I couldn’t wait to be back to work so I could call Hades.

When I finally did, I locked myself in my office and asked my assistant to withhold any calls I might be getting until further notice.

“Hades? Hades! I need you!” I thought hard and clear.

Seconds later, his voice resonated in my head.

“I know, Cara. I saw it too.You have to leave.”

His voice was urgent, and he sounded… Scared? That made me even more anxious. Hades was always laid back, so relaxed and confident that he was nearly arrogant at times.

“Leave? Leave what? Where?!”

“You have to leave Mark. She hid all this time because she knew I was watching you both, but she’s out now. It means business. If you want to save your child, you can’t stay.”

“But I can’t leave Mark just because he knows Eleanor! There’s something fishy about her, ok, I get that, but he’s my husband, this is his child too and -”

“Cara. Her name isn’t Eleanor. Her name is Hera.”

Hera? The Goddess of Marriage and Women? Doesn’t sound that threatening now. I mean, Hades is the God of the Underworld, and he’s not half as bad as he’s depicted, so Hera couldn’t be worse.

“Why would Hera want to hurt me or my child? I’m a woman, isn’t she supposed to protect me? And as far as I’m concerned I never had an affair with Zeus…”

“It’s not about you, Cara. It’s about me. And power”.

That’s the thing with talking with Gods.

They never tell you the whole story. They’re secretive by nature, and they’ll only reveal what they want you to know, often leaving out important scraps of truth. For example, I know that Persephone doesn’t exist anymore, but I never got Hades to tell me how or when she died.

What Hades revealed to me then, was that christening is more than offering the child protection from a God. It creates a bond that cannot be broken. And that’s how Gods gain power. Not power as in ability to do godly things (the whole chosing your appearance, changing people into animals or stones, being in two places at the same time, time-travelling, blah blah blah). That is a given for them. Power as in power over other Gods.

Believers may come and go, and Gods aren’t obliged to help everyone who call them, but someone christened in their name? That’s different. That’s powerful. Your God will hear you, and they’ll do anything to keep you alive, because if you die? That’s less power for them.

The catch is that your God can also influence you to become the person he/she wants you to be.

And you won’t even realize.

That’s why organized religions make such a big deal of baptism. For a God, power means influencing the history of mankind. It means other Gods will fear you, or at least respect you enough to not try to overthrow you.

This link between baptized people and power is also the reason why religious wars are a thing. By making their people kill people from another God, one God can reduce the power of the other, and, in the long term, take the lead.

“So you’re telling me that you wanted to control my child? That’s why you asked me to christen it in your name?!”

“No, no!”, he exclaimed. “I don’t care about that. I just need the power. She would have been free to do whatever she wanted, I just needed -”

“She?”

I could hear him smile. “Yes. The child you’re carrying. It’s a she.”.

I started tearing up. “But why can’t Hera pick another child? She must know that I plan to christen my child in your name. What can she do to stop me from doing that? Can she hurt me?”

He seemed determined when he said “Oh, no. I won’t let her. Trust me. And we will christen your baby in my name first, as soon as she’s born. We just need to make sure she doesn’t christen her in her name afterwards. That’s why you need to leave.”

“What happens if she christens her in her name ? If I had already christened her in yours, it won’t work, right? You can’t christen a child in two Gods’ name?”

“Oh, Cara. There’s so much you don’t know.”, he said sadly. “Of course you can. But it means war”.

So that’s my situation now.

If my daughter is christened in both names, she will be in the middle of two forces. Hera will be able to influence her, but Hades said he will do all he can to counteract this. I trust him.

But for him, it will also mean that the war with Hera will start. And it will only end when one of them is dead.

Hades never had humans christened in his name before. So he was never a threat for anyone, and that’s how he managed to roam the Earth for milleniums, free and careless.

But he says things are changing. Old Gods are tired of being forgotten, and Hera wants to be the most powerful. And she’s willing to destroy everyone so that she and her children can take the lead.

I can’t leave Mark. I can’t just flee and hope for Hera to never find me, I can’t impose this kind of life on my child. I have to stop Hera from christening my child. I don’t know how yet, but I will find out. I won’t let her ruin my daughter’s life.

Tomorrow, Mark and I are going to our first echography. I have to relax and think of the baby first.

Hades will help me. He always does.

Oh my God.

When I saw the look of worry on the ob-gyn’s face, I felt like my whole world was shattering. No matter how complicated this situation is, I can’t lose this baby. I just can’t. I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I love her already.

“What? What? What’s wrong? Is the baby ok? Is it healthy?” I exclaimed.

The doc furrowed his brow. “She’s… She’s healthy, from what I can see. But …”

“But what?!” I was almost crying at this point. Mark was holding my hand, nearly crushing it.

“You’re 9 months pregnant, Madam.”

They said it was a denial of pregnancy. They said it happened, and that they don’t know the exact causes of this phenomenon yet.

They said I probably conceived when I was still on the pill, which explains the “anniversary” periods I had in the first 3 months, and that the hormonal unbalance caused by going off the pill probably masked the symptoms of pregnancy. And since I believed I wasn’t pregnant, my mind “tricked” my body into not looking pregnant. My stomach was still flat.

But I know that’s wrong. I wasn’t pregnant two months ago. I started feeling all the symptoms of early pregnancy only 3 weeks ago : the nausea, the tiredness…

I wasn’t supposed to give birth until January.

But they said they will induce labor tomorrow.

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PART 3

We named her Charlotte Ava James.

Giving birth is a world-shattering experience. The second they put her on me and I looked at her tiny, tiny face, I knew my life would never be the same. I could kill to protect her.

Sadly, I didn’t have much time to appreciate this magical moment, as I heard Hades’ voice in my head : “Cara, I need to christen her. I need you to let me take possession of your body. Please.”

It was such a troubling experience. It felt like being in the back seat of my mind : I was there, I could see and feel everything, but it wasn’t me. I watched my thumb draw a straight line from Charlotte’s forehead onto her nose, her lips, her chin, while I heard myself muttering words in Greek while having no idea what they meant. And then I was back.

“Thank you, Cara. She’s beautiful. I’m watching you, I’ll be here in a heartbeat if you need me, ok?”.

I just nodded. I was exhausted.

After a few hours of staring at Charlotte in awe, I ended up drifting off in Mark’s arms in my hospital bed, Charlotte sleeping in her cot nearby. I knew Hades was looking over us, so I felt safe enough.

How presomptuous of me to assume we could relax.

I awoke to Hades’ voice. “Cara, she’s coming, we have to leave.”.

Mark was pushing Hades away, clearly startled to be awoken by a stranger in a dark purple suit: “Who are you? Who let you in?”

But it was too late for explanations anyway, because Hera appeared.

Yes, appeared. She didn’t walk in, or pretended to be “Anna” anymore. She just materialised in the middle of the hospital room, wearing a white, silky blouse and her usual long, flowing skirt, this time in bright pink.

Mark’s face lit up, then he looked at me anxiously : “Cara, I… It’s kind of a long story…”.

I was already sitting up, despite my C-section hurting me, trying to get Charlotte. Hera’s smile spread wider.

“There she is! Look how precious. Isn’t she adorable? Isn’t -”

She didn’t finish her sentence, because Hades sent her flying across the room.

The next minutes were a blur. They were both moving too fast for Mark and I to properly see them, so we just clutched to Charlotte and to each other, feeling nothing but panic, until it came to an abrupt end when Hades dropped to the floor like a lifeless doll.

Hera extended a hand to Mark. In a cold, authoritary voice, she said:

“The baby. Give it to me. Now.”.

Mark’s face discomposed. He let go of me and Charlotte and stood between us and Hera.

One flick of Hera’s hand. Just one small, quick gesture, that I could have missed if I wasn’t watching her as intensely as I was.

One flick of her wrist, and a fine line appeared on Mark’s throat. Blood started flowing down from this line, a crimsom river covering his thin, blue hospital gown.

I barely had time to scream before Hades materialised next to me, grabbed my shoulder and took me away.

I was still in a bed, but it wasn’t an hospital one anymore. This bed was huge, with expensive looking sheets and covers. The whole room was richly decorated. It was daytime when we left, but it was sunset where we arrived.

I was still holding Charlotte. She wasn’t even crying, just slowly moving her legs and arms, her eyes closed.

Hades was sitting next to me. He wore no sign of the battle that had just happen : no blood, no cut, no bruise, nothing.

He looked at me intensely and said “You’re safe here. For now.”

We both sat there in silence, until my heartbeat returned to normal, until it all started to feel real.

Then he held me while I burst into lungs-collapsing sobs.

Mark is looking at me with such sad, begging eyes, my heart breaks again. I stare at the line on his throat, the dried blood all over the front of his body, the pale blue of his skin matching the hospital gown.

He speaks quietly, calmly.

“Why did you leave, Cara? Why did you abandon me?”

“I-I, I couldn’t do anything, I swear, Mark, I didn’t want to leave! I just wanted to protect Charlotte, I wasn’t thinking straight…”

His smile chills me to the bone.

“And you’ve made a great job, didn’t you? She’s DEAD, CARA, CHARLOTTE IS DEAD!”

That’s when I notice the weight in my arms. I look down. Craddled in my arms is my beautiful, tiny baby.

She’s blue, just like her dad. Her lifeless body is still.

Then she opens her dead, cold, glazed eyes, and giggles.

“CHARLOTTE!!”

“SHHH!” Hades slapped my wrist. “She’s sleeping. She’s fine. Hera’s sending you nightmares.”

And indeed, there she was. Sleeping peacefully in Hades’ arms, her little body rising and falling with each small, victorious, magnificent breath. My daughter. Those two words still felt unreal.

Only after I was reassured did I notice the two other people in the room. One was a teen, maybe Dominican ? Her skin was a light brown color, her hair was black and curly, and she had big, dark brown eyes and freckles around the nose. She was gorgeous.

And the other was…

“Olivia?!”

She sighed. “No, well I mean yes, but I’m not really Olivia. But it was her you were friends with as a teen, yes.”.

“What?”

Another sigh. “I’m Athena. This”, she gestured around her face, “is just the body I’m currently in. Olivia isn’t here anymore, I’m afraid. It’s a long story.

Oh. This was getting more and more disturbing.

The teen girl smiled and said “And I’m Hestia. Hello. We’re here to help you. And Hades.”

Have you ever had breakfast with three Greek Gods planning a war?

That’s quite the experience.

From what I’ve understood, the only way to destroy a God is to convince or to force the one who gave it life to kill it.

So that means the only ones who can stop Hera are her parents, who are also Hades’ and Hestia’s parents and Athena’s grand-parents : Cronos and Rhea. Who, from what I deduced from the conversation, aren’t really interested in the fights between their offsprings.

“Wait” I asked, feeling my old fascination for Greek mythology coming back “then it means Gaia and Uranus cannot be killed, right? Or … is Nyx an actual entity like you guys? And in that case, who are Nyx’s parents?”

They stopped talking and looked at me sternly. At last, Athena smiled and said “You ask way too many questions, human. Go back to bed.”

I breastfed Charlotte, marvelling at her tiny hands and looking for traces of Mark on her face.

Mark… Hades said he wasn’t a bad man. He said Hera can be a very persuasive God, so I shouldn’t be mad at Mark for falling into her trap.

Still, there’s so much I don’t know, and will never know now. Everything happened too fast to give me a chance to have a real conversation with him. I thought I had time, I thought we would talk after the birth, when things calmed down. I was so stupid.

I settled back into the bed, and despite everything, or maybe because of everything, I fell asleep within seconds.

My mother opens the door of our family house.

“Eleanor! Oh my God, it’s been so long! You haven’t changed at all, dear, that’s crazy ! Oh, it’s so lovely to see you. Come in!”

Hera is standing on the porch, smiling warmly. She reaches down to pet my dog Brown, this old labrador I got when I was 15. My mother always said I should take it home with me now that I’m settled, but I know that she would miss him, so I never did.

Brown isn’t having it. He growls.

She comes inside, while Mom is already putting the kettle on (she’s British, she followed my dad to New Hampshire after they met while he was holidaying in Kent in 1975, and they’ve been together ever since) and yelling for my dad to come downstairs “Jacob ! Come here! You’ll never guess who just came to see us!”

But Dad is only halfway down the stairs when Hera clunches her fist and Mom falls on her knees, her hands at her throat, desperately trying to catch a breath. He stumbles down the last steps, screaming, but Hera just shoots him a look and he fells on his knees too, apparently breathing but silent, his face a mask of terror.

Brown jumps, but he doesn’t come down. He explodes in a rain of ashes.

I wake up, screaming, to find Athena cuddling a crying Charlotte. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and tell her “Give me my daughter, she’s probably hungry.”

But she doesn’t. Hades and Hestia are sitting on the bed. Hades strokes my cheek and whispers

“Cara, it’s better if she stays with Athena just for a moment, ok?”

I start getting up. I can take care of my own daughter. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just those nightmares again. Give me Charlotte, ok? Just give me my daughter!”

“It wasn’t a dream, Cara. Hera wanted you to see what she did to your parents”.

I don’t fully realize that my parents are gone.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I have two brothers and a sister, and 6 nephews and nieces. When I think of Hera hurting them too… I can’t let that happen.

I don’t know how to keep everyone I love safe.

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PART 4 (FINAL)

Hello, Redditors. My name is Angela and Cara has been my best friend since high school.

Cara asked me to update on her story, but I’m not going to write wHat she wants me to. I didn’t want to write at all, at first, but after reading what she wrote in her previous posts I realized it could be an opportunity to ask for your help.

Cara is currently committEd to a psychiatric hospital after killing her husband, and she is suspected of murdering her parents and her child, though their bodies haven’t been found.

I couldn’t believe it at fiRst, but the police said the hospital cameras clearly showed that no one entered or left her room before the nurses found Mark laying in a pool of his own blood. It’s still unsure how she escAped, as the power went out rIght after the nurses heard a scream coming from Cara’s room and rushed to help. Therefore, there were no video recordingS for about 15 minutes afterwards. The baby was noWhere to be found, either.

I’ve read her previous posts, and it doesn’t sound like Cara. I’ve known her for more thAn a decade, and she was noT a religious person. I knew she was brought up in a Christian household, but the only times she went to church was when she visited her parents baCk in our hometown. As I moved to California for work a few years ago, we Haven’t seen each other much lately but we’re stIll pretty close and I know she would have told me about whatever faith she found.

Her posts about Greek Gods don’t make aNy sense. I don’t know if she was havinG hallucinations when she wrote those posts, or if it was some kind of defence mechanism for her mind not to register what she had just done to her husbaNd, but I know from what the police revealed that Mrk was not killed by some kind of magical superpower. He was killed with the knife Cara was using tO eat her hospital meal, covered in her fingerprints. The line on his throat was nOt ‘thin’ as she quoted in her post, it was a mess. The autopsy revealed that the killer struggled, which is coNsistent with the hypothesis that the killer was somEone with little strength, like Cara.

I wish I could believe her stories about Greek Gods. I wish I could honestly belIeve that my friend isn’t a murderer, but I can’t. I don’t know what’S happening to Cara, but I do believe she killed Mark. But she isn’t a monster, that I can promiSe you. She’s the sweetest, kindest person I know and she’s been the best friend I’ve ever had. She’s cleArly disturbed. I’m not an expert in mental health, but I’m sure it’s not her Fault, I’m sure she’s ill and she would never had done that if she wasn’t.

Her denial of pregnancy probably revEaled some underlying condition. I’d be shocked, too, if I suddenly found out I was 9 months Pregnant and had to undergo childbirth with virtually no time to get myself ready for it. I’m not trying to find excuses for what she did, I’m just trying to understand.

Two days after disappearing with Charlotte, Cara was found, aLone, in a old abandonned house near Kanab, Utah. She was clean, hEalthy and she had food, even though she was 20 miles awAy from the nearest grocery store and didn’t have a car. We don’t know how she got there and how she got the food, but one thing that’s certain is that Charlotte had been there because there were dirty diapers in the bin. But Charlotte waSn’t here anymore.

Cara was brought to the hospital, and hEr sister Maria flew to Utah to be by her side. Maria then managed to get Cara commited in a psychiatric hospital in South Cal. Maria, her husband and kids live here, so sHe could visit Cara everyday and wait for hEr to get better. As soon as she called me, I drove aLl the way from San Francisco to see Cara, but at first the hosPital only allowed visits from family Members. Maria tells me everything she hears from the hospital and the police, so I’ve been well informEd.

It’s been hard for Maria, seeing her sister going mad, losing her brother in law and having no idea whether her parents and her newborn niece are still alive. Maria is Cara’s little sister, and the baby of the family; her older brothers have always been overprotective of her and it feels weird to see her take the wheel that way. Cara’s and Maria’s brothers are arriving on Thursday, so at least Maria will get some support.

I’ve been allowed to see Cara for the first time today, and sHe was in an awful state. She kept muttering to herself, picking at her skin and hair, she hAd spasms… Please, do not judge her. I know what she did is terrible, but she’s mentally ill. She is not aware of what she did. She keeps saying Hera killed her husband anD her mother. She won’t say what happened to her fathEr, though, and she refuses to even Say Charlotte’s name. When I visisted her today, she kept telling me “my daughter is safe, don’t talk about her, please, my daughter is safe”. And theN she asked me to update this story on Reddit because “people have to know what’s coming”, but she won’t tEll me what she means.

As you can see, I’m not hEre to warn you against a mythological GoD. I’m here to aSk for help. I don’t know where Charlotte is, but I doubt she’s safe. Cara isn’t herself right now and doesn’t know what she’s doing, so I’m verY worried about where she left Charlotte and whether she’s still alive. I don’t know what happened to Cara’s parents either. In her last pOst, she talks about her mother being murdered and her father being… I don’t know, controlled? Kidnapped? But while no bodies have been foUnd, her parents did disappear the day after Charlotte’s birth. CaRa’s car was found in front of her parents’ house in Flagstaff, empty and unlocked. There was no sign of fight around the car or in the house.

Please, Reddit, if you have any idea as to where Charlotte could be found, it would helP the police so much. I know the community heRe is known for solving mysteries, so tAke it as a challenge or a game if You want, I don’t care if you don’t takE me seriously, but we need to find ChaRlotte. I truly hope Cara’s state is temporary, but if Charlotte is in danger we might not have much time to find and Save her.

#writers #writers of horror #writers on tumblr #horror #horror story #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit #greek mythology #hades #hera #athena #ignisaurumprobat19

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

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Midnight in Paris (full story)

initially published on r/nosleep

Paris may be the City of Love when you're a tourist taking pictures of the Sacré Coeur and having romantic, wine-filled meals in beautiful restaurants, but not so much when you're a broke 19 year old on a year abroad who just got dumped by his two-year girlfriend.

To top it off, it was December 17th and my roommates had already left the city, both of them going back home for Christmas holidays. The only thing I came home to after my last day of exams in La Sorbonne was an empty, slightly dirty flat, and the realization that my spanish roommate took his PS3 home with him.

I still had a bit more than 24hrs left in Paris before boarding my flight to LAX and the festive atmosphere made me feel more lonely than ever.

When I landed in Charles de Gaulle in early September, Paris looked so full of promises.

For the first two months, it was. Friendship blossomed quickly between my roommates (a Spanish, geeky 21 year old who never seemed to go to uni, and a 30 year old Irish doctorate candidate who spent 12 hours a day in the library), and I felt home in our cramped little flat.

I partied, explored the city, ate great food and drank cheap wine; often with friends, sometimes with a couple of girls I met at uni.

But real life caught up with me, in the form of compulsatory attendance classes, exams coming up, and some unfortunate tagged pictures on facebook that my girlfriend happened to see before I untagged them.

And here I was.

After a quick meal of leftover pizza, I decided to go for a walk. The cold was numbing, but going out was better than staying alone in this silent flat. I'm Californian, born and raised, so I admit I'm not too used to cold temperatures, but even Parisians had told me how uncharacterically cold this December was. Gloved hands in my pockets, woolly hat pulled low on my forehead and ears, I made my way through the crowded streets of Paris, secretly jealous of all those couples holding on to each other.

After nearly an hour of wandering, I stopped for a chocolat chaud in a little café I knew well. It was a well-known place in that neighborhood, always crowded, even late at night. When the waitress recognized me and smiled, I realized how much I appreciated and needed that little bit of warmth.

That's why when someone asked if they could share my table, I happily obliged. The place was crowded, the newcomer seemed kind enough and was an english speaker, something I really came to appreciate after nearly four months in France.

He had one of those snob british accent that I either find endearing or annoying, depending on the person speaking. For him, it was definitely endearing. He looked about 60, maybe 65, and his clothes seemed from another age. Hell, he even had a fob watch in his jacket's pocket ! I had never seen one IRL.

Perhaps sensing how much I needed someone to talk to, he turned out to be amiable and started the conversation almost immediately. Before I knew, I had told him everything about my first months in Paris and how I felt like I was disappointing everyone back home, from my parents to my ex-girlfriend.

He listened carefully, nodding from times to times, and when I finished, he pat my hand while I held back tears.

Only then did I notice that he hadn't ordered anything to drink. In fact, the waitress ignored him completely. As I said, it was a busy night, but in that café they were used to dealing with that. I felt bad for talking so much and not even noticing that he didn't get to order anything. Through the glistening of my tears, I noticed the greyish tone of his skin; he looked older than I initially thought.

I asked him if he wanted me to go up to the bar and get him a drink, but he shook his head, laughing quietly, and said it wouldn't be necessary.

“Actually, young man, I suggest you finish up that hot chocolate and join me for a night out with my friends! That will surely lift your spirits!”, he said with a smile.

I tried to turn down his offer, but he insisted, and what could I do? I couldn't say no to an older man who listened to my whiny ass for an hour. I figured I would go to that old people's “party”, stay for a bit, and then excuse myself. It would make him happy, and I would get one more hour out of the empty flat that was waiting for me to come back and feel sorry for myself.

I left a five euros bill on the table and left with my new friend. His name was James, by the way.

James led me to the nearest metro station. It had one of these big “METROPOLITAIN” signs at the entrance; the kind I used to take pictures with during my first week here, but quickly stopped after feeling the hatred from Parisians I blocked the way from.

I knew that particular station pretty well : my friend Giac lived a few streets away.

Which is why I gasped when I walked down the stairs after James and found out it looked nothing like the last time I went inside.

The white tiles had been replaced by wood and stone. Funk music was blasting, and colored lights flashed. There was no train in sight, no ticket vending machine, nothing that would make sense in a station.

And most of all, it was full of the most diverse crowd I had ever seen in my life.

Before I got enough time to take it all in, a black-haired dude in a dark purple velvet suit blocked my way. He angrily whispered :

“-James, for Zeus' sake. He doesn't belong here. You can't just bring people along.

-Oh come on, Mr H. ! The kid is going through a rough time. It'll lift his spirits!”, James giggled.

“Mr H” rolled his eyes.

“-Enough with the puns already, James. Alright, the kid can stay. But you're responsible for him.”

Mr H. shot me a cold look with his piercing blue eyes, but I could tell from the slight curl of his lips that he was quite amused by the situation.

“WHO IS THAAAT?”

I jumped at the deep, excited voice. Turning around, I realized it belong to a big, muscular drag queen with lime green platform heels and a flowing yellow button down dress, wide open on a fake cleavage that looked ready to burst.

I mumbled “Erm, I'm Dan. Nice to meet you.”

James chuckled : “Andy, be nice with the kid...”

“ISNT HE THE CUTEST THING? RIGHT? RIGHT? LOOK AT HIM! EVERYONE, THIS IS DAN!”, he screamed, turning around in a swift motion that sent his dress flying around him.

A sea of faces turned to me, but I didn't look at them. I stood there, shocked, as I stared into the drag queen exposed cleavage. Under the stuffed bra, a huge, gaping wound stood on his ribcage.

The bones were exposed.

Yet not a single drop of blood was dripping off.

I felt James holding my arm. He whispered : “It's okay, kiddo. Don't worry.”

Looking around, it was all I could see now. When I first got a glimpse of the crowd, I saw the crazy outfits and hairstyles, from the hippies with long hair to the ladies in voluminous, Marie Antoinette-like gowns and crazy updos, the flapper girl in the corner, the classy Edwardian dandies smoking cigars...

But now, oh now, I saw it all.

The flapper girl's hairpiece covered the part of her skull that was missing.

One of the dandies' skin was bloated and greenish, as if he had spent the last few days immersed in water.

One of the Marie-Antoinette ladies wore a choker that failed to hide the line on her neck.

Everywhere I looked, I saw deadly wounds and conditions on those lively, enthusiasmed party goers.

I swallowed back puke, my heart pounding.

Andy the drag queen looked at me, then at James, then back at me. He elbowed James, causing the poor man to stumble a little; if he hadn't been clutching to me, he probably would have fell down.

“JAMES! You didn't warn the kid? Look at him, poor thing! He's gonna have an heart attack!”

“Well, that'd make two of us, hehehe!”

Andy sternly looked at James and grabbed my hand:

“ALRIGHT, SWEETHEART! DO NOT FRET!” He lowered his voice : “You see, we're not exactly [he made the “quote” gesture]... ALIVE.”

“Am I dead too?! What happened?”

“Oh no, darling, you're very much alive!” He interrupted to kiss some classy lady dressed in 1960's fashion on both cheeks. “Muriel, darling, look at you, aren't you gorgeous! Long time no see! This is our new friend DAN ! ISNT HE CUTE!”. As she smiled and walked away, I noticed her skull was smashed in on the back of her head.

And that's how I got introduced to a bunch of dead people by a gigantic drag queen who also happened to be very much dead.

At some point, I just assumed that I was either 1)dreaming, 2)going crazy, 3)dead.

Either way, there wasn't much I could do about it right now, so I decided to enjoy the party and worry about it later – if I wasn't dead, that is.

It turned out, most dead people are quite friendly. They wouldn't tell me how exactly the afterlife was, mainly because Mr H. seemed to appear everytime one of them tried to touch on the subject, but they told me not to worry too much.

The alcohol they served was real, and they seemed to get drunk, so it kinda reassured me that there was an afterlife in which I could keep getting drunk if I wanted to.

On that night, unsure whether I was alive or dead, I sure drank a lot.

As an history major, it was quite fascinating to talk with people who actually experienced some of the things I had learned about. I was immersed in a conversation with a guy who died during the Roman Empire (a conversation that taught me two things : one, I didn't actually know shit about the Roman Empire; two, when you've been dead for 1956 years, you end up learning a lot of languages) when Mr H. materialized next to me. I don't mean he showed up unexpectedly. He litterally appeared out of thin air.

“Dan, it's time for you to go home now.”, he said in a rushed tone.

Andy (who hadn't left my side all night) pleaded “Oh come on, Mr H! We're just starting to have FUN!”

Mr H. looked stern and... Anxious?

“It's nearly midnight. He has to go.”

Andy got as pale as he could possibly get under his heavy layer of make up.

“Oh. Yes.”

Composing himself, he smiled at me : “Well, kid, WASNT IT FUN? I SWEAR YOU'RE THE CUTEST LITTLE BASTARD I'VE MET IN THE PAST TWENTY YEARS -”

He stopped mid-sentence, as we all heard a train approaching. It was the first train of the night, despite this station normally being one of the busiest of Paris.

There was another noise, too. Wailing. It was deep. It was scary. It felt like despair was engulfing us.

I felt a hand grip my elbow, and suddenly, I was sitting on the sidewalk in front of the entrance of the station.

Standing next to me was Mr H, seemingly unbothered by the cold in his purple suit.

I, on the other hand, was already shivering.

“Erm, Mr H.? I left my coat inside, could I-

-No, Dan. This isn't your world yet, and you can't go back now. It's midnight, the gates are opened. I can't let you wander now; you might get lost.

-But I'm not dead, right? I'm not?”

He looked about 30, yet the way he looked at me right then reminded me of the way my grandfather used to look at me.

“-I would know, if you were.”

I finally got the nerve to ask him what had been bothering me for the whole evening. Even when we were down there, he looked... Out of place. His skin didn't have this greyish quality, he showed no sign of wound, and he was too young to have died of natural causes.

“What are you?”

He seemed almost pleased, as if he knew I was going to ask.

“Daniel Thorne. For an history major, you're not too smart.”

He lit a cigarette and started walking back to the station at a leisurely pace. I sat there, thinking as hard as I could in my drunken, confused state.

Then it clicked.

He was almost halfway down the stairs when I called him back :

“Hades!”

He turned around, the hint of a smile on his lips.

I stared into his blue eyes and muttered :“When am I going to die?”

“Not today, Daniel, not today.”

He turned around and resumed walking down the stairs, but I heard him saying :

“But please make sure you live, first.”

#writers #writers on tumblr #nosleep #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit #horror story #ignisaurumprobat19 #creepy #my writing #greek mythology #hades #paris #year abroad

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

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Nomad (full story)

initially published on r/nosleep

PART 1

February 12th, 2015, 6.42am

I'm awoken by the shrill sound of my alarm. Still half-asleep, I reflexively grab my Iphone and turn it on. The date immediately catches my eye. Yesterday, it's been five years since I got here. It's the first time I reach 5 years in the same place. Part of me is thrilled, but I can't help having a sense of impending doom.

Unlike most days, I manage to get out of bed before my mother comes banging on my door. Maybe that's because of the five-year anniversary, but I feel an urgency to enjoy every minute. If there are people to see, things to do, words to say, I have to do it. Fast.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this time I'll stay longer. Maybe this time I won't have to leave.

8.03am

I pick up Alice on her doorstep. She slumps into the passenger seat and greets me with a « Fuck, I'm so fucking tired ». I laugh, turn up the radio and we sing along, like every morning since September, when I finally passed my driving licence. The road to school is a quick one. I almost want to keep driving, or to tell her, right here, right now, that I love her and that she's the best friend I've ever had. But being cheesy isn't like me, and she might find it weird. If I leave, she'll think of this conversation as a troubling coincidence. If I stay, she'll think I'm not being my usual self and she'll worry, and I dont want to have to deal with this today. So I just park in front of school, and we go on with our day.

5.35pm

It's been an ordinary day. I've been on the alert all the time since yesterday, waiting for something to happen, but so far everything is fine. I might really stay this time. I try not to get my hopes up, but I can't stop myself. I'm alone in the car on the way back from school, Alice got out earlier. I don't turn on the radio this time. At every car that drives a little recklessly, at every red light, I sweat, I get anxious.

7.20pm

Mom cooked a roast for Dad and I and vegetarian lasagna for Chloe. Chloe's just got back from university for a two week break, and even if she answers the parents' questions, she seems.. Distant. Off. Not in a worrying way, though. More in a laid-back way, as if she didn't really know where she was, but it didn't matter. She smiles constantly. The food is delicious. My sister seems on cloud nine. For the first time today, I feel completely relaxed.

11.10pm

A knock on my door. « - Yup ? -Can I come in ? » Chloe's head appears in my doorway. « - Sure. »

She settles down on my bed. « - How's school ? -Not too bad. Still waiting for the answers to my uni applications. I don't think I'll get into a great one, but I'll be happy with anything as long as I can hope to become a doctor. -Hey, don't say that. Wait for the results before saying you won't get in. -Yeah. I guess. -And how's life ? How are your friends ? -Fine. I still hangout with the same ones, basically, but I met lots of Alice's friends so I hangout with them sometimes, too. -And what about boys ? -Nothing new on that side. I would have told you otherwise ! -Well... I might have something to tell you. -I knew it ! You're not pregnant are you ?! -Nooo ! But you know, Alex and I were talking last night, about our future careers and all, and we ended up talking about the future in general... Ad he said he planned to propose at the end of the year ! -Holy fuck ! But that's awesome ! -I know ! I'm so excited ! But I haven't told anyone yet, not even Mom, so please stay quiet for now. I'd rather wait until we're actually engaged before telling people. -Sure ! -But... You will be my bridesmaid, right ? I know you're not a fan of weddings but... -Of course I will ! Come on ! You're my sister ! » But as I say those words, my heart is heavy. I really hope I'll get to fulfill this promise.

Februray 13th, 2015, 8.20am

I slept through my alarm today. I run through the house : breakfast/shower/get clothed/ grab keys/ grab bag. Thankfully I don't have to pick-up Alice today, she only starts her classes at 10am. I sing along to the radio, even though I'm alone. I think about Chloe's wedding, her engagement party, her hen do. It's going to be so amazing ! Today, I want to be positive and allow myself to make plans. No matter what happens, I can't live the rest of my life avoiding any kind of plans. For fuck sake, that's not living. I'm singing (terribly) along to « You're beautiful » when the truck goes through the red light and crashes into my car.

August 22nd, 1999, 7.22am.

I'm awoken by the shrill sound of my alarm. Still half-asleep, I reflexively try to grab my Iphone on the nightstand, but my hand only encounters the void. No Iphone. No nightstand, even. That's when it hits me. The truck. The red light. Chloe. My life. It's over. As I start to tear up, my mind is bombarbed with informations. I know, without knowing how, that my name is Alexandra now. I'm no longer 18, I'm 24. I've been a secretary in my dad's office for the past two years, I live alone, I have no siblings and I have a 26 year old boyfriend but our relationship isn't great lately. I know what I look like, despite not having seen my reflection yet. I also know that I am dead.

First time I died, I didn't really understand what was going on. Mind you, I was four and a half at the time. I was sick, I knew that, but I didn't know I was going to die. Did my parents know ? Did they try to get me ready for it ? I don't know. I don't remember much of them. I remember a blonde woman and a man with steel-blue eyes and lines around the eyes. I don't even know their names. I always called them « Mom » and « Dad ». My name was Leah. I don't know the exact year, but I think it was in the 1980's. I just remember that I couldn't breathe anymore, and then I fell asleep, and then I woke up and I knew that I was Mary, that I was 14, had brown hair, and had to get up and go to my best friend's house. I had a new family, a new face, and a completely different body from the little girl's body I fell asleep in. I screamed for my mom, but the mom who came to me wasn't the blonde mom I was used to. I explained the situation as best as I could ; and Mary was up for three years of therapy. I simply couldn't act like a 14 year old teen. I was completely capable of doing well in school, as I had access to all of Mary's knowledge, but I didn't know how to behave with her family and friends. I was just a small child inside. I died in a car crash when I was 17. Or 8, depending on your viewpoint.

The next day, I was Claire, 10 years old. The transition was easier this time ; I could act like a child again. This time, I didn't tell anyone about Leah or Mary. I pretended I was Claire, and I didn't get sent to therapy. Claire died at 14, falling off her horse, in 1982.

Then I was Laura. Laura was different. Laura was 28, when I was only 13. Laura had a husband, a son, and a job as a sales rep in a big firm in NY. The year was 2022, and it was my first time using the Internet, which didn't help. Most of all, Laura was a cocaine addict. She didn't look like she used, at first glance. She was pretty, with blonde hair and a doll-like face. Sure, her eyes were bloodshot, but with a toddler and a time-consuming professionnal life, what else could you expect ? But as soon as I woke up as Laura, her body asked for its dose.

I killed Laura three months later.

The first time I committed suicide, I thought I would really die. I didn't think I would come back. I was only 13, I still believed there was a way out. I know better now. After my overdose, I woke up and I was Rebecca, 43. In 1973. The guilt was overwhelming, at first. I thought I had deprived Laura's loved ones of their wife, their mother, their daugher, their friend. Because of that, Rebecca got depressed until she died at the hands of an attacker, in a street of San Francisco, in January 1976.

But I realized, years later (or sometimes, years before ), that feeling guilty made no sense. Since the second I arrived, Laura was gone. Whether I killed myself or not, she wasn't coming back. If I stayed, I would only have spent more time pretending to be her, trying to be a wife to her husband, a mother to her son. And the 13 year old girl I was was too young to take care of a baby or to have sex with a 30 year old man. I know now that I took the right decision. It was better for them to grieve for Laura than to have their life ruined by me pretending to be her.

Nowadays, I don't hesitate before I committ suicide. I know the real people won't come back anyway, so if I'm unhappy in a life, I just go to the next one. When I decide to stay, nonetheless, it looks like I'm only alloted a limited time. On average, I get 4 years. Sometimes less, rarely more. The maximum so far has been 5 years and two days.

I shouldn't have stayed that long. I should have left before. How naïve of me to think that I could stay. Have a family, be a bridesmaid at my sister's wedding.

7.42pm

If I don't want to be late for work, I have to get up now. I get out of bed, head to the bathroom. In the mirror, Alexandra is looking back at me. I can't stand this. I scream, punch the mirror, grab a shard of glass and slit my throat.

June 7th, 1981, 6.32am

I wake up in the arms of a man. Before I can even get access to who I am, a severe nausea gets me running to the bathroom. The noise wakes the man up. As I vomit, he walks up behind me and lovingly holds my hair up. He whispers : « - You know, I got an idea for the name. What about Leah ? » Holding my big, pregnant belly, I stand up slowly. My eyes meet our reflection in the mirror above the sink : a blonde woman, a man with blue-steel eyes and lines around the eyes. I wonder how to tell him that less than 5 years from now, our daughter will die.

-----------------------------------------------------

PART 2

September 9th, 1985, 4.05am

I've failed.

I've failed, and now I can't sleep. Everytime I close my eyes, I see her little body going still, her chest rising and falling for the last time.

I've tried. I've been an overprotective mother. I made sure she always wore the right clothes for the weather, I breastfed her, I gave her healthy, balanced meals. But what can I do against cancer ? If only this was not the 80's. If only it was a century from now, she would have had a much better chance. But I don't get to chose that.

And now she's gone. Just like I knew she would, deep down, since she is me.

And all the last glimmers of hope, hope that I could change my fate, hope that I could make it stop, went away with her last breath.

September 9th, 1985, 10.12am

I've applied make up carefully. My blonde hair is in a strict low bun. I've ironed my black dress right before we left.

I've got to look good. After all, this is also my funeral.

My husband looks like a mess. His world shattered three days ago, and he already looks several years older. I tear up, looking at him and his devastated face.

My feelings for him have been hard to define, given that he both gave life to me and made me his wife, even though he has no idea about the first part. All I know is that I've never felt anything but pure love towards him, so it can't be bad, can it ? I didn't chose to come back here. I can't be blamed for feeling this.

I put my hand on his cheek and force him to look at me. I try to find the right words, but will there ever be anything right to say anymore ?

Our eyes are still locked when the loud screeching noise starts, and then there is nothing but pain, and then there is nothing at all.

March 21st , 2004, 10.32am

Samantha's life sounds pretty shitty, to be honest. I've only been here for an hour, but I'm not thrilled at the idea of having a husband who cheats on me, two teenagers to deal with, and crippling debt.

Not to mention that I absolutely hate her look.

Luckily, it's Sunday and the husband took the kids out to the swimming pool. A weekly occurrence, apparently. So I have another hour left to cry my heart out about everything. Everything that has just happened. Everything that happened in the past 5 years. Or everything that happened 20 years ago, if you'd rather.

It was a good life. It was a messy, disturbing situation, sure, but it was a good life.

My mother's name was Patricia, and my father's was Eric. They were good people. She was a children's book illustrator, he worked in a bank, and while they don't sound like the most assorted pair, they were crazy about each other. I had to tone that down, obviously, but it was easy to blame it on the pregnancy, the childbirth, the fatigue from raising a kid. I made sure Eric never felt unloved.

Most of all, they loved me. Oh, they loved me so much.

We were an ordinary family, but it was enough. It was more than enough.

June 5th, 2004, 3.15pm

More than two months in now, and Samantha's life is pretty shitty. But I've seen worse. She doesn't drink, smoke or use drugs. She's an housewife, and it's strangely relaxing to not have to deal with too many people during the day. Or at all, really, since her husband barely talks to her and her kids try to spend as much time as possible outside the house.

One thing that I really enjoy about Samantha, though, is that the déjà-vu feeling is gone.

It started during the pregnancy. I'd get this adrenaline rush, recognize the scene, and I knew what was going to happen in the next 10 to 30 seconds.

This has never happened, in any other life. From a young age, I've had no choice but to force myself to remember everything. When you've lived different lives, at different times, you simply cannot allow yourself to slip and say something out of character, or talk about a technology that doesn't exist yet or an event that didn't happen. It gets you into a lot of trouble. Trust me, I know.

I shrugged it off as the hormones playing tricks on my mind.

But once Leah was born, it got worse.

I had déjà-vu about once a day, and I was always correct.

It made feel... Uneasy. It didn't feel right.

And now it's gone.

April 7th, 2017, 7.12am

I haven't thought of Patricia in years. Or decades, I guess, but whatever.

I suppose it's writing all this stuff that reminded me of her. She was a good person, I suppose, but she got stuck in such a bland life. If she went somewhere when I came, too, maybe she's better now. I hope that's how it works.

Admittedly, what happened yesterday makes it obvious that I don't know much about how it works.

I was sitting on the bench, at my usual bus stop. I've been taking this bus home from work from monday to friday, at 6.18pm, for 2 years. Ever since I woke up as Sophia. I love it here. The city is nice, Sophia is young, she has cool friends and a nice flat. The time is good too. Right before it all started to break down. I'll be gone before that, of course, that's the good part of knowing history. Or the future, as they'd call it here.

The second I saw the long, overflowing yellow skirt, I was overwhelmed with this long-lost, yet familiar, déjà-vu feeling.

I knew she was going to stand in front of me, not sit, and hop in the next bus.

I could already see her long auburn hair caressing her elbows as she looked to the left to see her bus approching, standing with her back to me. Hell, I could even smell her sweet, sugary perfume.

But for the first time, I was wrong.

She walked towards me.

She stood with her back to me.

She looked to the left, saw her bus approaching.

Then she turned around to face me.

In a swift , determined motion, she grabbed my chin, lifted my face to meet my eyes.

Whispered :

« Stop telling them about it. ».

-----------------------------------------------------

PART 3

April 9th, 3.50pm, 2017

I'm going mad here. I'm so tired of all this.

After the girl with the yellow skirt ordered me to stop talking about it, I went crazy. I grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her, yelling. I don't even know what I was saying. It was like decades of anger and pain poured out of my body. People interfered to protect her, and she got away. Before I knew, I was on the bench again and I was sobbing uncontrollably. I'm so mad at myself ! I could have gotten answers, or at least a clue on what's happening.

There were colleagues around, and they saw everything. One of them got on the next bus with me and got me home safe. She even offered to cook me dinner and stay for a bit, since I was in such a bad state. I refused. I didn't trust myself to control my words.

I got called into my boss' office the next day, and I pretended the girl was someone an ex-boyfriend cheated on me with and that I lost my temper when she provoked me.

He seemed to believe it, but he looked worried about me. Kept telling me his door was open if I needed to talk. People at work are definitely looking at me differently now.

I hate that they see me that way. I am not a violent person. I've only been violent when I had to. Violence can be necessary, but a guy cheating on me is not a valid reason to use violence. Why would it matter to me, anyway ? All of my relationships are, by essence, short ones. I can't afford to get too attached to someone.

When I arrived at the office this morning, there was a letter for me in the mail. The secretary said it wasn't sent, it was brought. By a man, in their thirties, black hair, pretty average. That's all she could remember about him when I pressed her for details.

The letter was handwritten, black ink on a simple white sheet of paper.

The ink ran a little.

It said :

«You are not one of them, but you need to learn.

If they know, you can't learn.

If you can't learn, it will only take longer.

Be wise, as it is your nature.

Trust me, cause we are One. »

It was signed by a single letter : *« H »*.

In all my lives, I don't remember being close to a man whose name started with « H ». As I said, I haven't had many lovers. Partly because I've been a kid or a teenager for quite a long time, and also a married woman a few times, and partly because when I was a single adult, being in a serious relationship was too much trouble. I've had flings, of course, but I try not to get too involved. Living with someone when the relationship didn't preexisted my arrival is tricky. I can't be fully myself, but there's no established routine that I can rely on, either. Everything has to be created from scratch, and for someone like me, it can be dangerous to open up too much.

Not to mention the fact that when I ineluctably leaves, I'd rather have as few people as possible to mourn me.

But now that I think about it, if I met him in another life, maybe I knew him under another identity. Maybe « H » is only his name here and now. That would mean he's like me, that would mean I'm not alone.

I don't know if that's a relief or one more reason to worry.

He seems to know a lot more than I do : if he is like me, then why am I not as informed as he is ? Are there more people like us ? What do they want from me ? What am I supposed to learn ?

Why did they let me suffer so much, for decades, without ever telling me that I wasn't completely alone ?

Where were they when I was Alicia, when I cut her 15 year old wrists so that the nightly rapes she endured stopped ?

Where were they when I was Brooke, when every second of the life I lived was spent fighting because there's no other way for a homeless woman to survive in the streets of a devasted New York ?

Where were they when I was Catherine and died in a pool of my own blood, holding the corpse of my lifeless newborn ?

Where were they when I was Amelia and died in a car crash that killed a whole family in the other car, as well as my own kid in the backseat ?

Where were they when I went from being 31 to being 15 again, and lost once again every bit of a life I had built ?

Where were they when I was my own mother and had to watch myself die ?

If they knew and did nothing, then I think I know all I need to know about them. I don't want to play a part in whatever they're doing. I don't care if I'm an aberration of nature or the result of a freak experiment. I don't want to serve anyone. I don't want to « learn ».

April 9th, 5.01pm, 2017

Ok, ok. I could be freaking out over nothing. He could be someone who works in the building, who read my posts and guessed my identity. Maybe he's pulling a prank on me ?

April 10th, 10.06am, 2017

Something happened on the bus to work.

I was hit with a déjà-vu so intense my head started to throb. She wasn't the girl with the yellow skirt, but someone much younger. 15-ish ? Curly black hair, dark brown eyes, freckles, rather cute, really. I had never met her, but I *knew* her.

I didn't see anything, this time. The déjà-vu wasn't about a moment, it was about *her*.

When she spoke, her tone was so low I could barely pick up what she said.

« Don't ask me anything. I can't answer. But please stop posting. You're not ready yet. You just have to learn. If you don't know yet, then you still have to learn. You're only making this more difficult for yourself. If only you stopped fighting, you could be ready so soon. »

Her tone was almost pleading. She kept her glaze ahead while talking. After a few seconds of silence, she finally turned to look at me.

« I miss you. »

My tears started falling down, years of them, a waterfall on my cheeks and neck.

« You can't do that, you can't, you can't just come and tell me to stop asking questions and to stop talking and to just shut up, you can't ! I'm not a puppet, I'm not your toy, please stop it, I'd do whatever it takes, please, please, I can't take it anymore, you forced me to be my own mother, please, please, please... »

People were starting to give me weird looks, but she wasn't even listening anymore. The bus had come to an halt, she was already getting up.

I grabbed her wrist desperately. She shook herself free and bended down so that her face was close to mine. Her face expressed equal parts anger and pain.

« Stop whining, Parthenos. You never had a mother».

And with that, she was gone.

I've looked up Parthenos. It means « virgin » in Greek. I'm not a virgin, I've never set foot in Greece, and as far I know, I've never been someone who had greek origins. If she knows as much about me as she seems to, she should know that.

As much as it scares me to admit it, though, that word feels familiar.

April 10th, 1.04pm, 2017

I know who she is. I don't know how, but I know who she is.

When I was Alicia, I didn't have many friends. I was a lonely kid who tried to avoid contact with others as much as I could. I didn't trust anyone, and I didn't want anyone to know what was going on at home.

I could have killed him. I could have killed my stepdad. Before I was Alicia, I was Meryl. Meryl knew all about killing people. She didn't like it, and it wasn't nice being Meryl, but she had to. That's why I stayed for as long as I could. People needed her. The job had to be done.

So yes, I could have killed him. But I didn't. I didn't want to get sent to jail or to a psych ward. When I decided to end it, I just killed myself instead.

But while I was Alicia, there was one person I trusted. Her name was Victoria. She had long, shiny blond hair and a seemingly perfect life, yet she chose, for some reason, to hang out with the school weirdo. I was so grateful for her.

I remember that once, we were watching tv in her living room when I saw myself smiling on a picture on the wall. Myself, as Rebecca. I knew it was before I arrived in Rebecca's body : I had memories of this, but they were not firsthand memories.

When I asked Victoria about the woman in the picture, she said it was her grandmother. That gave me chills.

And now, that girl on the bus. I know she's Victoria.

April 10th, 3.42pm, 2017

I got another letter at work. Brought by the same man, according to the secretary. She paid more attention to him this time : definitely in his thirties, black straight hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, dressed smart in a dark blue suit. I still have no idea who he is.

I'm scared to open the letter.

April 10th, 3.55pm, 2017

Black ink on a simple sheet of white paper.

« Let's get coffee tomorrow, my dear niece.

8am, Starbucks on Crowne St.

Be careful who you talk to.

H. ».

---------------------------------

PART 4 (FINAL)

April 11th, 2017, 7.56am

He's already sitting at a table when I walk into the coffeeshop. Black suit, black shirt, black hair, and those striking blue eyes. He looks about 32, maybe 33, definitely not older than 34.

Sophia is 27. If he really is my uncle, then he definitely wasn't talking about this life.

He notices me and waves, and as I meet his eyes, my head starts to throb. Just like when I saw that girl on the bus. Victoria, or whatever she's called now.

I walk to his table and sit in front of him.

Neither of us say a word.

Then he starts smiling. Bigger, and bigger, and bigger. He doesn't look threatening though, he looks.. Entertained. That pisses me off so much.

« -Having fun, eh ? You and your friends must be having a blast, messing up with my life ! What are you ? Scientists ? Did you make your little freak experiment with me ? »

He shakes his head, still smiling.

« A cult, then ? »

That makes him chuckle.

« Oh no, no. We're definitely not worshipping anyone. » He laughs even harder at that.

« Calm down. I'm not responsible for what's happening to you, ok ? It just... Happened. You needed it.».

« It just happened ?! That's your explanation ? I just happened to have my life fucking cursed ? »

He sighs and takes his head in his hands.

« Why do you always have to be so dramatic ? I'm trying my best here, could you at least try ? »

« Try ? What am I supposed to do ? »

« Just... Remember! » He looks exsperated. « I get it, you needed it, blah blah blah, but you don't have time anymore, and now Héra found you, and... » He stops mid-sentence, shoots me an almost frightened look : « Ah, never mind. »

Hera. I feel a wave of panic through my whole body. For a few seconds, I'm confused and none of this makes sense. All I feel is fear, fear, fear, and I cannot form a coherent thought.

Then it hits me.

Long, flowing skirt. Auburn hair. The girl from the bus stop.

Not too different from her real form.

I knew Hera before I was Sophia. Before I was Alicia, Meryl, Brooke, Ciara, Jane, Alisha, Heidi, Samantha, Patricia, Amelia, Catherine, Cindy, Priyanka, Mary, Rebecca, Laura... Before I was Leah.

Before this place was unhabited.

Before humans were created.

I look at my uncle. I still see his current form, but I also see every one of his appearances since the last time I saw him.

Unlike me, he didn't have to be different people. He always looks more or less as he does now, except he alters his style to fit in whatever time period he's in.

Of course, only our kind can see him as he really is. This is no more than a disguise, a way to walk among you. But unlike some of us, he doesn't do it to manipulate you or to gain power. He genuinely always liked you, ever since I gave you life. He said you were fascinating. I didn't understand why, but I do now. I do.

He looks alarmed when he sees that I'm tearing up.

I choke on my own tears : « Oh, Dis... »

I've always called him by this nickname, even though he hated it. *Mostly* because he hated it, and it was fun to annoy him.

I can see relief flowing over his face. A tear rolls on his tanned, smooth cheek, and he grabs my hand :

« About time. We need you. »

« Hestia came to talk to me on the bus yesterday. Is she ok ? »

« She is. She always kept an eye on you. »

I'm crying now. The kind of sobs that leave you out of breath, a mess of snot and tears and mascara rivers.

I squeeze back Hades' hand and let myself break down.

I'm back.

I needed to learn. It's both a blessing and a curse to be the incarnation of Wisdom and War. Violence is a part of me, but resorting to it have always felt like failing.

As humans multiplied, violence and war were everywhere. I did all I could, but your wars drained me.

By becoming too involved in your conflicts, I ended up forgetting my nature.

I wanted to end you, wipe you off, so we could have some peace. But some of my kind wouldn't let that happen. They have different plans for you.

Since I couldn't end you, I had to find another way. I didn't understand you, and there were so many of you. I couldn't answer your calls. I needed to learn. I needed to experience the spectrum of human emotions. So I became one of you.

What I've learned is that you are, indeed, insignificant. Earth would be a more peaceful place without you.

You can kill, rape, torture, bully, kidnap, mutilate, harass, enslave...

In other words, you are just like us.

But you are also capable of love. I've seen that. I've felt that.

Learning time is over, now. Dark times are ahead.

More wars are coming. Some of us are going to make sure they happen.

But I'll be there, humans.

I am Athena Parthenos.

I am Athena Nikè.

I am Athena Pallas, daughter of Zeus, niece of Hera, Hades, Hestia, Demeter and Poseidon, granddaughter of Chronos and Rhea, great-grand daughter of Gaia and Uranus.

I never had a mother, but I know motherly love.

I can't be hurt by human weapons, but I know the pain of blades and fists.

I can't get sick, but I know the misery of illness.

I don't age, but I know the affliction of old age.

I can't be killed, but I know what death feels like.

I am ready. I hope you are too.

#writers #writers on tumblr #my writing #writers of horror #greek mythology #hades #hera #ignisaurumprobat19 #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Betrayed (full story)

initially published on r/WritersOfHorror

He looks pale. Blood is dripping on the floor much slower now. One. Drop. At. A. Time.

He looks at me with his tired, hooded eyes. No, wait, eye. When he tries to speak, his words are blurred :

« You... You're a demon. »

I start laughing.

Even in 2017, I still get them from times to times. They're desperate pleas, often barely understandable, whispered among sobs. I wonder what made them turn to me. The lack of answer from the others, for sure, and some late-night search for anything that could help. I suppose having a Wikipedia page helps, in this day and age.

I got one last night. She was crying. They always are. She said she had no one else to turn to.

« Please, please... My marriage is over... I gave him 20 years of my life and now he wants to leave me with nothing ! Nothing ! For that bitch ! Please help me, I beg for your rescue, I... I will be your obliged forever. Amen ».

Amen. Stupid, ignorant bitch.

I am going to help her, though. Sisterhood.

Her husband's name is Richard. He's fat and he looked so arrogant when he stepped out of the elevator in the underground parking.

He doesn't look that smug, now, does he ? Naked and suspended by his wrists in this motel room, his big belly hanging comically. It's been two hours since I started with him. Not long to go now.

I started with his lips. He kept yelling, and yelling, as if someone was going to come rescue him. Tough luck, Richard. There's no one but the motel receptionnist, who has earphones in and who, even if he heard you, wouldn't lift a finger. I've told him we were lovers and very, very much into BDSM.

So, his lips. I ran my blade on his lower lip and asked him :

« Do you kiss your mistress with those lips, Richard ? Do you like it ? »

He stopped screaming then.

« My-my, my mistress ? I, I, no, what, please, what...»

I cut his lower lip open. All the way, horizontally.

He started screaming again, of course. That fucking piece of shit.

I punched him hard to make him stop.

« Your wife is really sad, Richard. She gave you two beautiful kids, Richard. She gave you her best years ! Aren't you grateful, Richard ? »

« I am, I am grapfful, I am ! »

Damn. He was spitting blood all over me, that bastard.

« Oh no you're not, Richard. If you were, you wouldn't be shagging your assistant, would you ? And you're so unoriginal with that. »

I smile and cut a thin, clean line across his torso, slicing open his nipple.

« Males. You're all the same. Dirty, stupid cheaters. And you think we won't notice. You think we won't get revenge. You think we're stupid. Do I look stupid to you, Richard ? »

He looked terrified as I paced back and forth in front of him.

I stabbed his right arm.

« NO ! NOOOO ! PLEASE !! STOOOOP ! »

I chuckled. I like being begged.

« Oh Richard. You should have thought about it before. It's too late now. Your wife is going to be alone, and you know she can't afford that, yeah ? And you have this nice, plump life insurance waiting at the bank. Would be a shame to let your wife in need, right ? »

He was panting.

« She.. She hired a hitfffman ?? Thfffaaat bitchhhfff ! She... »

I grabbed an handful of his belly and cut a big, heavy slab of fat. That shut him up.

« That's not a nice way to talk about the woman you married, Richard. »

He was still awake by then. Not fully conscious, but awake. I had to keep him awake. I still had questions for him.

« Why did you cheat on your wife, Richard ? Wasn't she good enough for you anymore ? »

All I could hear was gurgles. I took him by his hair (or what's left of it, this old, ugly, nearly bald bastard) and lift his head so he faced me.

« What did you say, Richard ? »

« I loffe her... Loffeee her... »

« Oh you love your wife now ? »

«Please... Karen... Karen ! »

Karen wasn't his wife's name. Oh no. It was his mistress' name.

Males.

« You want to see her again, Richard ? You want to see Karen again ? »

« Yefff... Yeff.. Pleafff... »

«Alright. With which eye do you want to see her, Richard ? » I put my blade close to his right eyeball. He shut his eyes closed, as if it would protect him.

« The left one, then ? As you want, Richard ».

My blade slided in like it's butter.

He was unconscious for 15 minutes after that. It's been a struggle to get him back to consciousness.

Once he got back, I started working on him again. Slowly.

I could have answered his wife's scream for help much quicker, sure. Justice is always my main focus, but I'm allowed to have fun in the process, right ?

He looks pale. The blood is dripping on the floor much slower now. One. Drop. At. A. Time.

He looks at me with his tired, hooded eyes. No, wait, eye. When he tries to speak, his words are blurred :

« You... You're a demon. »

I start laughing.

« Oh no, Richard. I'm not a demon. Quite the opposite, actually. ».

Before I get rid of him, I step closer. Stab him in the stomach, and twist. My mouth is near his ear now, and I tell him the truth.

« Your wife did not hire me, Richard. She just prayed.

I am Hera Krusothronos, daughter of Chronos and Rhea, betrayed wife of Zeus.

I answer when I'm called.».

#tw: violence #tw:gore #writers #writers on tumblr #horror #horror story #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

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Giving life (full story)

(initially published on r/nosleep)

I don't know if I can call myself a writer. I've never been published and I don't know if my writing is any good, to be honest, but I've always liked writing and sharing my stories with others, so that kind of makes me a writer, right ?

I'm Owen, by the way. I've been a lurker on nosleep for a while now, but I didn't think I would have anything interesting to post, before what happened today.

I'm not sure if what happened qualifies as nosleep material. To be honest, I start to question my own sanity, maybe I read too much into what simply were coincidences, but if that's all it is, it's definitely troubling.

You see, twice a week I work the night shift at a 24/7 McDonald's. I work mondays and tuesdays, so they're usually quiet nights, unlike friday and saturday nights. I usually get a rush of activity around 10-11pm, when people get out of the movies, and then the early birds start coming for breakfast at around 5am. Between 12 and 5am, however, I rarely get customers. My manager knows I'm just a broke student trying to pay off his student debt, so when it's quiet he usually lets me sit down at a table with some food and do some work for college or write some stories. I have to get back to work as soon as a client enters, but I usually get a good 2-3 quiet hours in the night.

So at around 1am today, I settled down with a cheeseburger and fries and started writing a new story. This one is about a 22 year old guy, named Jackson, who just left an abusive household and tries to start over in a new city. I hoped to make it into a full length book someday, but now I don't know if that's a good idea.

I wrote about 3 pages before the customers started coming in, so I had to get back to work.

The rest of my shift went by without incident.

When I got out of work at 7am, I went straight to the Starbucks across the street to have coffee and a couple of muffins before starting my second job. I'm a babysitter for a family a few streets away, I basically just walk the kids to school in the morning, then I pick them up at the end of the school day, walk them home, make them a snack and play with them for an hour until their mother gets home from work. The kids are cute and it pays well.

Anyway, I was settling down with my coffee and food and decided to write a little bit more. I didn't search too far for inspiration : I wrote down a scene in which Jackson went to Starbucks (unoriginal, I know, but it would be a good set-up for meeting what would become his girlfriend, a complicated, dark character that I named Emma). I was deep into my writing, trying to describe this early-morning atmosphere as best as I could to make the scene realistic, when I noticed a guy standing in line at the counter.

He looked every bit as I imagined Jackson.

Now, I know that's nothing out of the extraordinary, as my Jackson is pretty average : brown hair, blue eyes, average height and built, no tattoos or piercing...

Still, I couldn't help but observe him. That's when things got weird. He got the exact order I wrote about (Caramel Macchiatto with two pumps of white chocolate syrup- not the kind of stuff guys usually ordered, it was meant to be the conversation starter between Emma and him), hesitated over the muffins just like I wrote in the story, before chosing not to have any food with his drink.

When he sat down in the exact spot I wrote about, I got to see his name on the cup. Jackson.

I know this can all be a serie of coincidences, as Jackson isn't a rare name, and there are probably shitloads of brown-haired, blue-eyed guys in their twenties in this city, but what really fucked me up is what happened afterwards.

I was a little unnerved by all this, so I tried to be rational and make a little experiment: I started writing the rest of the story, to prove to myself that what I wrote and what happened IRL were two completely separate things. So I wrote :

“Jackson stood up, regretting his choice of not getting a blueberry muffin. He deserved a treat, after this hellish past days.”

And sure as hell, the real Jackson stood up.

“He walked to the counter. The line has dried up, so he could order immediately”.

I shit you not, the line dried up in seconds. Okay, there was only two people waiting, but they both got their order as soon as I wrote this line, and they hurried out of the café.

I slowly wrote “He asked for a blueberry”, and, yes, I heard Jackson saying “Hi again, can I please have a blue-” and then I deleted the past three sentences.

He froze in place, a look of confusion on his face.

The barista looked concerned : “Yes, sir?”. He just stood there for a couple of seconds, said “never mind” and walked back to his seat.

I got up and left. I know I should have stayed, maybe try it again, try to work this out, but I got scared.

I passed by Emma on the way out. I don't know if she's actually named Emma, but she looks exactly like the Emma I imagined, down to the mole on her right cheek.

I just got home from taking the kids to school, and I don't know if I want to keep writing my story or not. You see, if I manage to write a whole book out of it, it won't be a happy story. I plan to make Jackson and Emma go through a lot, and one of them isn't going to make it. It was fine as long as I believed they were fictional, but do I really want to take the risk of being a murderer?

#writers #writers on tumblr #my writing #horror #horror story #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit #nosleep #creepy

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

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Double (full story)

(initally published on r/nosleep)

For as long as I remember, I've always been Double.

I realized most people were Singular when I was about six. My friends didn't understand when I talked about my other self, and quickly enough, I was nicknamed “*the weirdo*” and bullied on one side, and simply ignored by the other kids on the other.

It hurt. It hurt so much. I was miserable, a lonely kid walking around the playground with no one to play with. The teachers felt sorry for me and tried to keep me entertained with books, and told my two sets of parents that I was a lovely girl who just had a vivid imagination, and that the other kids would get over it soon enough.

They didn't, though. I was bullied for years, until I begged my parents to let me go to other schools. I shut up about being Double, and I made friends.

Most of you who read this are probably Singular.

I used to want to be like you; I wanted nothing more than to fit in. I wanted it desperately.

Now I despise you. You and your boring, one-sided life. Your singular friends, your singular parents, your singular personnality. I feel sorry for you. You're only a half. You'll never be complete.

Let me introduce myself. I'm Talia and Louise. I'm 18. I have long, straight dark hair and brown eyes. I have shoulder-length, wavy ash-blonde hair and green eyes. I live in Los Angeles and I live in Toulouse. I have four parents, two step-parents, five sisters and two brothers.

Both of my mothers are Double. So are my brothers and two of my sisters. The other three sisters are my half-sisters from my french stepmother, so they're Singular. That sucks for them, and I know they feel left out, but that's how it is. It always comes from the mother.

I don't despise my half-sisters, though. They may be Singular, but they know a lot more than most of you stupid asses do. They aren't fooled by those ridiculous rules you imposed on yourself centuries ago, only holding because you fail to challenge them.

Like Time.

Time was what my best friend Allison brought up to try and prove that I couldn't be Double.

“But if you wake up as someone else as soon as you fall asleep and spend a whole day there, then your day as that other person can only be as long as your sleep! If you nap for an hour, your day would be an hour long ! That's not possible !”

Ignorant, just like the rest of her kind.

Time, you see, doesn't exist. Even you know that. You probably read it somewhere at some point, a headline flashing “TIME IS A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT” followed by some scientific explaination you couldn't even begin to understand. Well, it's true. Have you ever seen an animal building some kind of clock? No species but humans care about the time.

It hasn't always been like that. There was a time when humans didn't make these rules about time. Our kind was the norm, back then. But you Singular couldn't handle it. Your jealous, petty, limited kind had to limit us too. You tried to bring us down to your level, and your weapon was making up rules. About time, about matter, about speed. Your history books make you believe in scientific discoveries achieved through a lengthy process of observation of the nature. You have to know that this is a lie. There was no pre-existing law of gravity, or speed of light. You made that up because you couldn't comprehend the vastness and the freedom of our universe.

So yes, time doesn't exist. What does exist, though, is circadian cycles. That's what rules us, not some made up numbers on a clock. If you don't know what a circadian cycle is, google it. I'm not here to educate you.

Circadian rhythm is what created us Doubles. We were the ones who had the ability to exploit our “sleep-wake” rhythm to the max, allowing us to wake as our other self while the first one rested.

Most of you can only imagine the possibilities that this implies. Two sets of memories. Two personnalities. Two learning systems, two sets of talents and abilities, two views of the world, and, in my case, two native languages.

Yet we're not the geniuses you learn about in school. Einstein, Edison, Tesla, Curie... They were all Singular. Us Double don't waste our time trying to break down the universe in atoms. We don't attempt to write rules to make the world easier to grasp.

However, you can thank us for a lot of things. Most of your medicine, your architecture, your everyday appliances (did you seriously think a Singular learned how to make fire, let alone discipline it for cooking purposes? If it wasn't for Double, you wouldn't own an oven right now.)...

Giving the world all that isn't complicated. The hard part is disguising our discoveries in ways that you would deem comprehensible. It used to be easier when people just accepted druids and chamans as a source of wisdom, but now we have to make it adhere to your strict and silly science rules.

I hope you're grateful, at least.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all this. Why I'm exposing myself, when the rest of my kind stays hidden. It's a risk, I know, but I figured it could be brushed off as a work of fiction if needed. It's worth a try, in my opinion, if I can reach some of my kind.

I told you earlier, most of you reading it are probably Singular.

I suppose you didn't notice that this “probably” changed the meaning of the whole sentence.

Have you ever dreamed of being another person, and that seemed so realistic you woke up feeling weird? You weren't doing anything crazy, in that dream. You were just living a life, but it wasn't yours. You had friends. Maybe you went to school. Maybe you went to work. Maybe you just stayed home and ate cereal on the couch. Yet, when you woke up, you couldn't shake off this feeling of unease.

Have you ever had a déjà-vu so strong, it shook you to the core, but there was no way of explaining it?

Have you ever had a sudden feeling that something was missing from your life, but you couldn't pinpoint what?

Have you ever felt sad or happy for days, without anything significant happening in your life?

Have you ever realized you knew something, without having any memory of learning it ?

Have you ever felt like you knew a stranger, knowing damn well you never met him before?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, you may be one of us.

You may be one of those who forgot who they were. It can happen, when your blood is diluted through weddings with Singular men.

Your kind needs you.

Come back.

#writers #writers on tumblr #nosleep #creepy #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit #my writing #fiction

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

Text

REAL (full story)

initially published on r/nosleep

----------------

My best friend Alice recently got a job in a big law firm in London, where I've been living for the past few years. I was excited to see her more often, but apart from helping her moving in and one brunch together on a Sunday about a month ago, we barely saw each other. Not that I'm blaming her. I know how demanding her job is and I'm aware she'd rather be drinking beers with me on friday evenings than work until 10pm, but when you're young and ambitious, you've got to make sacrifices.

But after 3 months of cancelled dinner plans, we finally managed to schedule a dinner tonight! I'm taking her to one of my favorite restaurants in London, a real italian trattoria (ie no « Alfredo » pasta nonsense on the menu and no garlic bread as a side- that's rare in London).

I noticed immediately that she seems absolutely exhausted. Her new job was definitely taking a toll on her.

We've been talking about everything and anything for a solid hour, when she whispers :

« Alexander, I have something I'd like to tell you about.

Sure, go ahead !

It's going to sound weird, but I know I can trust you... I swear I'm not going crazy, I'm not sleep deprived - I'm not having a burn-out, or anything like that !

What's going on ? You're getting me worried here !

You have to believe me. All this... It's not... » She whispers : « It's not real. »

« What's not real ? »

But she doesn't answer. She's looking at me, looking absolutely terrified. For a second, I don't understand.

But then I notice the silence.

A second before, the restaurant was filled with sounds of conversation, laughter, cutlery...

Now there isn't a single sound.

I look around, and what I see chill me to the bone.

Everyone is staring at us.

Everyone.

The couples eating their pasta, the family with their four kids, the group of friends sharing an aperitivo platter and wine, even the waiters... Everyone.

Staring at us, not saying a word, just staring blankly at us, unmoving. Some of them have their mouths full of food, but they're not chewing.

I hear Alice say, in a fake joyful voice :

« Wow, those pasta are really delicious ! ».

Confused at hell, I shoot her a look. Her eyes are pleading.

I'm so scared.

To her obvious relief, I play along « Yes, yes, they sure are... ».

And the noise resumes. Once again, we are surrounded by happy chatter and everything looks like your normal, average friday night at the restaurant.

No one mentions it. It's as if it never happened.

I can see that Alice is scared, too, but it's obvious that speaking about it isn't smart. I don't know what's happening, but it's not ok.

Alice keeps talking about mundane subjects : the food, the wine, how she bought a really nice dress online today... I try to keep the conversation going, but my mind is racing and I really struggle to focus. The way they were staring at us... It was unnatural.

We quickly finish our dinner, pay and go out.

Once on the pavement, I start : « Alice, what... », but she grabs my hand, squeeze it really hard, and exclaims « What a nice night, isn't it ? I love spring in London ! ».

I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't want Alice to be alone either, but she refuses categorically to come to my place or to let me sleep at hers.

I'm scared shitless.

The next morning, I wake up exhausted. I barely slept. I felt like I was followed the whole journey home, and I still feel watched even in my appartment, even though nothing out of the ordinary happened. I still don't know what to think of what happened last night.

I know I didn't hallucinate, because Alice definitely saw it.

I tried texting her, but she keeps answering as if we were having a totally different conversation. It's unnerving.

-Alice are you ok ? What the hell was that ?!

-Yeah I got home safe, thanks for chekcing up on me !

-Alice what's happening ? Should I call the police ?

-It was lovely to see you tonight ! We should definitely go out more !

-Is there any way we can talk ? Please ? I'm worried out of my mind ! Are you in danger ?

-Going to sleep now ! Talk to you soon !

Something is very wrong. I don't know what she got herself into, but I don't think she's safe.

I was making myself some coffee, in hope that it would help me wake up, when I got a phone call from Alice.

I grab my phone and answer immediately, and all I hear is her screams.

I start yelling into the phone :

« ALICE !!! ALICE WHAT'S GOING ON ?? WHERE ARE YOU ? »

More screams.

« ALICE PLEASE SAY SOMETHING ! »

There's a sudden silence.

« ALICE ! ALICE ! »

When she finally talks, it's a whisper.

« It's all fake, Alexander. Everything. It's not real, ok, it's not real, wake up, WAKE UP ! »

Another bloodcurling scream and the line goes to static.

I try calling her back. I get the automated voice : « The line you're trying to reach has been disconnected. The line you're trying to reach has been disconnected [static] The line you're trying to reach has been disconnected, Alexander. »

I'm calling the police. I don't know what's going on, but it's bad. It's very bad.

« Police, how can I help you ?

My friend ! She's being hurt ! Or kidnapped ! I don't know, she was screaming, I don't know where she...

Have a nice day, Alexander. » Beep.

What.. What ?

I call the police again, but there's only static.

Something is wrong.

Did Alice discover something about the government ? The MI-5 ?! Her firm is a huge one, they must be involved in some sketchy legal stuff. Maybe she learned something she shouldn't and they're trying to shut her up ?

I'm going to her place now. I have to start somewhere. I have to help her. She's like family to me.

I pratically run to the Tube station. I catch a train, sit and try to think about where she could be, if I don't find her at her flat.

That's when I notice the silence.

They're staring at me. No one is moving. I freeze, and as soon as the doors open, I run out and escape to the surface.

I come out of the station, panting, my heart racing, sweat dripping off my forehead.

I've never been that scared in my life. An old lady bumps into me, as I'm standing in the middle of the stairway. « Sorry », I mutter (I'm British, saying sorry is an automatic reflex for me).

She answers with a sweet smile « No problem, Alexander. ».

I start running again, bumping into people left and right. I don't stop, but I hear them all say « Be careful, Alexander ».

I'm starting to get thirsty, with all that running. I could really do with some fresh drink.

I decide to stop at a little café down the road. I've heard they make great smoothies !

I'm trying to decide which one to get (the tropical one sounds really delicious : mango, pineapple ; papaya, and coconut water, and you can even add kale if you want to make it healthier!), when I notice my best friend Alice sitting at the counter !

I'm so happy to see her. It's been like, a month since I last saw her, what with her busy job and crazy work hours.

It's such a beautiful spring morning here in London !

It's weird, though, that I got a text from Alice's number while we were drinking our smoothies together. When I told her, she said someone stole her phone last night on the Tube. The text was short, but it was strange. Why did the thief send me a text saying « WAKE UP » ?

#writers #writers on tumblr #horror story #horror #my writing #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Chosen (full story)

Initially published on r/nosleep.

-----------------------------

PART 1

How does a religion die ? Most people would say that a religion dies when there are no believers left.

I know that's wrong.

When I first heard about Hadès, I was eight. My teacher gave us homework on greek mythology, and being the nerdy kid I was, I pretty much ran into the library straight after school and started digging up all the books I could find on the subject. There was none in the children's section, so I went into the science and history section. There were several, but one in particular grabbed my eye. " Greek mythology : The Forgotten Gods " It was beautiful. It was a bit too complicated for a 8 year old, though, so in the next few days my mom helped me read it and note down all the information I needed for my homework. I loved it. The myths, the power, the drama (even though I realized later that my mother kept the most violent ones and the sexual ones away from me).

My mother is a Christian. She taught me to pray every night before bed.

After learning about Hades, I started adding at the end of my nightly prayer "And may Hades help me through my whole life and death ". It wasn't disturbing for me to talk to a different god. I don't think I fully understood the concept of Gods yet. I pictured Jesus and God as real men sitting on clouds somewhere above my house, and Hadès as a real old man sitting on a cloud in Greece, and for me, Greece was as distant as the sky.

That's when the odds started to be in my favor. It wasn't much, mind you : the teacher making us watch my favorite Disney movie, my mother agreeing to letting my best friend and I have a sleepover two week-ends in a row, getting the last one of my favorite pastry, having dogs walk up to me in the street and let me pet them...

You know what children's prayers are like.

I wasn't truly expecting Hades to listen to me and grant me my wishes, I just mentionned him in my prayer because I felt bad about him not getting many prayers, as the book said. In my child mind, I figured that he must feel lonely if no one cared about him.

When I was 14, my mother decided to make me take a calligraphy class with her. She never told me, but I realized later that she saw it as a way to spend time with me. I wasn't a difficult teen (didn't drink, didn't smoke, wasn't rude, and my only shoplifting experience was a lipgloss from the supermarket), but I did spend every minute possible with my friends, and my family resented it.

I was reluctant to go, but against all odds, I fell in love with calligraphy. I was the younger in the class, and for a few months, I was the teacher's pet. Her name was Eleanor, and she always dressed in long, flowing skirts in bright colors. I loved her from day one. We started with just one letter, then the word "Home ", then "Hello ", and then a full (albeit short) sentence : "Happy birthday to you ". By then, I was getting pretty good, and soon enough the teacher allowed me to try and work on a personal project : I could write whatever I wanted, and embellish it to my liking. She gave me different colors of ink, thick paper, and recommended that I stuck to one word to start.

I decided my word would be a name. I had always liked the way "Hades " sounded. It sounded strong, powerful, and, yes, clean, somehow. It had a natural authority, and I felt that if I managed to embellish the H and the S the way I pictured it in my head, it would look great. I worked on it for hours. I started in class, but I took some of the supplies home (with Eleanor's agreement) and worked on it the whole weekend.

Eleanor didn't like it one bit. For a second, she looked almost angry, then she composed herself and asked me why I chose that name. I told her I've always been interested in Greek mythology, and she asked me if I believed in it. That struck me as a strange question, because no one still believes in Greek mythology, right ? So I laughed and said I didn't, of course, but I loved to study it. She then told me, in a cold tone she had never used with me before, that Hades was way too harsh sounding of a name, and that I should have written my own name instead.

I did love it, though. It was black and gold, the ink had runned a little, but it somehow added to its beauty. I hung it out proudly in my room.

I met Hades two weeks later.

He was friendly, charming, and won all the women over in a matter of minutes. All of them, except for Eleanor. Despite the newcomer's obvious talent for calligraphy, she barely talked to him and seemed to avoid him as much as possible. As you can imagine, that started rumours among the students : during our usual coffee after the class, Eleanor and Sean were the center of every conversation. Was he his ex ? Did he leave her for another woman ? Did he leave her for another man ?

I didn't care much for this kind of conversations, but it was pretty funny to see those 40 something women acting like teenagers.

The next week, some of the women decided to ask Sean to join us for coffee after class. He agreed. He ended up sitting next to me, and congratulated me for my Hades art. I thanked him awkwardly, as I wasn't used to sitting next to attractive men in their twenties, and let the conversation go on another subject.

Staring at my Hades piece, I realized how long it has been since I last mentionned him on my prayers. As much I knew how silly this was, I felt a ping of guilt at thinking of Hades, alone on his Greek cloud, with no one caring about him. So that night, at the end of my prayer, I added "And may Hadès help me through my whole life and death. Oh and also, get Aaron to notice me. And an endless supply of chicken nuggets would be great, if you have time to do that for me. Thanks, Hades ". I didn't take it as seriously as I did as a kid, but it couldn't hurt, right ?

When Aaron asked me out the next day, I nearly had a heart attack. I was on cloud nine for the remainder of the school week.

Friday afternoon came around, and it was time for the weekly calligraphy class again. My date with Aaron was scheduled for 7pm, so I wouldn't stay for coffee this time. My mother would probably embarass me by telling all the others about my upcoming first date anyway, so I was happy to skip that, thank you very much. So as soon as Eleanor called the end of the class, I started frantically grabbing my stuff. Being the awkward teen I was, of course, I ended up dropping half the contents of my backpack on the floor. Sean reached down to pick my books from under his chair, and when he handed them to me, he said : "Have fun at your date with Aaron, Cara ! " Mom. For fuck's sake. Did she really have to tell everyone about it ? "Erm, thanks ". "I'll see what I can do about the chicken nuggets.". I was too stunned to react, so I just watched him wink, put on his suit vest, and walk away.

We talked a lot, after that. Both in person and in my mind. I've heard stories from times no human were born, and of all the times humanity needed Gods.

Hades isn't the cold, heartless God we picture in history books. Oh, I'm not saying he's a benevolent, loving Savior either. Gods aren't good or bad in nature. Those are human traits.

They can choose to interact with us, or not. Those people who claim they're talking to God and God is speaking back ? They're not crazy. They've been chosen, like I've been.

Hades gave me only two conditions to maintain our relationship : 1- My firstborn would have to be christened in his name. 2- I could not, under any circumstances, trust Eleanor.

The first one was an easy one, for me. Knowing all I know about Gods, I could not give my child a Christian baptism anyway. My mother will be mad, but she'll get over it.

The second one, though, is intriguing to me. To this day, he has always refused to tell me the reasons why I couldn't trust Eleanor. All he said was "That's family issues. You don't get to know that ". He'd get angry everytime I even mentionned her name.

Having Hades in my life has been a blessing. My life is a hundred times richer and more interesting thanks to him, and, above all, I am not afraid of death anymore.

But something happened today. Two things, actually.

The first thing is that I found out I was pregnant this morning. My husband and I have been trying for the past six months, and I was getting worried. I'm overjoyed, and of course, the first thing I did was yelling for my husband to come to the bathroom. A minute after, we were both crying happy tears.

I decided that we would go out for lunch, to celebrate. Our workplaces are about a 10 minute walk from each other, so I decided to walk there at about 12.30 and surprise him. When I arrived, however, he was already outside the building, sitting on the bench with his back to me. Next to him was a woman with long, silky auburn hair. As I approached them, I overheard her saying : "At last. That's great news, Mark ! We'll need to start organizing the christening soon. It will take a while to prepare. "

Erm. Who was she and what made her think she had a say in my child's christening ? I know people can be quite bigotted in the area, but still. That's something I always made very clear to Mark : I won't get my child christened at the local church just to please friends and coworkers. I don't care if people talk. (Obviously, I left out the part about christening our child in Hades' name. What he doesn't know cannot hurt him, right?)

I put a smile on my face and said loudly : "Darling ! Hi ! I wanted to surprise you and... " I stopped abruptly as the woman turned around to see me. We both froze in place.

It's been 19 years since I last saw Eleanor. She hasn't aged a day.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 2

She composed herself really quickly and introduced herself as “Anna”. She said she was Mark's friend from university.

He never told me about a “Anna”.

“You look strikingly alike a calligraphy teacher I had when I was a teen” I said with a smile.

“Oh yes, I get that a lot. Eleanor, right? Apparently I have a doppelganger! I've had people stop me in the street telling me how happy they were to see me again and I'm always standing there like 'Sorry man you got the wrong person'!”. Her tone was warm, but her eyes were cold.

She quickly excused herself to “let us celebrate”, congratulated me on the baby and walked away, her long, flowing green skirt dancing in the wind.

I felt uncomfortable during lunch with Mark. I couldn't wait to be back to work so I could call Hades.

When I finally did, I locked myself in my office and asked my assistant to withhold any calls I might be getting until further notice.

“Hades? Hades! I need you!” I thought hard and clear.

Seconds later, his voice resonated in my head.

“I know, Cara. I saw it too.You have to leave.”

His voice was urgent, and he sounded... Scared? That made me even more anxious. Hades was always laid back, so relaxed and confident that he was nearly arrogant at times.

“Leave? Leave what? Where?!”

“You have to leave Mark. She hid all this time because she knew I was watching you both, but she's out now. It means business. If you want to save your child, you can't stay.”

“But I can't leave Mark just because he knows Eleanor! There's something fishy about her, ok, I get that, but he's my husband, this is his child too and -”

“Cara. Her name isn't Eleanor. Her name is Hera.”

Hera? The Goddess of Marriage and Women? Doesn't sound that threatening now. I mean, Hades is the God of the Underworld, and he's not half as bad as he's depicted, so Hera couldn't be worse.

“Why would Hera want to hurt me or my child? I'm a woman, isn't she supposed to protect me? And as far as I'm concerned I never had an affair with Zeus...”

“It's not about you, Cara. It's about me. And power”.

That's the thing with talking with Gods.

They never tell you the whole story. They're secretive by nature, and they'll only reveal what they want you to know, often leaving out important scraps of truth. For example, I know that Persephone doesn't exist anymore, but I never got Hades to tell me how or when she died.

What Hades revealed to me then, was that christening is more than offering the child protection from a God. It creates a bond that cannot be broken. And that's how Gods gain power. Not power as in ability to do godly things (the whole chosing your appearance, changing people into animals or stones, being in two places at the same time, time-travelling, blah blah blah). That is a given for them. Power as in power over other Gods.

Believers may come and go, and Gods aren't obliged to help everyone who call them, but someone christened in their name? That's different. That's powerful. Your God will hear you, and they'll do anything to keep you alive, because if you die? That's less power for them.

The catch is that your God can also influence you to become the person he/she wants you to be.

And you won't even realize.

That's why organized religions make such a big deal of baptism. For a God, power means influencing the history of mankind. It means other Gods will fear you, or at least respect you enough to not try to overthrow you.

“So you're telling me that you wanted to control my child? That's why you asked me to christen it in your name?!”

“No, no!”, he exclaimed. “I don't care about that. I just need the power. She would have been free to do whatever she wanted, I just needed -”

“She?”

I could hear him smile. “Yes. The child you're carrying. It's a she.”.

I started tearing up. “But why can't Hera pick another child? She must know that I plan to christen my child in your name. What can she do to stop me from doing that? Can she hurt me?”

He seemed determined when he said “Oh, no. I won't let her. Trust me. And we will christen your baby in my name first, as soon as she's born. We just need to make sure she doesn't christen her in her name afterwards. That's why you need to leave.”

“What happens if she christens her in her name ? If I had already christened her in yours, it won't work, right? You can't christen a child in two Gods' name?”

“Oh, Cara. There's so much you don't know.”, he said sadly. “Of course you can. But it means war”.

So that's my situation now.

If my daughter is christened in both names, she will be in the middle of two forces. Hera will be able to influence her, but Hades said he will do all he can to counteract this. I trust him.

But for him, it will also mean that the war with Hera will start. And it will only end when one of them is dead.

Hades never had humans christened in his name before. So he was never a threat for anyone, and that's how he managed to roam the Earth for milleniums, free and careless.

But he says things are changing. Old Gods are tired of being forgotten, and Hera wants to be the most powerful. And she's willing to destroy everyone so that she and her children can take the lead.

I can't leave Mark. I can't just flee and hope for Hera to never find me, I can't impose this kind of life on my child. I have to stop Hera from christening my child. I don't know how yet, but I will find out. I won't let her ruin my daughter's life.

Tomorrow, Mark and I are going to our first echography. I have to relax and think of the baby first.

Hades will help me. He always does.

Oh my God.

When I saw the look of worry on the ob-gyn's face, I felt like my whole world was shattering. No matter how complicated this situation is, I can't lose this baby. I just can't. I've always wanted to be a mother. I love her already.

“What? What? What's wrong? Is the baby ok? Is it healthy?” I exclaimed.

The doc furrowed his brow. “She's... She's healthy, from what I can see. But ...”

“But what?!” I was almost crying at this point. Mark was holding my hand, nearly crushing it.

“You're 9 months pregnant, Madam.”

They said it was a denial of pregnancy. They said it happened, and that they don't know the exact causes of this phenomenon yet.

They said I probably conceived when I was still on the pill, which explains the “anniversary” periods I had in the first 3 months, and that the hormonal unbalance caused by going off the pill probably masked the symptoms of pregnancy. And since I believed I wasn't pregnant, my mind “tricked” my body into not looking pregnant. My stomach was still flat.

But I know that's wrong. I wasn't pregnant two months ago. I started feeling all the symptoms of early pregnancy only 3 weeks ago : the nausea, the tiredness...

I wasn't supposed to give birth until January.

But they said they will induce labor tomorrow.

------------------------------------------------------------

PART 3

We named her Charlotte Ava James.

Giving birth is a world-shattering experience. The second they put her on me and I looked at her tiny, tiny face, I knew my life would never be the same. I could kill to protect her.

Sadly, I didn't have much time to appreciate this magical moment, as I heard Hades' voice in my head : “Cara, I need to christen her. I need you to let me take possession of your body. Please.”

It was such a troubling experience. It felt like being in the back seat of my mind : I was there, I could see and feel everything, but it wasn't me. I watched my thumb draw a straight line from Charlotte's forehead onto her nose, her lips, her chin, while I heard myself muttering words in Greek while having no idea what they meant. And then I was back.

“Thank you, Cara. She's beautiful. I'm watching you, I'll be here in a heartbeat if you need me, ok?”.

I just nodded. I was exhausted.

After a few hours of staring at Charlotte in awe, I ended up drifting off in Mark's arms in my hospital bed, Charlotte sleeping in her cot nearby. I knew Hades was looking over us, so I felt safe enough.

How presomptuous of me to assume we could relax.

I awoke to Hades' voice. “Cara, she's coming, we have to leave.”.

Mark was pushing Hades away, clearly startled to be awoken by a stranger in a dark purple suit: “Who are you? Who let you in?”

But it was too late for explanations anyway, because Hera appeared.

Yes, appeared. She didn't walk in, or pretended to be “Anna” anymore. She just materialised in the middle of the hospital room, wearing a white, silky blouse and her usual long, flowing skirt, this time in bright pink.

Mark's face lit up, then he looked at me anxiously : “Cara, I... It's kind of a long story...”.

I was already sitting up, despite my C-section hurting me, trying to get Charlotte. Hera's smile spread wider.

“There she is! Look how precious. Isn't she adorable? Isn't -”

She didn't finish her sentence, because Hades sent her flying across the room.

Hera extended a hand to Mark. In a cold, authoritary voice, she said:

“The baby. Give it to me. Now.”.

Mark's face discomposed. He let go of me and Charlotte and stood between us and Hera.

One flick of Hera's hand. Just one small, quick gesture, that I could have missed if I wasn't watching her as intensely as I was.

One flick of her wrist, and a fine line appeared on Mark's throat. Blood started flowing down from this line, a crimsom river covering his thin, blue hospital gown.

I barely had time to scream before Hades materialised next to me, grabbed my shoulder and took me away.

I was still in a bed, but it wasn't an hospital one anymore. This bed was huge, with expensive looking sheets and covers. The whole room was richly decorated. It was daytime when we left, but it was sunset where we arrived.

I was still holding Charlotte. She wasn't even crying, just slowly moving her legs and arms, her eyes closed.

Hades was sitting next to me. He wore no sign of the battle that had just happen : no blood, no cut, no bruise, nothing.

He looked at me intensely and said “You're safe here. For now.”

We both sat there in silence, until my heartbeat returned to normal, until it all started to feel real.

Then he held me while I burst into lungs-collapsing sobs.

He speaks quietly, calmly.

“Why did you leave, Cara? Why did you abandon me?”

“I-I, I couldn't do anything, I swear, Mark, I didn't want to leave! I just wanted to protect Charlotte, I wasn't thinking straight...”

His smile chills me to the bone.

“And you've made a great job, didn't you? She's DEAD, CARA, CHARLOTTE IS DEAD!”

That's when I notice the weight in my arms. I look down. Craddled in my arms is my beautiful, tiny baby.

She's blue, just like her dad. Her lifeless body is still.

Then she opens her dead, cold, glazed eyes, and giggles.

“CHARLOTTE!!”

“SHHH!” Hades slapped my wrist. “She's sleeping. She's fine. Hera's sending you nightmares.”

And indeed, there she was. Sleeping peacefully in Hades' arms, her little body rising and falling with each small, victorious, magnificent breath. My daughter. Those two words still felt unreal.

And the other was...

“Olivia?!”

She sighed. “No, well I mean yes, but I'm not really Olivia. But it was her you were friends with as a teen, yes.”.

“What?”

Another sigh. “I'm Athena. This”, she gestured around her face, “is just the body I'm currently in. Olivia isn't here anymore, I'm afraid. It's a long story.

Oh. This was getting more and more disturbing.

The teen girl smiled and said “And I'm Hestia. Hello. We're here to help you. And Hades.”

Have you ever had breakfast with three Greek Gods planning a war?

That's quite the experience.

From what I've understood, the only way to destroy a God is to convince or to force the one who gave it life to kill it.

So that means the only ones who can stop Hera are her parents, who are also Hades' and Hestia's parents and Athena's grand-parents : Cronos and Rhea. Who, from what I deduced from the conversation, aren't really interested in the fights between their offsprings.

They stopped talking and looked at me sternly. At last, Athena smiled and said “You ask way too many questions, human. Go back to bed.”

I breastfed Charlotte, marvelling at her tiny hands and looking for traces of Mark on her face.

Mark... Hades said he wasn't a bad man. He said Hera can be a very persuasive God, so I shouldn't be mad at Mark for falling into her trap.

Still, there's so much I don't know, and will never know now. Everything happened too fast to give me a chance to have a real conversation with him. I thought I had time, I thought we would talk after the birth, when things calmed down. I was so stupid.

I settled back into the bed, and despite everything, or maybe because of everything, I fell asleep within seconds.

My mother opens the door of our family house.

“Eleanor! Oh my God, it's been so long! You haven't changed at all, dear, that's crazy ! Oh, it's so lovely to see you. Come in!”

Hera is standing on the porch, smiling warmly. She reaches down to pet my dog Brown, this old labrador I got when I was 15. My mother always said I should take it home with me now that I'm settled, but I know that she would miss him, so I never did.

Brown isn't having it. He growls.

She comes inside, while Mom is already putting the kettle on (she's British, she followed my dad to New Hampshire after they met while he was holidaying in Kent in 1975, and they've been together ever since) and yelling for my dad to come downstairs “Jacob ! Come here! You'll never guess who just came to see us!”

Brown jumps, but he doesn't come down. He explodes in a rain of ashes.

I wake up, screaming, to find Athena cuddling a crying Charlotte. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and tell her “Give me my daughter, she's probably hungry.”

But she doesn't. Hades and Hestia are sitting on the bed. Hades strokes my cheek and whispers

“Cara, it's better if she stays with Athena just for a moment, ok?”

I start getting up. I can take care of my own daughter. “I'm fine, I'm fine. Just those nightmares again. Give me Charlotte, ok? Just give me my daughter!”

“It wasn't a dream, Cara. Hera wanted you to see what she did to your parents”.

I don't fully realize that my parents are gone.

I don't know what to do anymore. I have two brothers and a sister, and 6 nephews and nieces. When I think of Hera hurting them too... I can't let that happen.

I don't know how to keep everyone I love safe.

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PART 4 (FINAL)

Hello, Redditors. My name is Angela and Cara has been my best friend since high school.

Cara asked me to update on her story, but I'm not going to write wHat she wants me to. I didn't want to write at all, at first, but after reading what she wrote in her previous posts I realized it could be an opportunity to ask for your help.

Cara is currently committEd to a psychiatric hospital after killing her husband, and she is suspected of murdering her parents and her child, though their bodies haven't been found.

I couldn't believe it at fiRst, but the police said the hospital cameras clearly showed that no one entered or left her room before the nurses found Mark laying in a pool of his own blood. It's still unsure how she escAped, as the power went out rIght after the nurses heard a scream coming from Cara's room and rushed to help. Therefore, there were no video recordingS for about 15 minutes afterwards. The baby was noWhere to be found, either.

I've read her previous posts, and it doesn't sound like Cara. I've known her for more thAn a decade, and she was noT a religious person. I knew she was brought up in a Christian household, but the only times she went to church was when she visited her parents baCk in our hometown. As I moved to California for work a few years ago, we Haven't seen each other much lately but we're stIll pretty close and I know she would have told me about whatever faith she found.

Her posts about Greek Gods don't make aNy sense. I don't know if she was havinG hallucinations when she wrote those posts, or if it was some kind of defence mechanism for her mind not to register what she had just done to her husbaNd, but I know from what the police revealed that Mrk was not killed by some kind of magical superpower. He was killed with the knife Cara was using tO eat her hospital meal, covered in her fingerprints. The line on his throat was nOt 'thin' as she quoted in her post, it was a mess. The autopsy revealed that the killer struggled, which is coNsistent with the hypothesis that the killer was somEone with little strength, like Cara.

I wish I could believe her stories about Greek Gods. I wish I could honestly belIeve that my friend isn't a murderer, but I can't. I don't know what'S happening to Cara, but I do believe she killed Mark. But she isn't a monster, that I can promiSe you. She's the sweetest, kindest person I know and she's been the best friend I've ever had. She's cleArly disturbed. I'm not an expert in mental health, but I'm sure it's not her Fault, I'm sure she's ill and she would never had done that if she wasn't.

Her denial of pregnancy probably revEaled some underlying condition. I'd be shocked, too, if I suddenly found out I was 9 months Pregnant and had to undergo childbirth with virtually no time to get myself ready for it. I'm not trying to find excuses for what she did, I'm just trying to understand.

Two days after disappearing with Charlotte, Cara was found, aLone, in a old abandonned house near Kanab, Utah. She was clean, hEalthy and she had food, even though she was 20 miles awAy from the nearest grocery store and didn't have a car. We don't know how she got there and how she got the food, but one thing that's certain is that Charlotte had been there because there were dirty diapers in the bin. But Charlotte waSn't here anymore.

It's been hard for Maria, seeing her sister going mad, losing her brother in law and having no idea whether her parents and her newborn niece are still alive. Maria is Cara's little sister, and the baby of the family; her older brothers have always been overprotective of her and it feels weird to see her take the wheel that way. Cara's and Maria's brothers are arriving on Thursday, so at least Maria will get some support.

I've been allowed to see Cara for the first time today, and sHe was in an awful state. She kept muttering to herself, picking at her skin and hair, she hAd spasms... Please, do not judge her. I know what she did is terrible, but she's mentally ill. She is not aware of what she did. She keeps saying Hera killed her husband anD her mother. She won't say what happened to her fathEr, though, and she refuses to even Say Charlotte's name. When I visisted her today, she kept telling me “my daughter is safe, don't talk about her, please, my daughter is safe”. And theN she asked me to update this story on Reddit because “people have to know what's coming”, but she won't tEll me what she means.

As you can see, I'm not hEre to warn you against a mythological GoD. I'm here to aSk for help. I don't know where Charlotte is, but I doubt she's safe. Cara isn't herself right now and doesn't know what she's doing, so I'm verY worried about where she left Charlotte and whether she's still alive. I don't know what happened to Cara's parents either. In her last pOst, she talks about her mother being murdered and her father being... I don't know, controlled? Kidnapped? But while no bodies have been foUnd, her parents did disappear the day after Charlotte's birth. CaRa's car was found in front of her parents' house in Flagstaff, empty and unlocked. There was no sign of fight around the car or in the house.

Please, Reddit, if you have any idea as to where Charlotte could be found, it would helP the police so much. I know the community heRe is known for solving mysteries, so tAke it as a challenge or a game if You want, I don't care if you don't takE me seriously, but we need to find ChaRlotte. I truly hope Cara's state is temporary, but if Charlotte is in danger we might not have much time to find and Save her.

#writers #writers on tumblr #horror #horror story #greek mythology #my writing #ignisaurumprobat19 #reddit #nosleep #creepy #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit

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