Category : Stories

Sub Category : Horror

Part I
  The first time I saw you, I was surprised I could see you. You had a small turtle in your hands. You kept calling it Michaelangelo, which I assumed was a nod to the Ninja Turtles. You tossed your long, brown hair behind your back and knelt down to place the turtle on the ground. You were excited to see it wobbling on the grass. It reminded me of my cat and how I used to play with him when I was your age.
     I witnessed your entire childhood from my small window. Your first ride on a bicycle. Your first day of school. Your first real friend Brenda. Your first day of middle school and the cute uniform you got to wear.  Even rhe time you won the science fair and you brought home a trophy shaped like a cell. You were such a happy girl.

     I saw you grow older. Your body changing. You grew taller, your body slimmer as your mother makes your height on hour closer door.   Your face as beautiful as eve when I thought of the ways to see huh smile and hear your laughr.  Soom enough, others started to notice you in a different way. The stares from the jealous girls. The googly eyes from the young boys. As all this happened before my eyes, I noticed myself changing too. I got older. I got weaker. I became disillusioned . Bruised. I lost my will to escape my painful life. All I had was this window to your life to keep me going. I lived my days through yours. Watching you was enough entertainment for me. You couldn’t know the different ways you saved me from bad thoughts, bad days and all the pain I had been suffering from because you always made it clear to me that someone would be killed if I continued sitting.baxm watching you chance into a women before my own eyes.

     I saw the day that handsome young man came to pick you up in a red convertible. Your mother wasn’t happy about it, but she knew she had no choice. You had to start spreading your wings at some point. You left in a gorgeous floral dress that matched the summer’s flowers. You came back late that night. You had a stuffed bear and some leftover cotton candy. 
     I imagined you had gone to the fair. I imagined all the rides you must have gone on. All the fun that must have been for you. I was so happy that you had enjoyed your first date. And then came the magical kiss. He leaned in, blushing, and kissed you. Your cheeks were so red that I instantly knew I had witnessed your first kiss. 
     I closed my eyes, imagining what that must have felt like. For one second, I imagined it had been me wearing that dress, smiling so big, with butterflies in my belly and a kiss on my lips. But I was happy for you.
     I wanted to thank you for allowing me to live again. For allowing me to dream again. I needed to thank you, but just couldn’t bring myself to you. I couldn’t go talk to you. I didn’t know how. If only you knew about my window.
     
    Everything was so bad, but then one day, it went from bad to worse.  I heard him talking about you. The man I live with. He noticed you. I heard him complaining about how pretty girls like you shouldn’t show off their legs like that. The moment he mentioned your legs, I knew it was over.  Your fate was decided just like that. I knew you would become his next trophy, but I had to keep you away from him. I failed to imagine you the next victim!  This was my chance to thank you. I wouldn't allow you to turn into me.
     I had been lucky. I don’t know why he liked me this much. Most other girls came and went, never to return. And yet, amidst all the years, he always kept me down here. I think it’s because he saw that I still had a light in me; hope or strong will.  Only because I had you.  All the other girls died long before he killed them. I could tell that they were already dead in their eyes long before he viciously murdered them in front of me, showing off his skill.

     But not me. You kept me going. I had my little window. A little crack high up on the wall of this basement I call home. He didn’t like that he couldn’t break me. He didn’t know about the little crack. So he kept me to see how long I could stay like this. It is a sick game... that I’ve been winning thanks to you.
     And then... he noticed you. My mind was filled with thoughts of him laying his monstrous hands on you. Whatever strength I have left, I’ve collected it and prepared myself to finally do something about it.

     I want to thank you. Because if you’re reading this letter, it means I did it. I gathered my courage, packed it neatly into action, and went through with my plan to escape once and for all.  I will make him believe I’ve died. I don’t know if it’ll work. But if it does, he will reach to pick me up. I’ll immediately kick him as hard as I can where it’ll hurt the most. I will then steal his keys and run as fast as I can and drop this letter off in your mailbox. I have a feeling he will chase me and get a hold of me eventually because I am weak... I’m very weak. Battered. There is barely a human left in this body of mine. But if that is the case, I’ve been prepared to leave this world for a long time. I doubt anyone will hear or see me. This street is so desolate. You’re the only life here, it seems sometimes. Only, so long as you get this letter, I know that I did my part and that you’ll be safe.
     Monsters are real. This one is named Ryan Morehouse. He is your front door neighbor. I have been kept captive in his basement for a very long time. I’ve lost track of the years but I believe I must be in my late twenties by now. I was fifteen when he first brought me here. My parents must have looked for me. Please don’t tell them about me. I don’t want them to know about the tortures he put me through. I don’t want them to see me broken down this way.  The only thing that I could take from all of this is sparing my parents what I've been through. I just want you to report him to the police. His evil nature and depraved mind can only be stopped if he is caught behind bars.
     They will learn about the walls!  Each wall in his house has corpses wrapped air tight behind them.  They will find bodies dangling behind them, especially in the basement. I’ve learned to live with the smell by now but they will notice it the second they step down here.  Tell them to treat them delicately. They were good girls. They’ve been my companions. My friends.
     Most of all, I want to thank you. You’re the only thing that kept me going. You were my light in all of this darkness. And now, I’m escaping thanks to you. Escaping this awful room. This hell house!  Escaping this awful life. Even if it means I finally get to die.

With love,

The girl who watched you grow up.

_____________________________________

     We found this letter in our mailbox. After contacting the police, they entered the home of our neighbor across the street. Over a span of five days, they found a total of fifteen bodies hidden in the walls of his house. He had plans to kidnap our daughter, but thanks to this mysterious stranger, his plan was intercepted. 
     
     We still have not found the girl who wrote this. We like to think she made it out alive, but, sadly, it isn’t likely, as Ryan Morehouse is also missing. We don’t even know her name. But we did find the little crack in the wall, the one where she saw my daughter grow up from.


Part II

     Hi,

     It’s me.

     It’s been a while since I last wrote you.

     I read on the newspaper that you received my letter. I guess you know about me now.

     I bet you’re wondering who I am. What my given name was. Who my parents were. Where I lived. Where I went to school. What I dreamt of becoming when I’d grow up.
     I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t wonder. Maybe I just wished you did. Maybe I just wished someone did.
     When you’re locked away for so long, watching as the world passes by, not taking a second look at the blue house with the man with the fake smile, you start to understand that you don’t really matter. You start to understand that the world only cares about the sensationalism and scare factor of a missing teen. They don’t really care about the face in the missing poster. And that’s when you begin to float. You float when he talks to you. You float when he beats you. You float when he enters you. You float... far above it all.
     I read a long time ago that when you go through a near death experience, many patients claim to hover above their bodies, watching as doctors and nurses worked to save them. They floated.
     Apparently this is a mechanism of the brain when it is going through extreme trauma. The event is so inconceivable to the brain that it begin to react in bizarre ways. It becomes detached, or at least, pretends to, so that the patient feels safe. Well, I did that. I floated, watching from a distance the things that were happening to me. I guess that’s what happens to you when you die a little each day. I guess that’s what happens when they kill you a little every day.

     He was dashing. Very clever. He knew all the words to say. In one second, our paths crossed and he changed my life forever. I can still clearly see that moment in slow motion: the way his smile became distorted, the way he twisted my arms, the way my heart sank and drowned.
     An abduction is a heart wrenching, soul destroying transaction between the captor and the abductee. In one single moment you realize you’ve made the greatest mistake of your life. You wish you could go back for just one split second. Back to when everything was still alright. Back to when you were still only a naïve, innocent child. But you can’t. It’s over before you even had a chance to process it. And although you always thought you would fight like a beast in a situation like this, and you always thought you would defend your body and mind with every single cell in your body, you don’t. Suprise.  
     Something inside you breaks and you easily become his prisoner. You quickly believe you deserved this for being such a fool. You quickly descend into a madness I wish upon no one.
    By now, you know that I lived in a labyrinth of horrors. My pain seemed eternal. It seemed like purgatory. Sometimes, even now, I wonder if I’m not still there; if all this is just some neurons in my brain creating nicer pathways and showing me the life I wished I had. But there is one thing I always remind myself of when I begin to have these intrusive and deluded thoughts: children grow up. Maybe I was a young, naïve and easily conquered child once… but even that could not last forever. In the end, children always grow up. But monsters, they always stay monsters.

    Ryan Morehouse.

    It’s strange to say his name out loud and to no longer be afraid of it. But the strangeness of this new feeling inside me is slowly fading as I realize it was all real. The pain was real. The girls I met were real. He was real. My escape was real.

     I laid motionless. Not breathing. Eyes opened. Mouth dangling. As he approached me, my body became tense, knowing the things he was capable of. But before he could do anything to me, I floated. The funny, beautiful irony of my story is that he taught me through pain and suffering the one trick that would bring it all to an end. I floated. I flew. As he kicked me that afternoon, I watched from above. But this time, even my physical body didn’t react to the pain he inflicted on it.

     I can’t explain to you what happened. Sometimes I think it was some sort of miracle. It was all too perfect. He really thought I had died. I could tell by the shock in his face. I was baffled by all the mistakes he made. I suppose he got used to my powerlessness. But on that day I had a mission to save you. I couldn’t bare to imagine you in his mind, in his hands, in his chambers of torture.
     As he dropped down to check my pulse, I knew it was over for him. He looked into my dead eyes. He stared intently into them, looking for any sign of life. And then I squinted with a half smile, startling him before I bit down hard into his neck. He never saw my smile coming into his skin. I think it’s because he had forgotten what my smile looked like.

     I never knew I’d enjoy the taste of blood in my mouth so much.

     As he stumbled to the ground, holding his neck and crying in horror, I stood up. And for once, it was I who looked down at him. For once, it was him who looked up to me. I could see it in his eyes that he knew it was all over. I kicked him in his head until I could no longer recognize him. There was a numbness inside me as I kicked and kicked and kicked. I felt nothing.
     In the darkness, I drove. I still remembered a bit of my driving lessons I had the year I was abducted. Driving was incredible and freeing. I drove for a long time in his truck. I knew I had to get rid of the car as the authorities probably would be looking for him and his truck after finding the letter I left you. But I didn’t want to be found. I didn’t want to speak to anyone; not the police, not any therapists, not the media frenzy surely waiting for me, not even my family. 
     I was thirsty for a freedom that I had never known. A freedom far away from every single living thing.

      I made it to the desert and walked out of the car, leaving his body in the back seat. I enjoyed the colors of the sun as it lightly went to sleep for the night. The freedom that I felt inside me was indescribable. It was as if I had been born again.
     As the stars began to dangle above me, I wondered if you had read my letter. I wondered if you felt safe now. I wondered if you were thinking about me. But mostly, I missed you and it made me anxious.
     While I enjoyed my freedom in the desert, I heard something coming from behind me. I looked over my shoulder and felt his eyes on me. I quickly turned around as he laughed, blood spilling from his mouth. He really did resemble a monster now.
     “Did you really think I would be this easy to kill, you stupid twat?” He laughed, wiping his deformed mouth.
     “Did you really think I didn’t know you weren’t dead? Even I have survived worse beatings than that, you fucking fool,” I retorted, slowly smiling again.

     Monsters are funny. They always forget that there can be monsters hidden in pretty, little things too.
  
   I pulled his gun from my pocket and squeezed the trigger as bullets hit the desert and sand erupted with each bullet that hit the ground.  I warched him dance to avoid taken a bullet or three in his feet. I then shot both of his feet and heard him squel like a pig in heat.   He fell to the ground, once again, crying in pain.
     “I’m not a kid anymore,” I said, watching him recoil to the ground. “I’m not a woman either,” I paused, my voice changing. “I’m not really even human.”

      I’m not.

     I am what he made me. I am this thing that can’t feel correctly. I am this thing that can float. I am this thing that has learned to accept severe pain. I am this thing and I’ve come to accept it. But I don’t think the rest of the world would.
     I won’t lie to you; Ryan Morehouse and I, we still live together. Please don’t feel bad for me. It was him who chose this. I can’t help but feel that only he truly knows me now. Only he knows me in this deformed, twisted version of myself. Only he can understand me because I am what he made me. But, he knows. He knows that it’s my turn now. He knows that there is nothing he can do about it. He understands that he must serve me now!  He knows that he doesn’t have a choice but to be powerless and helpless like I once was. With time, he will learn how to float too.

      So, I wanted to write you this letter to give you a proper thank you. Thank you for always being there for me. Through that small crack with the small window in the basement.  I saw you grow up in your front yard. I saw you shine. It is what truly kept me going. Your beauty, your innocence, your kindness, your wit all made me live longer just so that I could watch you for one more day. It was like watching my favorite tv show---not wanting to miss one single episode. So thank you for that glimmer of hope that kept me going through all those years that I was held captive.
     It makes me eternally happy to know that you’ll never know the horrors of that unforgiving basement. It makes me happy to see you on your journey. It makes me happy to know that you’ve put the fear of Ryan Morehouse behind you.
     I’m ecstatic that you’ve chosen criminal justice as your major. I like to believe that I had a little influence in that. I love the way you’ve decorated your dorm room. I also love what you’ve done with your hair. When the sunlight hits it just right, the highlights make you look like an actual angel.
     You might be wondering how I know all of this. Well, I wanted to admit something to you. I still get panic attacks. I still get horrendous flashbacks and I end up almost drowning in my own sweat at night. So, I have done what I’ve always done to reduce my anxiety.

     I still watch you.

     Last night, I had one of the worst flashbacks since I escaped. I could feel him inside me. It was physically painful. So I ran out of my house and drove over to spend some time with you. Watching you sleep made it all go away. The way your chest rhythmically moved up and down brought a calm over me that I’ve only known when watching you.
     I apologize that I still have not physically introduced myself to you. I’m just not ready to come out to the world yet. I still have some things to do with Ryan Morehouse before I can reveal myself.
     Please know this, one day, as all monsters do, Ryan Morehouse will expire from this world. And perhaps, only then, will I be truly free. Free to come and introduce myself to you. And maybe then we can be real friends. Maybe then, you can accept me for who I am.

     In the meantime, thank you for your help in my time of need. I’ll see you soon.
     With all my heart,
     -The girl who watches you from afar.


     
     Six months ago, we received a letter. It was a bittersweet moment. We rejoiced as we realized our daughter was saved from a horrific man, but we were saddened to find out that we had lived in front of a house where many young girls had been held captive and murdered. Most of all, we prayed that we could find the anonymous girl who left us the letter.
     Although we received many messages asking us for an update, we were asked by the detectives and agents not to share information as the investigation was active and ongoing. Normally I would respect the wishes of law enforcement, however, I find myself in a difficult position. I truly believe the public should know about the dangers that hide behind pretty little houses in pretty little neighborhoods. It is nauseating and petrifying. This is why I’ve chosen to share it all.
     The first time we received a letter from the victim, we were thankful for the writer, for the girl. But this second letter has left us shocked and frightened. Once again, we are left with unknowns.
     The unknown of whether our daughter is now being followed by a stranger.
      The unknown of the mental state of this stranger.
      And the unknown identity of the girl who watched our daughter grow up.  As for our daughter, she and her best friend she met on campus at college are always on alert now for the men like Morehouse.  Her friend said she even heard about him from the news and the dead bodies he had in his walls.  The thing is, that information was never shared publicly, least of all with the news.. 
  End of First Half