For some odd reason, a lot of people like to get scared as a form of entertainment and we can't really blame them for that simply because just like every other form of entertainment it arises some unusual.
Or at least rare feelings that are usually considered unpleasant when they happen in real life because you're actually living it and suffering the consequences of that fear, but when reading a story about something scary you can just experience the feeling without having to actually be there and get hurt physically or emotionally.
Me- Hello, this is 911 what is your emergency?
Man- I-I don’t know, I just woke up and saw a man outside, he looks like he’s hurt but also dangerous. Can you send someone over?
Me- Of course what is your address?
Me- Hello? Sir? Are you still there?
Man- yes um ya um -silence-
-mumbling- what the hell?
Me- Sir is everything okay? Can you please tell us the address?
Man- oh my god, he just got up H-his face is what the f***
Me- Okay sir, please check around your house and make sure all windows and doors are locked just stay on the line and we’ll track your phone, is it possible to keep your eyes on the man at all times?
Man- y-ea um okay
-2 minutes of silence-
Man- okay all doors are lock-
Me- Sir, are you okay? is there somewhere in your house that has a lock and no windows?
Man- what the f***! oh my god! what is that!
Me- Sir! please stay on the line
Man- h-his face i-it’s right on the window and and he he’s smiling..
Me- Can you make out his face can you describe him for me?
Man- His teeth are their so sharp and his smile th-the smile holy sh** it’s getting-
Me-Sir! are you still there please answer
Man- he- he’s tapping on the window he wants to get in oh no -sobbing-
Me- Sir! hello? please run to any room in your house that has a lock and no windo-
*End of Call*
When she woke up, she found herself enclosed in a glass box just big enough for her to stand in. The box was in the center of a studio with twenty or so spectators meandering around the room looking into the other various glass boxes containing other human beings. She cupped her hands against the glass and stuck her face against them and squinted to view the human inside the glass box not far from her. He hung naked from a rope attached to the top of the box, blatantly dead. She looked down and saw a small sign on the bottom of the box that read “Death by lynching”. “Such a magnificent art piece,” she heard a spectator viewing the box say.
She looked around the room at the other various glass boxes containing humans. One was overrun with rats gnawing flesh, one cadaver floated in the water, and one was hard to spot from the gas that filled their box. The panic finally sank in and she began to bang on her glass box, but only one guest looked just to turn away, uninterested. She stopped banging when a spectator walked up to her box and stared at her the way a tourist stares at the Mona Lisa. The spectator looked down at the sign attached to her glass box and she overheard them say, “Death by starvation.”
Traffic was flowing pretty well that day, nothing on my way but a few red lights. It was while I was waiting at a red light that I noticed the woman.
I have no idea how long she had been standing there, staring at me, but once I noticed her I just could not look away. She was smiling like a maniac and waving at me with one hand while stroking a little boy’s hair with the other. The little boy, her son I assume, was wearing baggy brown clothes and a black goat mask. Now that was a very weird costume, plus, who wears a costume the day after Halloween?
He was also waving and staring at me through that unsettling mask but his waving felt uncomfortable and forced. The woman’s eyes, they could see right through me and I could almost physically feel her stare fixating on me. She wouldn’t even blink. I felt naked and extremely unnerved. Now the boy’s eyes, God, the boy’s eyes were pleading and begging for help. The woman started to grow impatient, waving harder each passing second.
I looked away.
For some reason, I was terrified.
I had to get out of there. Once the green light was on, after what had felt like forever, I took off. Didn’t even dare to look back.
I thought nothing could be more terrifying than that extremely unsettling feeling I had felt under the stare of that woman and her son. But then I got to school, and they told me my son wasn’t there. They told me my wife had already picked him up. But I don’t have a wife. They handed me a note, saying she had asked them to give it to me. There are no words to describe what I felt when I read the note. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to say goodbye.”
He goes to bed at ten, every night. He says goodbye to his friends on the Internet and shuts his laptop down, like clockwork, and then he changes out of his clothes and goes to bed. He dreams but never remembers what about. When he wakes up in the morning, he’s always slept in, and he hurries to get to school in time. He gets home at thirty-six minutes past three and does his homework, and then he returns to his laptop until bed.
He likes gummy bears, horror films, and music that has screamed vocals. He doesn’t really have any friends apart from me, so he keeps some weed in his sock drawer for when the loneliness gets too much. He doesn’t know what he wants to do after school, but he knows he wants to go and live in a big city. London, maybe. He’s so sad because he doesn’t realize how beautiful he is. I don’t know what I’d be if I didn’t love him like I do. I was nothing before him.
We’ve lived together for twelve months now, it’s nice. I used to be one of those faceless people he speaks to online until we both realized that we couldn’t live with being so far away from each other. I moved to the other end of the country to be with him, I made so many sacrifices and I don’t regret it at all. His parents are nice, but we just spent most of the time up in his room alone. We don’t talk like we used to before I moved in, though. Most of the time I just watch him. It’s how I know so much about him.
Tonight, his routine’s changed. He doesn’t touch the laptop, he just lies on his bed with his face in the pillow and cries. I was concerned until I looked at his calendar and realized the date. Of course, he’s upset; it’s been a year since I hanged myself.
The cashier swipes my items across the scanner as I stare at the floor. I find it easiest to get through my anxiety by avoiding eye contact with other people. That’s why I only go shopping at night: fewer people to avoid.
“Did you find everything okay?” she asks casually.
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble to the floor. Her voice sounds nice. Pleasant. Curiosity wins over and I glance up.
The cashier’s head is completely caved in on the left side, blood streaming out her eye and ear on the right. Probably a car accident. I snap my gaze back down towards the floor and feel vomit at the back of my throat.
After I pay she gives back my change in a hand so mangled I’m surprised it can hold anything at all.
Thanking her, I grab my bags and turn towards the exit. Immediately I see a man looking through magazines at the storefront. The skin on his face and hands is the consistency of a hot dog that fell into a campfire. Burn victim.
I turn the other way and see a woman with a purple bruise surrounding her neck, her eyes bugged out and bloodshot. Death by hanging.
I rush out the door as fast as I can. In my car, I finally catch my breath as I lean my forehead on the steering wheel. Eventually, I look up and see my familiar reflection in the rear-view mirror: my head is blown open in the back. Gunshot victim.
Why did I ever wish for the power to see how people die?
Mommy always leaves me and daddy home on Saturday nights, and I and daddy always go get ice cream in the car after dinner. I have to sit in the back seat until I’m a big boy. I go in the kitchen to see what daddy is cooking for dinner after my Barney movie is over, but he’s not in there this time. I saw a note on the counter that said mommy and uncle James were going somewhere together. I’m not sure, I don’t read that good. I go find daddy in the garage.
I shut the door behind me like I’m supposed to. Daddy is in the car and he already has the car turned on. We must not be eating dinner tonight, only ice cream. I get in the backseat behind daddy since I’m not a big boy yet. Daddy doesn’t say anything when I said hello to him. Maybe he can’t hear me over the loud car. I think I’ll take a nap on the way to ice cream. I feel kinda sleepy.