Routines In The Night
One of my Medium articles. :)
Bzzzt. The sound wasn’t external, but a low and persistent cacophony deep within my head. It vibrated through my bones, pulsed through my nerves - dragging me forcefully from the abyss of sleep. There was a constant ringing in my ears with the rhythm you’d expect in a build up to a psychedelic beat drop. My throat felt like sandpaper, drier than a Marlboro in an ashtray. The more I felt the sensations of my internal structure, the more it began to feel more like a forced eviction, rather than the usual waking up.
With the sickly echo of a storm raging in my skull, I tried to get up. My body felt like a ship anchored to a port - it refused to move. I forced myself up, but where was this up? In my tug of war with consciousness, I hadn’t even made an attempt to pierce through the crimson fog that hung heavy in the atmosphere. As shabbily as I live, this wasn’t my usual brand of dishevelment, not even close. A cold, unforgiving concrete slab for a mattress, scarce remnants of what appears to be a wallpaper all around the floor. Shadows twisted into grotesque shapes in the faint light, perhaps dancing to the eerie noises that echoed throughout.
I squinted my eyes, in an attempt to focus on the shadows. They vanished, and the noises stopped. There was no other option, I had to keep moving. Strange red light bled through a narrow opening in the room, my only escape. With a pounding heart, I crept through. The rough concrete scraped my skin. My heart was playing jumping jacks with my anxiety - the tightly enclosed space only making it more erratic. There was light at the end of the tunnel, except that it was blood red.
I got out, and there was it all again - the soundtrack of my adventure along with the harmony of the shadows, all dancing behind me. Jesters making a mockery of my attempt to get out, perhaps - or cheerleaders celebrating my initial checkpoint? A distorted voice echoed in my head. Though I was in the middle of an unsettling score, this was a voice I could recognise even deaf. “When in doubt, it’s both”. With a bitter chuckle at my misery, memories of my time with him flashed in my mind. He always gave the most cryptic advice, the kind that never made sense until it would hit you like a low-blow one fine day. And this? This wasn’t one of those days. There was no scope for any mental clarity in this oppressive atmosphere, not with these contortions performing their macabre dance, closing in on me.
Oh, my sincerest apologies. In the midst of my waves of nostalgia, I forgot to describe the scene to you, didn’t I? In my escape attempt, I had stepped into a hallway. Like the grotesque choreography behind me, the red lights in front of me performed a ballet as well. Swinging to and fro, they partially illuminated the hallway, similar to the shades of a dying sun. Their morbid jig painted caricatures of fear throughout the hallway. There was a blind spot in my head, a bullet-shaped hole where my wits used to be. Call it anxiety, but I wanted to dig inside my skull and yank out the decaying carnation.
Walking ahead, all I saw were doors. Flat on the damp floor, choking the walls on both sides, plastered crookedly on the ceiling. It certainly wasn’t deja vu, but the layout felt too familiar - perhaps it was a distorted recollection of a nightmare? Some of the doors were sealed shut - like a crime scene and reeked of blood, while some were ajar, revealing glimpses of the darkness within. Unlike me, my companions were more excited to see the scene. Chills ran down my spine, how did I even end up here?
A wave of nausea continued to hit me as I marched forward, desperately trying to ignore the ever-present doors. New additions to my auditory nightmare were screams, raw and crisp, from the other sides of my enclosure - ordering me to open the doors and set them free. In my life, I had been in and out gnarly settings at numerous instances - however this one felt different. Perhaps, this was fate’s way of communicating. Warning me that my luck had finally run out.
I did not pay any heed to the desires for freedom. The lurking presences behind me were enraged at my decision. I could feel their growing malevolence deep within my soul. The symphony had come to an end to reveal the rot underneath. I had stepped over the edge. The cartoon moment when the gravity waits for the coyote to realise his mistake before the plunge. Instead of looking down, I ran forward - a desperate gamble against the darkness closing in on me.
Each stride put more distance between me and the growing rage of my enemies. Their growing rage and feelings of contempt had inspired the prisoners. Hurling abuses, primal, raspy howls - their screams loud enough to break and distort their voices. All concluding to a common sentiment - “open the goddamnn door!“. It was a demand I couldn’t afford to cater to. My lungs burnt like fire, my legs ached with every pounding step. My luck had indeed run out. Fate presented to me an illusion of choice. Whether I continued to ran, or gave up, I would eventually succumb to the darkness giving chase. It was only a question of how sweaty and filthy I would taste to them.
To add to my growing troubles, I reached the end of the hallway. It was a door with “stay out” spray-painted in white. When you throw the instructions out the window, odds are you’ll go that way too. I stormed inside the door and bolted it shut. The room was surprisingly familiar. [redacted], I reckon. For a moment, I thought I was finally home. Little did I know, I had played exactly the cards they wanted me to play.
The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper, more terrible it grows behind you, its edges yawning at your heels. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But it’s like looking down into the grave of your love, or kissing the mouth of a gun, a bullet trembling in its dark nest, ready to blow your head off.
A frail creature ran around me, tilting its head - a silent question in it eyes as it licked my feet. The walls smeared with blood, a ghastly sight. I slammed my eyes shut, determined to escape the scene. I retraced my steps, while the creature brushed intensely against me. A familiar yet intense longing to reach down and stroke its fur, to grab it and give it a kiss ran throughout my body. My chest began to ache. It was the genius of the hole; no matter how long you spend climbing out - you can still fall back down in an instant. This was all but a cruel echo, a carefully construed fragment to lure me back in.
”Oh hush, my dear.”, I let out with trembling lips and I ran away. The creature screamed, reciprocating my yearning. A heartbreaking cry that dismantled my soul. This wasn’t my heaven, it was a cruel mirage. However, there are things in life you can never choose - how you feel being one of them. My memories clawed out my insides, my eyes bled with tears. A constant reminder of all that I had lost, and suddenly it all made sense. It wasn’t a forceful eviction, it was my night’s routine. The house of horrors. The room began to shudder as the horrifying truth sank in. Perhaps, this entire system was structured to collapse when the prisoner began to break the fourth wall.
The doors were ripped from their hinges. It was as if the world was making a last attempt to save itself. Everything let out all at once, the monstrosities with the stench of impending death left me numb. The Pandora’s box was open at last, spewing forth venom strong enough to bring Gods to their knees. This time, it wasn’t me who marched forward. I was a petrified spectator, forced to watch the incoming tide of soul-crushing despair. It wasn’t the world’s end, it was my end.
A horrifying grin reflected across the face of my adversary as he thundered towards at me - determined to end this twisted dance once and for all. This wasn’t my first waltz here, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Instinctively, my hand fumbled into my pocket only to be greeted with a glint of steel. A knife. Each time the means of escape gets more painful than the last, a grim remainder of this inescapable cycle. A silent battle raged within me, the urge to face the danger head-on.
Nevertheless, I had the key to my lock. Haphazardly taking the knife out, the coldness of the steel exactly opposite to the raging inferno within me. There was a catch to my story though, the blade wasn’t to be raised in defiance but..
And it stopped dead in its tracks. Perhaps in awe of what it had just witnessed or perhaps in dread. The audacity of my choice, the disboedience to the laws of the cycle seemed to have dealt the final blow to the house of horrors. A middle finger raised not just for it, but for the entire system trying to hold me captive. This was a part of my routines in the night. To live on, I have to die in every iteration - but not at their hands.