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Untitled draft I'm working on..


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This is the first part of a draft I have completed. I have the whole story done however I think this is terrible, and most likely I will cut through most of this with a fine tooth comb in order to tighten it up and make it the best it possibly can be. I'm expecting all of you to lay into me, lay on some truth about it. I want your honest opinion on this please. lol.gif




My residence resided on the dark edge of a well known forest, to many who could look at the landscape it was as if the forest itself was a coffee stain that spilled onto the porcelain of my house. As if a dark flood of contorted branches and blackness were reaching out towards the small part of civilization it so yearned for. I would stare out of my window at night, to the ever foreboding abyss that stared back at me much like Nietzsche had said.


It was on the celebration of my nineteenth birthday, that I had first seen some sort of movement. Ostensibly I continued on with my task of observing whatever drivel was on my TV. From down below I could see out of the corner of my eye, a shape. It was the refraction of light from my window that made it such a visible sight. Curiosity arousing me, I took to my window and peered down. Not a single movement was made. I pondered to myself, when getting back into my bed that maybe the shapes were in fact just those niggling annoyances that the mind plays on you. And if it had been movement, it was probably only a fox or a squirrel –which were not unusual in these parts- causing the nuisance.


I hadn’t lived here long. My father and mother had decided that their dead marriage needed burying and so upon the signing of the divorce papers, the contractual obligation of custody to my mother and the plane tickets to this new, rural town; I had barely been able to become accustomed to my surroundings. I had spent nineteen years living in the city of London. If you can survive there, and still show no sign of fear, you can survive anywhere. The small town my mother had moved us to was in the middle of nowhere. It was a quiet place, full of rural stony buildings, thousands of bars and inns and the occasional corner shop. It was a town of farmers. My mother had grown up in these parts with her father and she’d always remarked since I was young that she was to someday bring me out to these parts for my own ‘spiritual growth’ in the art of rural living. I was not a spoilt child. In fact I was a very lenient and down to earth person. I didn’t hate the fact I’d left London, but I didn’t like it either.


The town where we were living was called Dark Basin. Unlike most rural areas, Dark Basin was surrounded by forestry on all sides. And if I remembered correctly, reading a tourist board on a nature trail the first day here –I like to take a notepad and write in tranquil or areas I consider to have a vibe- stating that Dark Basin had a foundation of forestry that ran miles outwards, with only a few scattered remnants of old abandoned buildings and such. It was enough to make me excited! I loved places of abandonment. It was like each ruin had a story to tell of its own.


My mother told me to travel into Dark Basin’s woods wasn’t a good idea. People got lost in there, and over the years many who had gone in had never come out. She told me this tale with the clichéd spooky voice, as if something like this would terrify me; somebody who actually reveled in the scariness of things. I believe my taste in the macabre came from my father’s. One night while he worked away in his study –he was a writer- I picked up a copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s greatest works. I found an intriguing sort of comfort in reading his dark writings. I remember the curiosity of The Murders at Rue Morgue, of The Black Cat who had been sealed into the murderous narrator’s basement wall, along with his dead wife; of the House of Usher and the Raven that sat upon the bust of Pallas quoting ‘Nevermore’. My intrigue into the dark genre took me from Poe to Lovecraft, to many a fair range of writers. One of those writers, one of the largest, Stephen King was as interesting as many others. I enjoyed sitting up late, reading all the tales these magnificent minds had to give. I planned one day to become a writer myself, and create something as darkly engrossing as these past intellectuals had achieved themselves.


Happily, our house was on the edge of Dark Basin’s woods. Paranoia of fear setting in, the movements and shapes I considered acknowledging every night was most likely from my own imagination. I knew monsters didn’t exist, but I longed to see something out there in the darkness, a figure, a rare entity no man could identify. My mother called me odd, my father called me brilliant. I sat there one night, as the rain pattered on the windowsill. I loved the rain, whenever I would write it would be a joy to hear the sound of a thousand drops of water hitting the floor outside. It felt peaceful to me. Most enjoyed sun, many enjoyed snow. I really did love the sound and experience of rain, day or night.


I could hear it as moved to my window. I looked out and see darkness above in that purple faded sky, and then down and see large silhouettes of blackness which were the ever foreboding trees. It was on this night, somewhere after my nineteenth that I was to finally see something. The faint rumble of thunder began to stir and I knew a storm was to approach Dark Basin. I had lanterns ready as did my mother –who was spending the night at a friend’s house- , always over preparing. I stared down to the woods below and noticed that the garden had been left askew. I thought strange of this considering I was left to clean up the dustbins and random plots of leftover garden furniture from the house’s last owner. The quiet flickers of light began to illuminate my backgarden, if only for a moment before the cracking roar of thunder screamed and the rain heavily continued. The light flickered once more, beyond my garden there lay trees. If only for a moment I spotted, a face? A second roar of lightning came.


Another light flickered; into the trees there stood a shape of some kind. A man perhaps? I waited for the roar, frozen to the spot trying to indentify this man or illusion. Another shot of light, this time he was more visible. A man in a suit, he stood in-between the contorted trees of my mother’s property. No hair upon his head, a pale stern face staring up at my window. This man was probably lost; nobody in such attire would be outside on a night like this. I pushed my window open a bit more, the rain gently tapping me occasionally. “Hey!” I yelled over the sound of roaring thunder. “Hey! What are you doing down there?” No reply. The man continued to stare, faintly adjusting himself in the trees. He continued to focus his gaze upon myself, and only after a few moments had I seen the smile he was showing. His teeth reach from ear to ear, as if from some sort of cartoon, his mouth was large than any other feature. In fact if I can recall, he had no nose, his extensively proportioned mouth made sure of that. Fear shot through me.


In all my times of wishing for something to appear, somewhere deep down in my mind, I knew it was not possible because I was always in the safety of logic, and I knew that even though I wanted such scary things to happen, they just did not exist in this world. They only existed in the minds of Poe, of King and of many more talented individuals. The smiling man stayed in the trees, each time the light illuminated him I managed to get a better view of his face. No rain seemed to deem itself fit onto his clothing, or maybe the trees did a good job of covering him because he seemed as dry as a man in sunlight. I made no second attempt to call him, his ever smiling face and exterior cast me back to my computer. I did not wish to return to my window, in fact I slammed it shut, brought my curtains together and thought nothing more of the man outside. I began to reevaluate my qualities. I did not want to write horror anymore, nor did I want to summon anything like what I had seen again. Had I summoned it? Had that man, or whatever it was, come to me of his own accord?


I placed my bedsheet over my head, placed my iPod into my ears and closed my eyes. Sleep soon came to take me away, and I so willingly allowed it, so willingly waited for the light of day. I did not want to think of the smiling man outside my window, I did not want to think of him still staring up at it.


“Jacob! Breakfast!” yelled the welcoming words of my mother. I scrambled up, moved to my window and stared down at the garden. The askew furniture was still in place where it had been, the clearing up ahead of trees were not the residence of the smiling man anymore. I took a deep breath. Fear left me and I proceeded downstairs for breakfast.


“Enjoy your night?” asked my mother as I grabbed the fry up from the side.


“It was alright.” I lied, cutting up my bacon. She proceeded to clean up the sides. “I’ll do that, you don’t have to.” I stifled in-between helpings.


“Thanks.” She said sitting down, she grabbed her mug and a magazine and began reading. I knew when my mother had something on her mind, and I was not one to pry into her business. But since the divorce, she had seemed quite relieved of things, until now. For the first time in weeks I saw a frown. She gave a small sigh.


“Something wrong?” I asked casually, not showing much interest.


She looked at me with concern. “There’s something we need to discuss,” I stopped eating and looked at her, my knife and fork clattered onto the plate as I became all ears. “It’s important that you try to understand things from my point Jacob, because this is my happiness at stake.”


She had turned serious, something that usually meant she was going to lay something big on me. Of course there was nothing big enough to make me feel even unhappier with the past events of my life. “I’ve been seeing someone.” Okay so she was getting over my father quicker than expected. “Who’s the guy?” I asked, genuinely curious, a look of horror came across her face as if she knew she’d gone past the point of no return.


Oh god. Oh no! “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” I asked, not wanting a reply.

Edited by Ziggy455

"I don't know about angels, but it's fear that gives men wings."


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I feel a little nonplussed by this. As an introduction, I don't feel you're providing any real hooks or cliffhangers to latch onto; there's no active momentum surging through the story. Instead, it feels a little more like a laboured, exposition-heavy character background. I should be wondering what's going to happen next, desperate to head into chapter two - but there's nothing pulling me forward. What conflict does this guy have?


One conflict, you could say, is the parental issue. But it doesn't seem to be so much of an issue as just a facet of the story. The conflict that does exist isn't being utilised fully. Maybe it'd help to know what kind of story this is, and where it's going, because at the moment it seems to have a little bit of an identity crisis - there's this dark, foreboding atmosphere, and then it all builds up to this reversal about him having a homosexual mother? It doesn't really seem to fit together, thematically. That's not to say that they couldn't coexist, or be used to represent each other in any way, but as it stands it doesn't feel like a truly organic link.


That said, as I've just mentioned, I do get this sense of dread from it, which I definitely think you were going for. I'm guessing you've been reading Poe? Not just from the references to him, but through the way you're telling the story. Stylistically, it feels very much of that sort of gothic era, a slow-burning, foreboding dialogue between the protagonist and the reader. I'd be careful not to let it get a little too bogged down with that style, though - it creates a great atmosphere, but try not to be sucked into telling the story in an antiquated, overly formal manner. Cutting out a parenthetical or two might help with this.


The only other major thing I'd draw attention to is sentence structure. There's a few run-ons, and clauses could be broken up a little more concisely.


On the whole, though, I'd ask yourself where the tension and momentum is supposed to be coming from. Slow-paced can be fine, but there still needs to be something pulling the reader forward.

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Thankyou for the honesty Em. I feel the same way about it. I'll have a rethink. biggrin.gif

"I don't know about angels, but it's fear that gives men wings."


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Care to share anymore about it? If you've finished an 11,000 word draft, then this can only be a fraction of it. What direction does it go in? Identifying that will help you to really polish the introduction up to not only enhance and foreshadow the primary conflict but to infuse it with any relevant thematic links.

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Sure, here's the next part. I doubt you'll find much difference in the style but I was expecting this to be sh*tty anyways. biggrin.gif Once again, fire away, sir. blush.gif




“Well, it depends on how you look at things.” She looked away nervously.


“Well you’re not dating a f*cking horse out here are you mom!?” I yelled in sarcasm, I put my hands over my eyes. “Oh god, you’re not a horse f*cker are you-“


“Jacob!” she yelled, anger in her words. “I’m trying to be honest with you, so for the love of god show me some maturity!” we let a few moments of silence pass. I took a gulp, and tried my best to stifle whatever emotion I could feel coursing through me. Anger? No. Shock? Perhaps.


“So you’re in love with a woman.” I relaxed a little, trying to understand the concept and how I felt about this.


“There’s a story behind this, it is why we came back here.” She had sadness in her eyes; she had no pleasure in lying to her son.


“So my spiritual growth was just all bullsh*t?”


“Of course not I-“


“Save it, I don’t care why we’re here. All I care about is what you have to say.” I motioned my hand for her to continue on with the story.


She went into vivid detail. How she’d met her here so many years ago. How my father and her had rushed their relationship. How she missed her and dreamed of her, she felt that the two were soul mates. I understood this, I understood how much of an unloving stone my father was, but I found no happiness in this revelation. I did not want my mother to be with another woman, not because I didn’t believe in same gender relationships, but because somewhere deep down, I found it wrong and I had no reason why.


“I’m happy for you.” I lied as I pushed my breakfast away. She decided to pursue the talk no further. I decided the same.


“What’s behind our house?” I asked suddenly, my tone much different.


“I’m sorry?”


“Our house, there’s forestry behind it, but is there anything behind those woods? Houses or anything? Office blocks?” she seemed a little dumbfounded by my questions.


“Office Blocks? Out here in Dark Basin?” I caught on.


“So it’s just woods all around?”


She gave a look of concurrence and then another look, a look of realization but instead of pursuing my curiosity she merely changed the subject.



“Are you just going to write again today?” she slowed down now, more concern in her voice than urgency.


Not wanting to chase one sore subject after another I replied “No, I’ll go out today and take a look around. Get used to village and stuff.” I gave it her with a smile that she knew was fake. She kissed my head, told me she loved me and let for work. I finished my breakfast slowly, eyeing up the forestry outside my back garden. After what felt like hours of thinking about the apparition from the last few weeks I got dressed, threw on some shoes and iPod and left the house. I was going to do some exploring of this little town, get the dirt on it, see what it was all about.


The main street was only a few feet in length, pubs littered each side and on each corner a small store would be visible. From mine eyes I could perceive the world as this very happy place. Apart from the ominous name and the forest surrounding it, Dark Basin seemed like a cozy little village. Old ladies rode their bikes down the roads, greeting each other with smiles and small talk. Farmers enjoyed pints outside the pubs, laughter emitted from every known location of another human being. But not that creepy kind of harmony, people here did indeed seem happy. Perhaps coming here wasn’t bad after all, even the beast outside my window was smiling at least. I found crude humor in that, but my stomach turned as I realized I was the butt of my own joke.


I walked around the entire main street, oddly waving to a few passers-by who I could overhear with quiet words “That’s Jean’s lad, got a lot of his father in him that one!” It felt strange to be around people who’d probably last observed me in my baby cot, or pram. We’d left Dark Basin just before my first birthday. A few young girls of my age sat on a pub bench. “Oi oi! Who’s the new lad?” said the petite red head in the middle. All of them looked gorgeous, smiling at me with perfectly straight teeth. They all laughed, but not that secretive kind of laughter most bitches in London had, a more bellowing laughter. I walked around in sort of daze at this point. For what wondrous happy community had I stumbled upon?


I left the main street, the eyes of the community burnt into my back. I took no time to move on and get my bearings. On the left there was a huge river, brick side foundations and beautifully made little bridges were arching over it. Larger houses and stores were ahead, like some kind of modern-country infinite staircase of architecture and beauty. This place was strange. More celebrations and laughter emitted from distant pubs and walls. Chatter followed and then more laughter. For a moment I looked down at the water, and questioned whether or not it had been poisoned with LSD or some kind of anti-depressant. Dark Basin seemed like a vibrant community. No village seemed this tight knit. My reflection shook in the water; I flicked my iPod on and thus began the opening words to ‘Hurt’ by Nine Inch Nails. My face seemed blurry, for a moment as I stared at it I noticed something odd. My mouth seemed wide, too wide. Like the smiling man, his face blurred behind me, ever closer, the mouth wide and full of teeth that stretched from ear to ear! I recoiled quickly, moving back I-


“Hello.” said a faint muffled voice from my left.


“Gah!” I recoiled, still in panic mode because the face was behind me! Reason took over and I relaxed once more, just your head. It’s all in your f*cking head you loon. I yanked out my headphones quickly and stared at the banister. The person to my left must have been f*cking stupefied! My eyes turned and next to me stood a girl just a little shorter than me. A red jumper on her curvy frame, a white skirt following. Her long reddish hair flung to her shoulders.


“I’m not that bad looking am I?” rhetoric question, don’t f*cking answer it.


“I uh,” I took a breath and looked frantically to her and back. “Yeah, no, sorry about that, I just had a bit of a moment.”


She stared at me for her own moment; her brown eyes studied me head to toe. “You’re Jean’s son!” she clapped her hands together and gave a wide smile, straight teeth! All the girls looked stunning out here.


I gave a nod. “Everybody seems to know her.” I began to wrap my iPod away.


“Oh everybody knows everybody here, we’re a tight community.” You can say that again.


“You don’t say, funny, considering I’ve no idea who anybody is.”


“I’m Mandy,” she gave a cute smile and swung her arms lightly side to side as if this was some sort of greeting. “I’m Karen’s daughter, I take it your mom told you-“


“Yes Thankyou, I’m all caught up on their sleeping arrangements.” Once again this came out more forceful than it was intended for. Suck it up, she’s happy, you should be too.


“I’m Jacob,” I gave her a faint smile and moved back to the banister. “Does this mean we’re brother and sister?” her face turned sour, somehow still cute, somehow still very appealing.


“I hope not. I’m not really looking for a brother.”


She gave another swing of her arms and a smile, and moved over to the banister next to me. “Your mom sent me to find you; she wanted me to give you a tour.” I leaned back.


“I was doing an alright job by myself.” What the f*ck is wrong with you!? My inside voice screamed, look at her, she’s f*cking beautiful! You’re being snarky with her for what, because she caught you off your guard? Man up. Man up now, you goddamn child!


“I could always leave you to it.” She seemed offended; her attitude came off short suddenly. She went into a uncomfortable pose that most girls did. Crossed arms, a sigh, slit eyes.


“I’m sorry if I’m coming off as a prick, new town, new people, big thing to take in.” her smile returned immediately, her fidgety exterior followed soon after.


“It’s alright.” She was a bouncy young thing.


“So I guess you can start the tour.” I said getting up. I faced her and waited for another swing and smile. She nodded, grabbed my hand and led me around the whole village. She took me to all the landmarks, the large reservoir lake on the edge of town, the main stores and shops of Main Street. She led me to a small part of the woods where she told me she loved to ‘Get down and dirty.’ I nodded with a smile; she was like a young child dragging her father around a candy store, in a strange sort of way I thought at least. She showed me the pubs, took me to all the locations she thought would be interesting. A few hours later I was completely stuffed with Dark Basin, I’d felt like I’d known it my whole life. Eventually Mandy took a second to calm down and I sat with her in a forest caring near her house. We sat on a bunch of rocks and she began to recount tales from life in Dark Basin. I listened intently, still transfixed on how gorgeous she was. From the stories she told me, it was as if since she’d lived here she’d never felt one iota of pain or misery.


“What about you?” she asked, sat in the dirt; her legs crossed. Her eyes continuously eyed me up and down with some sort of fascination.


“Oh me? I don’t know. I’ve suffered a lot of sadness in my time, too much perhaps.” Another reason I shared interest with the macabre was due to my father never really caring about whether he had a son or not, and beyond his negligence, I’d never really had a dad to stick up for me, or even share one happy emotion with me. As I thought back to him, I hated him all the more and could see why my mother was so unhappy. I didn’t like my father; I loathed him. The reason my head was buried in books of occult fiction mostly added to the fact I could step into a world I felt more alive in, one ironically full of death. My father’s heart and soul was much like them, barren wastelands of darkness.


“That has to change, nobody is sad in Dark Basin.” I believed her. If the Main Street was like that all the time then it was definitely believable. I gave a smile and she gave it back.


“You don’t talk much do you?” she asked suddenly.


“Not really,” she came and sat perched on the rock I sat on, she was out of the dirt. “It’s one of my father’s traits.”


“You’re very mysterious.” She said with honesty, I found myself laughing a little.


Her cute face scrunched up a little and she mistook my reaction as a condescending act.


“I’m not mysterious, I guess I’m just trying to get used to things out here. They’re different for me.” The face returned, she eyed me again and shuffled closer.


“How were things where you lived?”


“They were extreme. Crime was rife in the City, I’d been mugged a few times too. It was a common occurrence where I lived. My father never wanted to leave, I heard that he met my mother in this town before they moved there.” Or so she had told me.


“They did, my mother says so too. I think it’s so romantic.”


“What that they met here?”


“No that after all this time, through all the taboos and that, my mom and your mom found each other. It’s stuff like in those books she reads, the ones with the lawyers and mistresses and all that.” She had me at a loss, not wanting to seem rude I just stared and smiled. She concentrated for a moment. Each action she did was like she was in play, over emoted and dramatized, but I found it oddly comforting in her. But it was like she was a part of me, like she put on an act, like she was unhappy…


“It bothers you doesn’t it?” she asked me, her hand rested on mine. I ignored it.


“Not really. Just like this town I’m accepting new things.” A snap of a twig was heard and Mandy’s head did the same, her eyes flitted behind me. “Come on, we’re too far out.” She said grabbing my arm, a look of fear on her face. She dragged me back to the buildings. We jogged all the way and both of us were beginning to lightly pant.


“Why were we too far out?” I asked as we stopped by the first cobble-stoned cottage.


“No reason, we were just too far out,” she smiled at me and tried to change the subject. “Come on, let’s go get a drink.” I sighed, her smile got to me before logic did and so I stored my curiosity and followed after her. The face of the smiling man screamed at me.


We shared a few cokes outside a local one and continued to talk. I had no idea if she really was interested in me or she’d been tasked with the mission of settling me in due to my mother’s lover. I made her laugh while she made me smile. The day was not a complete f*ckup.


“What are you doing tonight?” she asked me after our third round.


“Probably going to go home and write.”


“You write?”




“What do you write?” My mind shot back to the smiling man.


“I used to write horror until a while back.”


“I’m more of a romance girl.” She had red hair with red clothes and red lips. She was definitely a romantic girl, I thought.


“I can see that.”


She gave a snorting laugh and took a sip of her coke.


“You want to come over and watch some movies tonight? It’d be wrong of you to be in your house alone when your mom will be over mine.” I took a moment to decide, I certainly didn’t want to go home, not with the smiling man still fresh in my head. But I didn’t really want to see my mother snuggling up with another woman on the sofa. Fear gave way to intolerance and I agreed. Mandy leapt up with a yell.


“Oh great! Wow! I look forward to it!” her big smile almost went ear to ear (Oh god) and she suddenly took off. “I’ll come and get you in a bit!” she yelled with laughter.


The next few weeks were a blur. I spent a lot of my waking time with Mandy. The days together with her floated by with ease. Not only did I find her company oddly soothing, I found myself less loathing of who I was around her. I felt a strange sensation I was not familiar with. As we sat in the forest one day she took a picture of us both, and not being the photogenic type I found no happiness in what she had taken, until she showed me it with that beautiful smile of hers. She gave to me and I took it with a stone face, but little did I know I would look at it each and every night to come. And when I did I’d scorn myself for it. We spent more time together than most and unlike other little towns. There was no gossip, no backroom talking of our antics. People here existed and if two were to kindle, it was the way of the world.


But things did not stay the same. As Mandy and I began to see each other less and less due to my selfish nature and the fact I did not want to seem happy with her. I spent a long time reclosing my emotions and spending weeks away in my room. I didn’t want to see Mandy less, and every time she’d walk away or disappear I’d feel a familiar dull emptiness.


It was that same feeling you get after you finish a brilliant book, or you have to say goodbye. You don’t want the story to finish, and you don’t want to see that person leave. Was this what happiness felt like? I took a sigh, finished my coke and returned home. My mother wasn’t here, and the house was empty and quiet. Even in broad daylight I’d felt a sort of odd vibe like I really didn’t want to be here, not now, not again. I went to the kitchen; nothing was out of place. My eyes flitted to the garden, sunlight beamed down and I could see far into the forestry. f*ck it I thought, I stepped outside and walked forward, the furniture had been scattered all around. That didn’t bother me, what bothered me was ahead in the clearing of the two trees. As I got closer, I seemed to feel my heart beat rapidly. Although no evidence of the smiling man was evident in the clearing, I knew in my heart that he had stood there. I looked for some sort of evidence, a footprint or even a button off his suit. Alas, nothing was visible. He was like a ghost.


I turned to return to the house and out of the corner of my eye I could see in the left tree, scratch marks. I examined them for a moment. They looked like a lumberjack had lazily tried to hack away at the body. The jagged lines exhibited the whitish guts of the tree. None of these marks had been opposed on the right tree. This wasn’t evidence and I realized that maybe I was just losing my sleeping pattern; perhaps the smiling man was just a dream after all. What if I was just over-reacting to my mother’s new arrangements, or the divorce? The mind was a terrible thing in the wrong hands. I sulkily headed back inside.



“Jacob.” A whisper in the wind, one that seemed like it was by my ear. I turned suddenly, heart racing, my eyes fixed on the trees. Once more, it’s nothing but you and the trees Jacob. It’s just you and the trees and your f*cked up head.


Night soon followed. I fell asleep on the sofa while some old movie played on the TV, One of those Vincent Price flicks. In my dream I was as conscious as I’d ever been. My feet planted firmly in the forest, the darkness blurring as if I was in a watered down picture. A heavy wind blew me, the coldness of it sending shivers down my spine. It was the place of darkness, and it was where I heard that voice once more. “Jacob.” It said. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Jacob, why are you sad?” it asked. I couldn’t see him but I knew he was there!


“Leave me alone.” I yelled, still standing tall, not wanting him to know how scared he made me.


“I won’t leave you alone,” where was the voice coming from? It was like it was all around, like speakerphones were in my mind, like he was in all four corners of my head. His voice echoed with some distortion. “You’re sad, I can’t have that.”


“I don’t want you to cheer me up, I want you to leave me alone!” I yelled, this time with less control.


“You’re going to smile whether you want to or not, you’re happy here or you’re not allowed to stay. You can smile like me! Come closer, let me cut your smile in!”


“Stay where? – No! Get away!” Horror and confusion hit me all at once.


He was close to me, his shape was ahead. No, in front of me now! His face visible for the first time up close and personal, we were illuminated by some invisible glare of flame. His eyes black and piercing rimmed with yellow haze, his teeth huge and deformed; still part of the smile that spread from ear to ear with a grin. I felt that new encroaching feeling of fear in my heart, my throat tightened, my body weak. He stared at me with a smile, no skin on his face, just a white hard layer that was too consistent and bright to be bone. “Stay here!” he said and his mouth clawed onto my head, a shrill scream surged out of me as his mouth attempted to envelope my head in his jaw, he bit down, I screamed louder-


I shot awake with a yell. I gripped my head, he bit me! All that ran through my mind was his teeth on my head, the way his breath stunk, the way they caved in my skull. I thrashed and covered it with a yelp of fear. Reason resurfaced and I looked around, the house was dark and quiet, the TV flickered from static fuzz to barely audible blips of colour. The satellite must have been out. My body shook and I could feel myself going weak, when you’ve just woken up from such a state of horror, your mind is still in the perceived mindset that you are dreaming and thus you are alerted. You fear the beast is still with you, and you begin to think of the countermeasures (Lock the f*cking doors, and get under the quilt!) but as I sat there shaking, the darkness enveloping me much more effectively as opposed to the smiling man, I began to feel calm. Things were alright, it was a nightmare. Just like last night, it was all a nightmare! I found a great deal of relief in this, and put it down to my feelings. I had to try and be happy, for my mother’s sake. Had to try and not think of the smiling man, had to be happy!

Edited by Ziggy455

"I don't know about angels, but it's fear that gives men wings."


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Mokrie Dela
I was expecting this to be sh*tty anyways

Have you read some of my works? Haha


Is it not healthy to write crap from time to time? I've yet to read all this - and I'm NOT calling your works crap tounge.gif - but just writing something is surely good even if the feedback you're getting is devoid of praise. I personally wouldn't have the guts to do this myself but fair play. I'll read this in full and give my thoughts when I can (though judging from my abilities and some of the other stuff I've seen, I doubt I could offer too much)

The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.


Click here to view my Poetry

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I was expecting this to be sh*tty anyways

Have you read some of my works? Haha


Is it not healthy to write crap from time to time? I've yet to read all this - and I'm NOT calling your works crap tounge.gif - but just writing something is surely good even if the feedback you're getting is devoid of praise. I personally wouldn't have the guts to do this myself but fair play. I'll read this in full and give my thoughts when I can (though judging from my abilities and some of the other stuff I've seen, I doubt I could offer too much)

Your opinion is as valid as Eminence's and any other decent writer. tounge2.gif

"I don't know about angels, but it's fear that gives men wings."


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