Haunted

• Eric Chen, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2013

The rust-coated gates stand before me, stoic and foreboding. As I approach, one intent and steady footstep after another, a sudden blast of wind hits me in the chest, pushing me back, almost as though it’s trying to protect me. I take one last look back, and before I can rethink it, I rush forward, jumping and grabbing the gate mid-air. The rough and craggy crust of rust is easy enough to grip, but I’m not prepared for the sudden stinging that comes with it. I flinch at the pain, my fingers slipping from their clasp, threatening to let go. But I don’t. Because I can’t. When I land on the other side, I can already hear it.

Like a slow but steadily quickening knock against the door of my mind, the voices arrive. They slip through the cracks, their taunts and mockery encroaching upon me.
"Idiot. Freak. Monster. Why are you still alive? Nobody likes you. Nobody needs you. You’re worthless."
I push on. My pace slows, each footstep weighed down by the pummelling forces of the voices. But there are still footsteps. I’m still walking. That’s all that matters.
The voices grow louder. They wail and roar with the instinctual power and emotion of a feral animal. With their force they break down the door, and all at once they surge in. Their cries and grunts entangle me in a chaotic net, exploding and ricocheting inside my head, forcing me onto one knee.
"You SHOULD be DEAD. You’re going to DIE. You DESERVE to be DEAD. You’re PATHETIC. Just give up."
My muscles strain and scream desperately for relief as the excruciating pain continues battering away at my body. With a grunt and savage force, I push myself off the ground. I limp forwards with my brow furrowed in determination.

I fall.

The voices still scream with primal rage, their multitude of tones and sounds overlapping and blending, creating a booming, unintelligible noise. Beneath all that though, they start to whisper. A chilling, powerful, almost sincere whisper.
"You know what you are. You’re a monster. You’re a killer. Murderer. And you can never change that."
They tell the truth. I give in; they have me and I am theirs. With my struggle gone, the voices consume me, tearing me apart with their maniacal cackling and frenzied cries. More pain jolts to my head. A lone kneeling figure on the desolate concrete of the playground, I burst. A deafening scream erupts from my throat, joining the voices in disturbing unison. For a frozen moment we shout in deranged harmony. They are me and I am them. And then I hear it.

Silence.