Ramblings of a Murderous Psychopath

The Mirror by Francis Bacon

Did you ever lie spread-eagled on your bed, thinking about why you have such dark thoughts floating in your mind? They sometimes abate and then reappear. Have you ever spoken wildly to yourself, debating your own sanity? Ever had the feeling that someone else might be controlling you?

I have.

I lay on my bed in the pitch blackness of my room. A desert cooler was rendering it cool from the intense heat outside. My parents were asleep three rooms away. My eyes were open, staring at the ceiling above me, but not really looking at anything at all. The books I was reading earlier lay strewn around me. My laptop cable lay unstrung at my feet. I was thinking about something I had written a long time ago. It was about the dark side. I had one. I wanted to prove everyone else did as well. Well, did they? I would never know, but my sanity is in question.

The doors leading away from my room are open. I try to get up from my bed but can't. It's as if something is binding me down, like an invisible wall of air pushing me down with all its might. I gather my strength and put my tired feet onto the ground below. I search for my glasses on my bed. I remember keeping them there. There is no light. I do not wish to turn on the lights in my room for I have a bizarre fear, at this strange moment, that I might not be alone. Something powerful lurks in the dark with me. It's always been there. Tonight, I feel its presence ever stronger. I cannot find my spectacles. Where are they? It feels like an eternity after I search my entire bed and I can't find them. The darkness is suffocating. I'm blind without my glasses. Where would they be? An age later, it seems, I find them lying comfortably on the mantelpiece. Who would put them there? I'm sure I did not. Who is in here with me?

My bed is a little wet from the water from the cooler. Or is it sweat? Am I sweating? I feel cold. I feel a cold draught on my neck. It's like someone, or something, is breathing heavily over me. I turn around swiftly in the dark. There is nothing that my eyes can perceive. Nothing at all. Was it my imagination? I think not. The danger is still here, ever present. I step into the bathroom adjacent to my room. I switch on the lights this time. I look into the mirror as I wash my sweaty face clean. A flash. A flash of a wild deranged face behind me. It looks like it's cackling. It disappears as quickly as I had seen it, through the corner of my eye. I know there is nothing behind me because I turn around to find the room empty. But it's presence seems to linger. Again. The face seems vaguely familiar. I would not know who or what it is. But it's not in my mind anymore. It says to me, “You know what to do.”.
Suddenly, everything was clear. There was a moment of clarity like no other. I had to set out to break, destroy, annihilate. Kill.

I navigate my way to the kitchen. My feet are at times like lead, drawing me back. Sometimes my mind is ebbing me forward. My will is unknown even to me. All I know is that something important is at hand. Something sinister is inside me, controlling me and I have given way to it tonight. I grab the big butcher's knife from its stand. I feel it with my fingers. The smooth surface gleams in the ray of moonlight shining through the open window. I smile as I feel the hilt with adoration. It was crafted for my hands. With a faint smirk of disdain I swagger out of the kitchen.

The morning wanes on. I wake up as the sunlight reaches my eyes. The cooler is still running. My glasses are on the bed beside me. I had an amazing sleep! I put on my glasses, yawn and put on a shirt. I look around me. Everything looks normal, the way it should. Nothing is out of place. Yet something does not feel right. There is an anomaly. I can't find it, though. Well, I'm sure I will. I trudge down to the bathroom, a little wary. There's nothing here either. Last night's dream was pretty horrific. I murdered my parents. Then I'd gotten out and butchered some innocent homeless people. Imagine that. My mum calls to me for breakfast. She knows I'm up. I tell her I'll be at the the table shortly. I wash my face and there it is. A little spot of red on my cheek. Blood. Wonder how it got there. I wash it off and I as I look back into the mirror I get the biggest shock of my life. It's me. But at the same time, it isn't. My features are contorted into an evil grimace, and my eyes are narrowed in a way I didn't know I could set them.

“Last night was just me playing around. You and me, we're going to unleash hell tonight.”

PS. This is more or less entirely fictitious!