Hello again. Not long ago I published here my first attempt at writing, the story “Captive”. The story was received quite positively and now I’m posting the beginning of my new story (or something more?). I ask you to read and express your opinion regarding what is written.
P.S. I was inspired to write Alan Wake, but I won’t plagiarize the plot. This is in no way related to Alan Wake.
(There was a Flash player, but since 2020 Flash is not supported by browsers)
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Prologue
The darkness around has become almost tangible. It was getting colder. The wind suddenly fell, trying to climb into the ears, whispering something in strange whistling voices.
Who am I?
A dim light appeared ahead. It blurred before my eyes, merging colors with the darkness around. The voices carried by the wind became louder. Sounds circled around me, deafening and frightening at the same time. The glow in the distance became closer, and vague outlines of… figures began to be discerned in it? Contours formed into silhouettes. A blinding white haze of light suddenly rushed straight towards my face.
Who said it?
The voices came close. Their screams were indistinguishable, but they were deafening. Became loud to the point of ultrasound. I tried to cover my ears with my palms.
Wait. Face? I blindly extended my hands to my eyes, hoping to feel… My fingers passed through imaginary eyes like a knife through butter. What the.
Horror began to overwhelm my consciousness in swift waves, when suddenly darkness, fused with light into one whole, rushed towards me, my consciousness flared up with a thousand lights.
-Wake up Steve. The time has come.
-Steve! Buddy, wake up. “We’ve arrived,” the voice of Brianna, my wife, sang tenderly in my ear. The person most dear to me.
-“Okay, dear,” I reluctantly opened my eyes. – Already arrived?
My wife’s beautiful, deep eyes looked at me:
-Yes, honey. Look around.
I looked out the foggy window of the bus that took us to our new home. Along the street stretched a row of old houses, rickety from time and lack of residents. Rainwater flowed through the broken tiles. Windows, broken and boarded up tightly with rotten boards. It rains here often. The lead-gray sky, covered with gray clouds, did not allow sunlight to pass through, so colorless gray reigned on the streets.
I sighed. Dejection was already rolling over his consciousness, pulling him into a tight knot of depression and apathy..
My name is Steve. Steve Hunt. I was born and raised in New York, where I became a journalist at age twenty-three. I liked the work, the articles were easy to write. Editor’s Praise. Big salary. Large apartment in the center. Young wife. Happy marriage.
Everything collapsed in one year. It happened on a gloomy Thursday evening. I was driving home from work, listening to my favorite music. Suddenly, ahead, in the blackness of the road, two lights flashed. I didn’t have time to turn.
A blow, a roar, darkness that enveloped the consciousness, extinguishing it like the flame of a candle.
I woke up in the hospital, my condition was not the best, but I still got off lightly, I told myself then. Fractured arm, several ribs. Everything seemed to work out fine.
The worst was yet to come. I started having nightmares and headaches. At night I was afraid to fall asleep, afraid of what I would see in my dreams.
But the injury had the greatest impact on my talent. Articles were not published or written. Those pitiful semblances of my past materials could not be compared with them. My fame and authority allowed me to hold out for another six months. Then I was fired. More precisely, I left myself. I didn’t want to prolong this torment. Both my boss and my colleagues discouraged me. But I didn’t see the point in continuing to take someone else’s place
I was able to survive this whole waking nightmare only thanks to Brianna and her care. My mother and father died in a car accident when I was twenty-two. Only work saved me from complete depression. I wrote and in every line I drowned a piece of my grief, at the same time filling with every written line the emptiness left in my soul after the death of my parents.
But now I’ve lost that too. Job after job. City by city. I sold my apartment so that I could have money to settle in another city. But nowhere was it possible to gain a foothold and start working.
Most of all I am grateful to Brianna for putting up with it all and staying with me no matter what. Without her… I don’t know… I would simply burn in the fire of misfortune and the collapse of my whole life.
The nightmares didn’t go away. I constantly woke up in the middle of the night, sat on the bed with my back wet from cold sweat and my heart pounding wildly. I didn’t remember the nightmares themselves. When I tried to remember the horrors of the night, my head began to hurt like hell, and I gave up trying to remember.
The strange thing was that doctors did not find any signs of brain injury. I was healthy, but pain and nightmares continued to torment me. They said it was simply a matter of the horror experienced during the accident. Time and freedom from stress will heal you, they said. But now in my life stress has become an integral part of it. Recovery was out of the question.
This town was my last chance. The publisher of a local magazine agreed to hire me, but most likely only because of my past achievements.
I came here this rainy morning. Just the sight of the city gave me internal chills, but what could I do??
To a man without a future.
The owner of the Ritterhell Hotel, where https://ybets-casino.co.uk/mobile-app/ I checked in with Brienne, turned out to be an old grumpy old man with a shock of gray hair and an eerie look. His watery eyes seemed to look straight into the soul, and a slight trembling ran through his body..
"Ritterhell" was a terrifying sight. The building, the architecture of the forties, looked mysterious and frightening. Once upon a time. Now the façade was partially crumbling, the walls had large, small cracks.
It was still raining when we arrived to check in. A veil of water obscured the eyes and distorted the shape of the trees growing in the forest nearby. They looked like old, big and ugly giants, which some dark force had forever nailed to their place. Under the gloomy canopy of the forest we approached the entrance.
I pulled the handle, it turned out that the door was locked. I had to hit the old wood with my fist several times, and from the depths of the building mincing steps and muttering were heard:
-Yes, yes. I’m on my way, dear guests. “You’ll be right at home,” the old man whispered to himself.
Finally, the key rattled in the lock and the door slowly opened. The owner of the hotel looked at us with an unseeing gaze, as if we were an empty place for him:
-Hello, hello… Come inside, the weather is terrible today,” said the old man in a lisping voice. – Follow me.
-Uh, hello, mister… We’d like to rent a room from you for a while… Sorry, but what’s your name?? – I said in confusion to the strange old man’s back.
-Names… what are names… – the owner answered thoughtfully without looking at me. “Well, if this is so important to you, then call me Jake Brayton, yes… Yes,” he finished affirmatively and shuffled on again.
-I’m Stephen Hunt. Mr. Brayton, could you tell us about this town?? Brianna and I, this is my wife, are here for the first time…” I tried to start a conversation with the gloomy Brayton. – We just arrived, you know..
-What can I say, the city is like a city. No worse than others,” the old man clearly didn’t want to talk and I fell silent.
The stairs we climbed were lined with an old, thick, purple carpet. A cloud of dust rose from the carpet with every step.
I looked back at Brianna, she was clearly depressed by the innkeeper and the general situation. The things around were ancient and looked creepy in the dimness of the corridors. There was only one light bulb hanging in the aisle, barely illuminating the space around it.
The old man led us to a high dust-covered door, rattled his huge bunch of keys and opened the entrance to the room:
-Come on in. All amenities are there. Here’s your key, look around while I go downstairs,” Breyton mumbled and hurried off into the darkness of the corridor..
I turned on my flashlight to clear up the darkness in our room. A wide old bed was erected in the center, its legs ending in paws in the form of grinning animal faces. Near the wall stood a small desk covered with a thick layer of dust. On the floor lay the same dusty carpet, so thick that steps on it were silent.
I walked up and hugged my tired and frightened wife tightly:
-Thank you for everything, my love. You’ll see, everything will be as before, let’s go home…” I whispered.
She suddenly began to cry, quietly, but I felt all the feelings reigning now in her soul, as if we were one.
Drops of rain drummed on the windows, water flowed tirelessly along the glass, as if sympathizing with us and our tears.
Streams of moisture constantly poured onto the ground, and we stood there, hugging each other, dissolved in our feelings and this autumn rain.
What are you hoping for, fool??You have lost everything and you will never get anything back…Go…to the light…If you don’t want to fall into darkness forever.Go to the light… Go… But the darkness is getting closer.It surrounds you, blocks out the light, and you begin to take false steps…To nowhere.The day is over, but the night is ahead.
***
I exhaled noisily, sitting up abruptly on the bed. My heart was beating so hard that I could literally hear the beat echoing in the room. The darkness around seemed almost tangible, black and thick like tar. The nightmare visited me again, and again I did not remember what I saw. Maybe it’s for the better.
Fear rose and fell inside me like waves continually crashing onto the shore. I didn’t see an inch around me. Ignorance breeds terror. When we are in a dark room, our greatest fear is the unknown. The practical human mind does not accept anything unknown. This frightens him, reminding him of ancient times when people were afraid of the darkness and the animals lurking in it. The fire saved and warmed us, but as soon as it went out… the instincts again covered our heads and made us freeze with fear and helplessly peer into where the invisible monsters were hiding.
I reached out, hoping to feel the warmth of Brianna’s body with my fingers, but all I found was a rumpled sheet. Brianna wasn’t there. I exhaled sharply, the darkness, as if sensing my horror, enveloped me even more closely. I tried to feel for my mobile phone, which I had placed on the bedside table, but then I screamed and jerked to the side, flying off the bed onto the thick carpet that covered the floor. Fingers, instead of a cell phone, felt something slimy and icy. Clumsily rising to my feet, I pressed myself into the dusty curtain, silently praying to all the gods that exist on earth. My entire being was saturated with a feeling close to complete and uncontrollable panic. A light breeze swept through the room, nevertheless chilling my limbs. The whisper of a thousand voices, indistinguishable but eerie, came to me. It was impossible to make out anything, but I groaned quietly out of fear.
If it was a nightmare, it’s very plausible. It’s like it’s happening for real. But something had to be done. Run there, forward, to the exit from the bedroom? But the strange body there didn’t let me calm down. I needed a flashlight. So I will go crazy from the panic that has begun to enslave my mind. I took a small step to the left and felt something hard with my foot. At first I froze in horror, but then I found the strength and carefully reached for it, trying not to lean my face into the darkness. The object I felt turned out to be, oddly enough, a lamp. I lit it carefully, pressing myself even closer into the curtain, afraid of what I might see. The light from it illuminated a tiny space, but I was able to look around the entire room. It was empty except for a large black object. The lamp was not enough to examine him… And he lay next to the bed. I swallowed convulsively, which was painful due to my dry throat. And carefully moved towards the exit. The lamp handle slipped in my sweaty hand, my legs refused to move.
Step.
Another.
Here it is… I sharply bent in half and began to convulsively vomit on the carpet.
In front of me lay the mutilated corpse of that same old man, Mr. Brayton, the owner of the hotel. I recognized him only by his clothes, which were covered in blood, black in the light of the lamp. Most of the face was torn off. The naked flesh glistened terribly in the light. The worst thing were the eyes. Black gaps, when you look at them you want to rush away as fast as you can.
Eyes are the scariest part of a person. It reflects the soul and everything internally that appearance can skillfully hide. When you look into the eyes of famous psychopaths, maniacs and murderers, you are struck by a natural wave of icy horror, washing over you from head to toe. Madness in their eyes… Can drive anyone crazy.
Suddenly Breyton jerked convulsively and made an inarticulate sound, I recoiled in fear. The old man was still alive. The terrible face twitched and croaked.
-Run, boy… It’s already here.
Brayton twitched and fell silent. I was shaking with fear, but I had to move on and look for Brianna. Something terrible was happening at the hotel. What does "it" mean?? What did the old man say before he died?? What the fuck is going on here?! I closed my eyes, swallowed and tried to calm down. It didn’t work out.
I really didn’t want to go out into the gaping blackness of the corridor. It seemed like there was something lurking there, something terrible. What’s happening.
I felt like I was in a Stephen King horror movie, and it wasn’t the best feeling. It’s one thing to sit by the fireplace, wrapping your feet in a warm and fluffy blanket, and read a story, cringing from a pleasant, exciting feeling of fear. And it’s quite another thing to find yourself in such a nightmare in reality, to find yourself alone with night terrors and bookish fears.
Everything was frighteningly real, so much so that I no longer considered what was happening to be a nightmare.
I went out into the corridor, holding the lantern with a trembling hand, unsteadily illuminating the walls around. I saw strange paintings on the walls that I didn’t notice when I walked here with the late Brayton and Brianna. The canvases depicted either depressive landscapes in dark colors, frightening and depressing at the same time, or people subjected to torture and execution. What I saw again gave me an unpleasant feeling. A man torn apart by horses, torn muscles and tendons, blood irrigating the ground. The pictures were terrible, but worst of all were the faces of the unfortunate. Horror and despair. They showed such hellish torment that goosebumps ran down the skin, and the gaze automatically averted from the spectacle.
The darkness of the corridor called to me, and I was forced to obey it. Never before have I found every step so difficult. The muscles were paralyzed by fear. The pictures continued to stretch to either side of me. The corridor didn’t end. The light from the lantern was too weak to illuminate at least ten meters. I walked for a long time, the stairs down should have appeared a long time ago, but there was still no saving turn.
The corridor then… lengthened, then became shorter. I’m tired. It seemed to me that I was standing still and had not moved a meter to the exit.
Suddenly a flash of blinding light hit my eyes.
Road to nowhere.The road of no return.The turn is left behind. There is no way out.
I was standing in the middle of the road. She was surrounded by fog, making it impossible to see anything. Lampposts went into the distance, drowning in haze and fog. Everything around was immersed in heavy and gloomy tones, pressing on the brain.
I was horrified to find that I couldn’t move. The body was shackled by invisible shackles. Who am I? Observer?
I heard the growing rumble of a car engine behind me, my pupils dilated, I began to rush around frantically, trying to get away, when suddenly the car passed through my body and rushed forward along the road.
It was my car.The car in which I had an accident on that fateful day.I couldn’t confuse her with anything.And in it… there were two silhouettes.
A Toyota was rushing towards her. The one that crashed into my Ford.
Another flash illuminated the driver’s face. It looked painfully like the face of… Mr. Brayton. The light went out and everything plunged into darkness again. But two iron monsters rushed towards each other.
He won’t have time to turn.
Hit.
Time seems to have stopped.
Seconds froze, years froze, millennia stopped.
The cars, like toys, scattered to the sides, scattering pieces of iron around.
Everyone died. You are next.
Hurt. How painful it is. Pain dissolves in every cell of the body, permeates it, penetrates all organs. Embeds itself in the brain.Pain.But does she exist??Or did I make it up?*** I look into the old mirror, along which there is an old crack. A crack runs across my unshaven face, refracting it into segments of distorted reality. The body aches from fatigue. Who am I? And what am I doing here?? It seems to me that it has been here for many years, but I can’t recognize this place. Is it there?? I came up with it?Or is it me?
***
-Get up, sleepyhead. You slept until lunch, but you have to get up already. Let’s go, honey. Let’s take a walk around the city,” Brianna’s gentle whisper woke me up.
-Brinny… I had a terrible dream… You won’t believe it…,” I muttered through my sleep and stretched relaxed.
The sun’s rays streamed through the windows, casting golden spots on the floor. And Brianna lay next to her, safe and sound. This morning was different from all others in one way – I remembered everything I saw that night. Last vision… My accident. I don’t understand anything… I need to consult Brianna.
-Okay, Stevie – now let’s go, you tell me everything. “Get up,” she answered also affectionately. This puzzled me. So much affection… Very unusual. Of course, Brianna and I love each other very much, but a morning like this was rare.
I opened my eyes and looked into my wife’s eyes. Emptiness. That’s all that was in them. She looked into my eyes, but at the same time, as if through me, somewhere far away.
-Brinny… What’s wrong with you? – words trembling like leaves in the wind burst out.
-Nothing darling. “Everything is fine, let’s go for a walk,” as the damned Brianna kept repeating. – Everything is great.
-No, not everything,” I suddenly sat up and moved away from her. Brianna’s eyes still looked at the same point where I lay.
I carefully got out of bed, walked over and weakly pushed her on the shoulder. The body swayed like a plaster statue and fell on its side. It crumbled into tiny particles of ash, which fell like a quiet snowfall onto the blanket. They fell as if in slow motion, hanging in the air. I staggered back a few meters and rushed to the door. There was no door, in its place there was just a continuation of the wall, monolithic and terrible. Turning around sharply, I saw that everything in the room had disappeared. The bed, the wife’s body, the closet, the table – everything disappeared. All that’s left is bare walls and darkness.
The darkness around has become almost tangible. It was getting colder. The wind suddenly fell, trying to climb into the ears, whispering something in strange whistling voices
A dim light appeared ahead. It blurred before my eyes, merging colors with the darkness around. The voices carried by the wind became louder. Sounds circled around me, deafening and frightening at the same time. The glow in the distance became closer, and vague outlines of… figures began to be discerned in it? Contours formed into silhouettes. A blinding white haze of light suddenly rushed straight towards my face.
There was a table in the pillar of light. Above him, falling from the glow, hung a rope with a knotted noose. I slowly approached the table and awkwardly climbed onto it. The glow above me bathed my face in warmth, warmed and beckoned at the same time. I realized what I had to do to merge with the light into one whole, to end this whole nightmare. With trembling hands, I took the loop and threaded my head through it. Everything seems to be. The darkness around seemed to sway closer, trying not to miss anything.
I slowly rocked the table with my feet, now it stood on just two legs, one move and it would all be over.
I gently press on the table, it abruptly tips over, the noose tightens, a terrible wheeze pierces my throat.
Out of the darkness a Ford car crashes into me at full speed. The man driving is dead. Blood covered his face, flowing from his empty eye sockets.
Hello Mr Brayton.
-Mister, Brayton! Mister, Brayton! – Griffin shouted. – Come here, urgently!
Jake Brayton stood up from his comfortable chair, adjusted his glasses and quickly walked out of the office.
-What happened, Alex? – he said to his assistant. What kind of incident?
-The patient… well, the same one… Lord, what is this?! Faster, follow me!
The attending physician at a hospital for people with acute psychiatric disorders hurried after Alex. What happened this time? I didn’t want to think at all. Judging by Griffin’s behavior, this is something serious. Only this was not enough.
Alex, meanwhile, ran to the door to the patient’s room and walked inside on stiff legs. Jake followed him. Crap…
The patient was hanging in a noose tied to a thick wire pulled out from under a broken lamp. On the floor lay an overturned small wooden table, which was in each ward. Brayton saw his face reflected in a cracked mirror on the opposite wall. He slowly entered the room, walked around the hanging body and approached the desk. On it lay a piece of paper on which several phrases were written in a huge, jumping hand.
I hate you. I want to rip your eyes out and make you eat them.Where is Brianna?What did you do to her?!I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you.
Brayton turned over the paper. On the second side the words were written out more clearly. The handwriting was neat and legible.
Didn’t have time to turn. She can’t be returned.What am I and who am I?Turn passed.Didn’t save.I couldn’t.
This patient was one of the most difficult, hopeless. Successful former journalist. After that accident, which was written about in the newspapers, in which the wife of this guy, Hunt, died, he lost his mind and ended up here. Waves of rage came over him, during which he tried to kill Brayton, believing that he was driving in that car.
Those moments of calm when Hunt silently regretted and repented of the death of Brianna, his wife.
His mind no longer existed. It went out like a candle whose wick was squeezed with two fingers. Who knows? Perhaps death was the best option for him. How did he feel? Nobody knows.