There were shadows. What am I saying? Of course there were shadows. There’s always shadows; everything has a shadow. The fact that I’m saying there are shadows is irrelevant, because you probably assume that wherever I am, there are shadows. No, no, the fact that there are shadows is a completely irrelevant point. No. No, the important part is there was no light. There’s always shadows, always, but there isn’t always light. I’m sure you pictured wherever I was had shadows, but I’m sure you also pictured it had light. Well, you’re wrong. There’s no light. It’s gone.
I don’t know where it went. How am I supposed to know? I can barely remember how I started this, there’s no reason I should remember where the lights went.
No, I don’t know where the lights went. All I knew is that there were shadows, lots of shadows. Lots of shadows and lots of noises.
Not the kind of noises that have glowing red eyes attached. Not those kind of noises, those kind of eyes, the eyes that scare you, and watch you, and watch you be scared because they’re scaring you with their watching. No, not those kind of noises. This isn’t a 1950’s horror story.
Or is it? I don’t know, it might be. I don’t know what kind of story this is. All I know is there are shadows, and there are noises. And so far that’s all you know.
I’m an awful narrator. I don’t know a fucking thing. I don’t even know what kind of story this is. The narrator knowing just as much as the person he’s telling? This isn’t fair.
The noises were loud. How loud? I don’t know. I never understood decibels. But they were loud enough to be distracting. How I wish they’d quiet down.
What did they want? Oh yeah, there’s a they. The they that’s making the noises. I forgot to tell you that. Those are the kind of noises they are. Like there’s people here. Watching me. Scaring me. They’re scaring me, and watching me be scared, because they’re scaring me with their watching. Maybe this is a horror story.
I stood up, dazed, lost, confused, and I think maybe drunk, or at least a little high on some kind of physically-dependent drug. My legs were rubber. Not literally, but I mean like they were weak. They couldn’t hold me. Where was I? What’s going on?
And then, light. Disorienting, bright, blinding light. A spotlight. Maybe a floodlight. Or a candle. I don’t know, but there was light and the shadows ran away and hid from the sudden light.
So now there’s light. There’s light, and I can see my room. Yes, it’s my room. My bedroom. With a bed. There it is, in the corner. Well, a mattress. With a blanket. It’s not a bed, it’s a mattress. It’s in the corner. That was it. That’s what my room is. That’s all there is in it.
Except this time. This time there’s blood. A lot of blood. My blood? I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not your blood. You weren’t there. I couldn’t see anything else with blood. Must be my blood. Where’d it come from? I don’t feel like I lost blood.
My first step was insecure, scared. It was a pussy first step, and I didn’t even put weight on it, but who cares because I slipped in something anyway. The room was flipping, spinning, and then stopping suddenly. I couldn’t feel the landing, where I hit. But I did feel what I landed in. Slick. Smooth. More blood. Fuck. There’s a lot of blood.
Oh, that’s where it’s coming from. My neck. I could feel it, sliding past my skin, over my body, down my chest, across my face, onto the floor, pumping in rhythm with my heartbeat. There was a lot of it. Do people have this much blood?
Standing back up is hard. There’s a lot of blood. And light. And my neck hurts. I can hear flies. They’re on the blood. Do flies eat blood? That’s weird.
The lights go out. Where’d the lights go? I don’t understand. There’s shadows now, nothing but shadow. Who is controlling the lights? My blood is starting to smell. Where’d the light go?
There were shadows. What am I saying? Of course there were shadows. There’s always shadows; everything has a shadow. The fact that I’m saying there are shadows…
