The Hangman 3: Insomniac

Night One

The thunder crashed outside my window, startling me out of my covers. Tears ran down my face, falling into my lap. I slowly moved my legs to the side of my bed, then put my feet onto the cold hardwood floor. Memories flashed before me, memories I wished not to see. I shook my head, as if to dislodge these memories from my brain before standing up and walking to my bathroom, locking the door behind me. Leaning against the counter, I looked myself in the face. Dark circles appeared under my eyes, having little to no sleep the past two years. My dark brown hair was a mess from tossing and turning in my bed. I turned on the tap to drink some water, when something caught my eye. I looked passed my reflection to see a single black feather floating down to my bathroom floor. Confused, I turned around but it wasn't there. I quickly dismissed it as a manifestation of my tired mind and returned to getting a drink. Something new was in the mirror this time though... Something sinister. His skeletal figure stood an entire foot taller than me, his toothy grin the centrepiece. I went to give a shriek of terror, but found no voice.

He leaned in beside me, his mouth close to my ear. "Judgement waits for you in your sleep. It comes to us all, beckons us... You should not attempt to resist. It does not end well for anyone." He then leaned back, his trench coat flowing smoothly across his figure. "I await you in your nightmares. Maybe even your dreams. Do not keep your judgement waiting." I realized I had not blinked throughout this encounter, my eyes burning from staring at his mouth. I could no longer keep it up and blinked. In that instant, he was gone. I began to hear birds chirping outside, indicating it was around 6am. If only I appreciated hearing that common sound when I had the chance.

 

Night Two

I lay down on my side, staring at the darkness in front of me. The shape of my television could be made out slightly, as though calling out to me, mocking my inability to sleep. I let out a small groan before getting up and turning on the light, then switching on the tv. There was a news story about two unsolved cases, where it was uncertain as whether it was murder or suicide. I switched the channel over to Big Bang Theory, as to relieve my stress. During a commercial break, I went and grabbed a bottle of rye. I opened it up and began drinking, feeling the burning sensation in my throat. I went and sat back down in front of the tv, but something strange was going on. Sheldon was standing outside Penny's door, unmoving. At this point, Sheldon should have been knocking on Penny's door three times. I froze, as Sheldon began moving his head slowly until it faced into the camera.

"I may be a man of science, but not everything can be explained with it. Immortal beings from an alternate plane, for example." Sheldon's voice sounded odd, raspier than usual. "They can travel between their plane of existence and ours, yet we can't. Why is that? It's not like they have portable wormholes that they use to jump back and forth." Sheldon began moving towards the camera, his eyes seemingly to deepen into their sockets, losing their brightness and their colour. I was still frozen, unable to grasp what was happening. "Science cannot explain this phenomena. It has been happening for ages and will not be discovered for ages more. Your past, however, is entirely explained with simplicity." With this, he began moving out of the television. While doing so, his body changed as each part of him passed through the screen, changing into the figure I had seen the night before.

"Why do you constantly hide your past? Why do you try to forget it? Do you think it would truly be forgotten? Nothing changes what has happened and never will. Either live with the consequences or die through your guilt. The choice is yours." I blinked and he was gone again. The show just ended and another episode was on up next. I turned off the television, not wanting to continue with it. I sat there, rye in hand, not knowing what to do or even what to think about. All I knew was that I didn't want to think about what that figure said.

 

Night Three

I need to escape this. My sanity and reasoning are slipping from me, my mind causing hallucinations that are not truly there, no spectral figure causing them. During the day, I swear I can see and feel him watching me. Every person on the street could be him, waiting for my inevitable slumber or even my death. I can barely even walk passed my bed anymore... It calls to me, begging to be used as a torture device of my own making, giving me the dreams I wish to no longer have. Why must they haunt me so? He hasn't even shown up yet tonight, that ghostly perversion of mine. Is he waiting for me to sleep, or is he waiting for all sanity to be gone from me?

I see them sometimes as well... The ones that I caused to die... That couple walking down the sidewalk is them, holding hands while in pleasant conversation. The man and woman eating at a restaurant, smiling at one another from across a table, enjoying each other's company. Those two in the car, going out on a Sunday drive, carefree and unknowing about the danger outside...

Why doesn't he show up. Why doesn't he make me see what I've done wrong. Why does he torment me by leaving me alone with these thoughts, pulling at me from the seams. Why does he make me feel like everything is meaningless, nothing having any effect on anyone except me, toying with my brain like I am just some measly puppet, nothing inside but what he wants there to be. He controls my actions and emotions, not me. So why, for the love of God, why doesn't he show up!? Does he think of me as obsolete now that I am broken!? Have I nothing left to offer even to you, the one who loves to torture me so!? If you are going to, rip out my heart, tear away my brain, just leave the empty shell and take me out of this pathetic existence!

Or is that too much to ask from someone that only exists within myself...

 

Night Four

The clock struck two, making me flinch from panic that could only be produced by paranoia. He didn't show up at all last night, which caused more fear in me than if he had appeared. Paranoia... That's what he has given me. Paranoia. No doubt in my mind that it is anything but paranoia. Well guess what? I will not play his game. No way in hell is he going to push me over the edge. He wants to kill me? Well too bad. He is going to have to try harder than that.

I walk over to my clock, seeing the time. It is only five minutes past midnight, two minutes after I had last checked. I punch it, sleep deprived rage beginning to overcome me. The glass shatters and the hands bend, stopping all movement and ticking that came from them.

"Stop messing with me! I know it is later than that, so stop messing with me!" I get no response, as I know full heartedly that the skeletal figure was not to blame. Everything feels slower, as though time is being manipulated to move slower for me, even more so than from what my usual insomnia causes. I fall to my knees, tears beginning to stream down my face. "It wasn't my fault, okay? So please... Please stop blaming me... I already can't sleep because of it..."

"I suppose I shall grant you one simple favour before you go, I guess." The figure is behind me, having heard the entirety of what I said from somewhere that must not be of this world. I slowly turn towards him, eyes red from the tears that I had just shed. I feel no fear now, as though there was something different about the figure this time, something almost inviting.

"What? What could you possibly give me?"

The figure slowly takes his skeletal hand and places it on the top of my head, looking directly into my eyes with the empty sockets that were his. "Something that you so desperately desire: sleep."

 

I actually completely forgot about this one and how much I enjoyed it. Probably the best writing I’ve had out of all my versions of The Hangman.

 

I think I might start posting the rest of my other story that I’ve been working on and revisit this as a side project.

 

Not yet at least if I ever actually write it so that he does. Unlike my other stories, this one is a bit different in terms of how the hangman feels about the main character.