Competition entry for the February contest. This is based off a prompt. Enjoy. By all means John Crowe was your average salary man. He went to work every day, and took care of his affairs in an orderly manner. He lived in a small yet respectable one bedroom apartment with his pet fish, and got along to a pleasant degree with most of his neighbors. Yet, when John went to bed every night he would stare at the space between his bed and the wall and talk for an hour to himself. Frankly, it was beginning to freak them out. “He did it again last night,” said Mrs. Goldstein, an elderly widow with a hook nose. She kept her tone hushed as she huddled in the hallway with Mrs. Partridge, the housewife of John’s upstairs neighbor. Mrs. Partridge clicked her tongue in disapproval. “For hours you say?” “Hours. Shouting this time too.” John passed the two with his head down, ignoring their sympathetic head shaking behind his back. He went to work and came back home, grateful that no one was in the hallway as he unlocked his door and slipped inside. He ate dinner by himself and fed his fish. It looked like one of the little goldfish was getting sick. He’d have to remember to remove that one later. He got ready for bed and laid down, closing his eyes. Not a minute later, they snapped open and stared at the space at the foot of his bed. “Go away!” he hissed in a low voice. Sitting there like she did every night was a young girl, perched upon the footboard of his bed, swinging her legs gaily. Her long black hair hung over her translucent shoulders, her lips a ruby red. She giggled at his request. “Why are you doing this to me?” John moaned and tried to close his eyes, but the intense gaze that was fixated upon him was too much. He opened his eyes again. “What do you want from me?” She closed her eyes as she laughed, and stood up, seeming to float in midair. Her legs were dangling down, and when she turned to face him he recoiled as he always did by the giant bullet wound in her chest. It had gone in through the back and exploded out the front, with flesh and sinew exposing the stark bone beneath. “No more!” John said, sitting straight up. He heard the clucking noise of Mrs. Goldstein from the other side of the wall behind his headboard and laid back down. Peeking open an eye he looked at the footboard, but the girl was gone. In the morning, John sat up as he always did, and took a shower and ate breakfast like he always did. However, when he left for work he saw Mrs. Partridge and Mrs. Goldstein standing in the hallway again. He hurried past them and got in his car. The freeway exit for his office was coming up, but John drove past it. He kept going until he didn’t recognize where he was any longer. Pulling off an exit he found himself in a small town named Lakeview Heights. The roads were small and deserted, with little shops lining the lanes. He saw a barber, a general store and a gas station amongst other small kitschy stores. The clock in his dashboard said that he was 45 minutes late for work. John drove around confused by the one way roads and found himself on a long winding one lane path that climbed a small hill. At the top of the hill he could see a large sprawling manor, and the sign outside it read Lakeview Mental Hospital. Pausing at the giant iron gates he mused on how to turn around when they slowly creaked open. “Maybe this is a sign,” John muttered as he put his car in gear again and drove forward. Parking his car in the empty lot out front he stepped out into the morning sun. Lakeview Mental Hospital was a large estate painted a bright white, with dark blue shutters and decently cared for shrubbery dotting the landscape. The giant double doors stood ominously before him but he pushed past them anyway, and was greeted by a large sprawling foyer with two twin winding staircases leading up to the second floor. Perched between them was a desk with a receptionist who looked up as he entered. “Hello, and you are?” she asked in a pleasant voice. Her outfit seemed a little old fashioned and stuffy but John shook it off. “John. John Crowe,” he said hesitantly. “I’m not sure why I’m here, but I think I need to be.”