Paranoiac Read Online Free PDF

is
leaving me taunting notes and stealing my belongings. The violent
images that flashed through my mind at the thought of catching this
shadow put a bitter smile on my face. Never have I felt this much
passion for such violent, hateful acts until now. “This house
brings out the worst in me,” I said aloud finally pulling myself
out of my irrational, self-loathing wretchedness. I slicked back my
sweaty hair after standing up and finally realized where I
stood.
    The self-pity I was accumulating drained from my thoughts. My
breathing grew shallow and every hair on my body was electrified.
There, standing tall in front of me was an old, wooden,
bolted cellar
door with a brass doorknob sporting a nostalgic keyhole. The longer
I sat frozen staring at this door, the more I grew terrified. After
collecting my broken body I walked backwards up the narrow
stairway. Every uneasy step felt like an eternity as I stared
unblinkingly at that menacing door. There was no rhyme or reason
for this terrorizing anxiety. The only thing I knew was that I
needed to get far away from that door or I would implode from this
suffocating hysteria.
    I shuddered
with every step until I tripped backwards into the laundry room,
falling directly on my already sore ass. I sat on the top of the
stairs leering down at the ominous door in its' shadowy recess. I
couldn’t put my finger on it; why was that door so petrifying? I
started to wipe the sweat off of my face and unexpectedly found
tears flowing from my eyes. Deciding my emotions were too raw to
handle another wave of repressed memories and wandering blackouts,
I resumed my search.



Journal Entry Seven
    My psyche
started to regain normalcy while standing in the spacious, humid
laundry room. The smell of fabric softeners and detergents
comforted me. Suddenly, my eyes widened with glee when I saw a
large white basket filled to the brim with clean clothes. Towel
after towel flew onto the floor as I tossed them behind my back.
“Aha!” I yelled with victory finding a clean olive green t-shirt.
As I all but tore off the disgusting sweat, scotch and blood
stained shirt, I felt happy. It was the first time since waking up
here that happiness flowed into my sullen heart. I knew it wouldn’t
last but it greatly lifted my mood. Dressed for success, I left the
stuffy laundry room and made my way down the short corridor that
lead to the living room.
    The corridor
was dim and dreary. The only source of light was from the living
room at the end of the hall. I noticed a faint smell of household
cleaners as I blindly felt my way down the corridor, using the
stucco wall as a guide. The squeaking of my boots on the hardwood
floor broke the silence of the hallway. With each echoing step
toward the living room, the scent of cleaning products grew
stronger. Light began to pour into the passageway as I knelt down
and inspected a carved scratch that led into the den. I sighed at
the damage knowing the floor would have to either be replaced or
sanded down. “This isn’t my house. Why would I care what happens to
its’ gaudy floors?” I muttered out-loud. Although, the longer I was
here the more this notion began to make sense: if I forgot how I
got here, maybe the simplest solution is that I live here. “Not in
a million years,” I sighed, dramatically refusing to believe I
could ever call this place my home, not after all the abuse that I
endured in this mansion and so many like it. Now that I think of
it, I really do despise every house my family and I shared. I mused
over the idea of burning down each and every house while enjoying a
scrumptious picnic. A little mulled wine and the heat of blazing
homes on my face would leave me with a broad smile. Pulling myself
from my thoughts, I focused on reaching the living room. I
inspected the scratches on the floor for a moment longer and picked
myself up to continue down the corridor.
    As I walked
across the threshold I was stunned by the chaos before me. If I
hadn’t