Re: FILL: The Spirit Child 4A (Read with caution!)velvet_maceOctober 27 2010, 21:31:37 UTC
He woke to a hospital room. He looked around blearily and saw the IV, the monitors, the florescent lights. God, not a dream. Real? Or hallucination? He didn't know.
"Hey there, little brother," came a soft voice. Harry leaned forward in her chair and reached for his hand. She looked sober in every way. She smiled with a tenderness he seldom saw in her. "Glad you are back. You almost left us for good, there."
John looked from her to the wrist of the hand she held. There was a ring of gauze where he remembered he'd rubbed his skin raw against the sheet. Cautiously, trepidatiously, he pulled the heavy warmed blankets down his body. Beneath the gown his abdomen was covered in a thick layer of gauze, stained with a line of browning blood.
He'd cut himself open. That hadn't been hallucination.
"How bad," he asked. His voice was thick and sore. He'd screamed himself hoarse without realizing it.
"You got real lucky, it seems. You missed nicking your intestines, though not for lack of trying. It was a deep cut. They cleaned you out and stitched you up, but they'll have to monitor for infection. If the paramedics hadn't been right there, you'd have probably bled out."
"Paramedics?" John frowned.
"Sherlock said you'd gone into some sort of full on hallucinogenic fit. He'd tied you down to prevent you from hurting yourself, but you managed to get free during the moments he was out of the room to let the paramedics in. From the sound of it, you were completely off you head. Accusing him of murder and performing magical rites on you or something. Screaming and yelling. He said you tried to pull out your own guts."
John shuddered. He looked for signs of the pregnancy, but saw none other than the wreckage he'd caused himself. The stretch marks were gone, his belly, what he could see of it, was obviously flat.
"I tried to give myself a caesarian," he said, and let out a little laugh. "I was completely off my rocker, wasn't I?"
"Utterly mad." Harry tightened her hand on John's. "The doctors are wondering if you might be suicidal."
"Of course, not," said John. "It was some drug - I don't even know how it got in me."
"Because, you know, that was an awfully serious attempt."
John nodded his head. It had been. Terribly serious.
"And they are thinking perhaps you might want to check yourself in for a while. Into the mental health side, once you've been released from here. It won't be for a few days though, you have to heal first. They think maybe you might need some medication. I'm supposed to encourage you to say yes."
Could this be insanity? John shook his head. "It was a drug. I'm sure of it. Now that it's out of me, I'm sure I'll be all right."
Re: FILL: The Spirit Child 4B (Read with caution!)velvet_maceOctober 27 2010, 21:32:33 UTC
The door opened and Sherlock poked his head in. "Is it all right?" He asked.
John felt a thrill of fear. He did this to me. Nonsense, his reason spoke up. It was all just a fit.
"Sure. Come on in."
Sherlock entered, a bit shyly. "You don't still fear that I'm some necromancer out to get you."
"Of course not," John replied. "That was the drugs speaking. And the season perhaps. It's nearly Halloween."
Sherlock looked received. "That's good." He had his rucksack on. He set it on the floor and walked over to the bedside. "Very good. I hated seeing you like that. I tried to talk you down, but it was impossible. I just wish that you'd trusted me a bit more."
"I wish I had, too." John laughed a little, not a happy laugh, but one that let off a little stress. "I should have gone with natural childbirth after all."
"If you had," said Sherlock, "We'd be laughing over tea at home right now, instead of you in here contemplating a stint in a mental institution."
John's smile dropped. He didn't like Sherlock feeding in to his delusion. He wanted to put it behind him as soon as possible. Deny it any lingering reality. "I doubt I'd be laughing. Did you find the drug that did it?"
"Not yet. Whatever it was must be rare." He hesitated. "It's possible that it wasn't a drug at all."
"You mean, I might have had a real breakdown."
Sherlock looked away at Harry. "Possibly. The onset was suspiciously quick for that, though. If you'd gone psychotic, I'm pretty sure I would have noticed symptoms before it reached a crisis state. More likely that it was brought on by one of the rarer hallucinogens."
John felt a bit better. "The worst of it was, I couldn't tell. It was so damn real. It wasn't like a dream. I felt everything, I saw everything. Even now I can't honestly tell what happened from what didn't, what was reality and what was delusion."
"Perhaps it would be best then to think of other things, like maybe the case," said Sherlock. He reached back and lifted his rucksack. It bulged a bit. John dearly hoped there wasn't something morbid inside. "Mr. Tesh was grateful for our assistance. He gave us a momento as a thank you. His wife made this for her baby, before fate stepped in. I thought maybe it might give you a little comfort."
Re: FILL: The Spirit Child 4C and Endvelvet_maceOctober 27 2010, 21:33:37 UTC
He pulled a brown object from the sack. It was made of soft leather, hand stitched. It's long arms and legs were floppy, hands mere rounded balls. The small head was squinched up in a smile. "I believe it's meant to be a troll, but it could be a monkey."
"It's cute," remarked Harry. "Looks a bit like John doesn't it."
"Yes, I thought so too," Sherlock remarked.
"It looks nothing like me," John said. Horror had made his voice break and it came out gravelly and stuttering. "It's hideous! Don't say it looks like me!"
It had been washed, but John could see the blood still gouted to the stitching. The disfigured face seemed to leer. It was too thin, too long, too wrong. The child!
"Get it away," said John turning his head away. "Throw it away. Burn it."
"What is wrong?" asked Sherlock.
"Get it away. Please. Just get it away."
"I'll get the doctor," Harry said. He heard her footsteps racing out the door.
"It's away," said Sherlock. "You don't have to see it again."
John cautiously opened his eyes. He thought he saw a little humor in Sherlock's expression but then it changed back to worry. "You scared your sister."
"I'm sorry - it's just it looked like - it look like."
"What?"
"The child. The spirit child."
Sherlock lifted the rucksack with its hideous, awful burden inside. "Perhaps you should stay a bit in the hospital."
John nodded. Suddenly the idea of being away from Sherlock seemed pretty good.
"I'll visit, of course," Sherlock continued. "And your sister and maybe even Mycroft will come by. You know, I know the two of you don't get along, but Harry really does care about you."
"I know, I - didn't mean to -"
"For all the trouble they give us, it would be a lonely world without siblings. I've always felt sorry for only children."
John's voice was gone.
Sherlock caressed the side of his rucksack tenderly. "I think everyone should have a sibling." He smiled at John and winked. "Don't you?"
Oh. Oh god. You mad, brilliant, wonderful filler you. You have met and exceeded my expectations. No actually, you've left them buried in the dust. And I'm still trying to calm myself down.
You pulled me in from the first post and by the time I finished my eyes were dry from being held wide and I was torn between breathing too rapidly and not breathing at all. My legs were shaking as I got up to go outside and smoke my last cigarette in some attempt to calm myself down. They still are in fact. It was terrifying, horrifying, and awing at how intense you managed to make this read. Just wow.
And the end of it. The end. Siblings, oh jesus. John needs to stay in the hospital forever, but somehow I doubt that that would end it. Screaming nightmare of a reality indeed.
Lastly, THANK YOU. Just thank you so much. I want to sing your praises for writing this, truly. My October feels much better now that I've been reminded me what an excellently written horror read can do. You are some sort of amazing.
Thanks! I'm glad you liked it. The thing is, when I was pregnant, I'd have these horror dreams about being pregnant with some blob of dirt or dead baby or thing. Lotta body horror there, only to wake up and know, hey, I'm really pregnant! I do love my kids though, and neither turned out to be a stillborn horror.
Oh man, I've heard from my own mother about those sorts of pregnancy nightmares. She told me they were incredibly eerie and frightening, the worst she ever had. Thank goodness they don't mean anything and you get your kids healthy and whole anyhow. Well, them and a wonderfully chilling horror story. :)
Re: FILL: The Spirit Child 4C and Endtwistedsheets10October 28 2010, 01:17:36 UTC
/hilakbot
/tumaas balahibo
Putangina. Shet.
...suddenly I'm speaking in my native language jesus christ CHILLS MAN. CHILLS.
Wow, Sherlock in his utter and complete sociopathy is a scary thing. But the scariest thing is John not knowing which is real or not. I know how that feels, and it is terrifying to doubt your own mind/memories.
(er, yeah, I have this really fucking vivid nightmares, and most of the times I can't tell when I'm dreaming or not. FML)
Re: FILL: The Spirit Child 4C and Endvelvet_maceOctober 28 2010, 04:43:58 UTC
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK I'm here torn between wanting to hurl and wanting to worship you for writing such an awesome story in one of the genres I love the most. That was unexpectedly scary.
"Hey there, little brother," came a soft voice. Harry leaned forward in her chair and reached for his hand. She looked sober in every way. She smiled with a tenderness he seldom saw in her. "Glad you are back. You almost left us for good, there."
John looked from her to the wrist of the hand she held. There was a ring of gauze where he remembered he'd rubbed his skin raw against the sheet. Cautiously, trepidatiously, he pulled the heavy warmed blankets down his body. Beneath the gown his abdomen was covered in a thick layer of gauze, stained with a line of browning blood.
He'd cut himself open. That hadn't been hallucination.
"How bad," he asked. His voice was thick and sore. He'd screamed himself hoarse without realizing it.
"You got real lucky, it seems. You missed nicking your intestines, though not for lack of trying. It was a deep cut. They cleaned you out and stitched you up, but they'll have to monitor for infection. If the paramedics hadn't been right there, you'd have probably bled out."
"Paramedics?" John frowned.
"Sherlock said you'd gone into some sort of full on hallucinogenic fit. He'd tied you down to prevent you from hurting yourself, but you managed to get free during the moments he was out of the room to let the paramedics in. From the sound of it, you were completely off you head. Accusing him of murder and performing magical rites on you or something. Screaming and yelling. He said you tried to pull out your own guts."
John shuddered. He looked for signs of the pregnancy, but saw none other than the wreckage he'd caused himself. The stretch marks were gone, his belly, what he could see of it, was obviously flat.
"I tried to give myself a caesarian," he said, and let out a little laugh. "I was completely off my rocker, wasn't I?"
"Utterly mad." Harry tightened her hand on John's. "The doctors are wondering if you might be suicidal."
"Of course, not," said John. "It was some drug - I don't even know how it got in me."
"Because, you know, that was an awfully serious attempt."
John nodded his head. It had been. Terribly serious.
"And they are thinking perhaps you might want to check yourself in for a while. Into the mental health side, once you've been released from here. It won't be for a few days though, you have to heal first. They think maybe you might need some medication. I'm supposed to encourage you to say yes."
Could this be insanity? John shook his head. "It was a drug. I'm sure of it. Now that it's out of me, I'm sure I'll be all right."
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John felt a thrill of fear. He did this to me. Nonsense, his reason spoke up. It was all just a fit.
"Sure. Come on in."
Sherlock entered, a bit shyly. "You don't still fear that I'm some necromancer out to get you."
"Of course not," John replied. "That was the drugs speaking. And the season perhaps. It's nearly Halloween."
Sherlock looked received. "That's good." He had his rucksack on. He set it on the floor and walked over to the bedside. "Very good. I hated seeing you like that. I tried to talk you down, but it was impossible. I just wish that you'd trusted me a bit more."
"I wish I had, too." John laughed a little, not a happy laugh, but one that let off a little stress. "I should have gone with natural childbirth after all."
"If you had," said Sherlock, "We'd be laughing over tea at home right now, instead of you in here contemplating a stint in a mental institution."
John's smile dropped. He didn't like Sherlock feeding in to his delusion. He wanted to put it behind him as soon as possible. Deny it any lingering reality. "I doubt I'd be laughing. Did you find the drug that did it?"
"Not yet. Whatever it was must be rare." He hesitated. "It's possible that it wasn't a drug at all."
"You mean, I might have had a real breakdown."
Sherlock looked away at Harry. "Possibly. The onset was suspiciously quick for that, though. If you'd gone psychotic, I'm pretty sure I would have noticed symptoms before it reached a crisis state. More likely that it was brought on by one of the rarer hallucinogens."
John felt a bit better. "The worst of it was, I couldn't tell. It was so damn real. It wasn't like a dream. I felt everything, I saw everything. Even now I can't honestly tell what happened from what didn't, what was reality and what was delusion."
"Perhaps it would be best then to think of other things, like maybe the case," said Sherlock. He reached back and lifted his rucksack. It bulged a bit. John dearly hoped there wasn't something morbid inside. "Mr. Tesh was grateful for our assistance. He gave us a momento as a thank you. His wife made this for her baby, before fate stepped in. I thought maybe it might give you a little comfort."
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"It's cute," remarked Harry. "Looks a bit like John doesn't it."
"Yes, I thought so too," Sherlock remarked.
"It looks nothing like me," John said. Horror had made his voice break and it came out gravelly and stuttering. "It's hideous! Don't say it looks like me!"
It had been washed, but John could see the blood still gouted to the stitching. The disfigured face seemed to leer. It was too thin, too long, too wrong. The child!
"Get it away," said John turning his head away. "Throw it away. Burn it."
"What is wrong?" asked Sherlock.
"Get it away. Please. Just get it away."
"I'll get the doctor," Harry said. He heard her footsteps racing out the door.
"It's away," said Sherlock. "You don't have to see it again."
John cautiously opened his eyes. He thought he saw a little humor in Sherlock's expression but then it changed back to worry. "You scared your sister."
"I'm sorry - it's just it looked like - it look like."
"What?"
"The child. The spirit child."
Sherlock lifted the rucksack with its hideous, awful burden inside. "Perhaps you should stay a bit in the hospital."
John nodded. Suddenly the idea of being away from Sherlock seemed pretty good.
"I'll visit, of course," Sherlock continued. "And your sister and maybe even Mycroft will come by. You know, I know the two of you don't get along, but Harry really does care about you."
"I know, I - didn't mean to -"
"For all the trouble they give us, it would be a lonely world without siblings. I've always felt sorry for only children."
John's voice was gone.
Sherlock caressed the side of his rucksack tenderly. "I think everyone should have a sibling." He smiled at John and winked. "Don't you?"
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You pulled me in from the first post and by the time I finished my eyes were dry from being held wide and I was torn between breathing too rapidly and not breathing at all. My legs were shaking as I got up to go outside and smoke my last cigarette in some attempt to calm myself down. They still are in fact. It was terrifying, horrifying, and awing at how intense you managed to make this read. Just wow.
And the end of it. The end. Siblings, oh jesus. John needs to stay in the hospital forever, but somehow I doubt that that would end it. Screaming nightmare of a reality indeed.
Lastly, THANK YOU. Just thank you so much. I want to sing your praises for writing this, truly. My October feels much better now that I've been reminded me what an excellently written horror read can do. You are some sort of amazing.
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/tumaas balahibo
Putangina. Shet.
...suddenly I'm speaking in my native language jesus christ CHILLS MAN. CHILLS.
Wow, Sherlock in his utter and complete sociopathy is a scary thing. But the scariest thing is John not knowing which is real or not. I know how that feels, and it is terrifying to doubt your own mind/memories.
(er, yeah, I have this really fucking vivid nightmares, and most of the times I can't tell when I'm dreaming or not. FML)
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Captcha says: tomind events. Yes, Mycroft, events like that are what cause us to lose our minds.
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That happened to me a few times and HELL YES SCARY SHIT.
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Poor John! And the sibling thing gave me the willies.
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This is very, very good.
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