The Nightmare Box (4/?)
Title: The Nightmare Box (4/?)
Author:
xx_anarchy_xxor
synthetic_tales
Rating: R
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Disclaimer: I own nothing but merchandice and an overactive imagination
Summary: His head was filled with possible ideas of what it could be, where it came from, what was in it, but every time he voiced them his new baby brother would start crying...
Warnings: AU
Author's Note: Inspired by Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted and Mrs. Clark's story.
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
Mikey moved out of the nightmare house September 11th 1997 when he was 18. He’d been saving since his brother was taken away. A lot had changed in five years but two things remained constant; the once a month visits and the fact he wouldn’t talk to his mother. The first thing he’d said to her in years was to say he was moving out and even then he didn’t give her time to respond. He grabbed his bag and drove off to his newly acquired apartment. Mikey was pretty sure someone had died in there, the place had the faint smell of formaldehyde and dried blood. It would also explain the cheap rent but beggars can’t be choosers. It was a roof over his head and that’s all that mattered.
Money was tight for a few months, he was balancing paying rent, attending collage, going to work and seeing his brother on his slender shoulders and something was sure to slip. He’d managed to get a job at Barns and Noble which paid good money for merely stacking shelves. At collage he studded human psychology and kept himself to himself. He’d been alone for years he thought a few more couldn’t hurt. He occasionally talked to his landlord, Bob, but that was only for pleasantries sake rather than to have some kind of human contact.
The box moved with him.
Although he wanted to break it, toss it into a fire or under a steamroller, the mystery of what was inside, what Gerard saw still followed him around like a cloud above his head. It became the background soundtrack to his new life. The rhythmical ticking filled his apartment like smoke; its hollow sounds lingered in the air as he slept, infecting his head and bringing him dreams of what was inside, of why it ticked.
He always forgot them when he woke.
For years it sat by his door, he kept his keys on it, constantly ticking and setting off ideas of what was inside, of what Gerard saw, in Mikey’s head. No one asked what it was, those people being the repair man for when the garbage disposal broke and Bob for when he came for the rent. No one apart from Mikey seemed to care anymore. Around his old neighbourhood it had become a kind of folk law, his old house avoided by children for fear the monster will get them and the monster’s keeper will eat them. Mikey knew he was the monster; it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He felt disgusted that people thought he had inflicted what had happened to his brother. Even in his wildest dreams he couldn’t contemplate destroying him as bad as the box did.
The fisheye lens occasionally glinted from the light that managed to break through the dirty windows, a temptation to look inside and become on of the living dead. Mikey never did though, he knew it wouldn’t do anything, it wouldn’t answer any questions.
Mikey tried to use what he’d learnt in class when he went to see Gerard, hoping to prise open and locked door in his mind to see what the problem was. Why he was so fucked up when he used to just be odd. The therapist obviously wasn’t doing a good job is after so many years nothing had changed.
“Lies,” Gerard muttered while Mikey was talking.
“What?” Mikey asked, excitement coursing through him. One word is better than none.
“Lies. Everything is made of lies.”
“Why is everything made of lies?”
“Nothing is real. It’s all lies. Lies upon lies upon lies.” Gerard’s eye shot up from his hands to his brother, staring at him intently and hanging on every word escaping his dry lips. “Promise me you will never look in the box.”
Mikey leant back in his chair, the predicament placed in front of him. The only way for him to find out what was inside was to look when it stopped ticking but it would mean loosing the one person he had left.
Their time was up before Mikey could answer.
Instead of being transferred to a senior therapist like everyone else over 18 in the asylum Gerard stayed with Dr. Iero. The doctors thought they would get something out of him that way. His sessions always ran the same. He would stare at the wall or Dr. Iero depending on which took his eye more and absorb everything that was said to him like a human sponge. People thought he was dumb. They were wrong. He took everything in even if he didn’t want to; there was no way to switch his brain off. There was no way to make the thoughts stop swimming, no way to make the theories about him from reaching his ears and sinking in. Gerard knew they talked about him, about what Mikey told them had happened. He knew no one believed him. How can a box cause you to have a psychological break down? It’s impossible.
“There has to be some kind of deep rooted trauma you’ve repressed,” Dr. Iero spoke to himself, tapping his pen against Gerard’s notes. They consisted of one page and even then it was about how he sat. “It can’t just be about a box. Everyone has boxes. If they were dangerous there would be a government health warning.”
“The government is a lie,” Gerard spoke softly. Dr. Iero nearly leapt out of his chair in shock. It was the first thing Gerard had said in their sessions in nearly eight years. His pen flew across the paper as he jotted down the spoken words. “Everything is a lie.”
“What do you mean? You have no faith in what you once held dear?” Dr. Iero asked, probing further. Gerard nodded slightly, as if his neck were fractured.
“We’ve all been lied to. And we all believe it.” Everything Gerard said was written down. Dr. Iero could smell payday, his big medical pay off, cracking Gerard would secure his place in the medical profession. He could gain a greater insight into the human mind, publish books and self help tapes for those who were unsure of how things worked upstairs and be used as a study aid in class rooms. If he could crack Gerard he’d be made for life.
“Don’t look in the box. Don’t look in the box. Don’t look in the box if you want to live in this lie we call life,” Gerard said clearly before falling silent again, like he hadn’t said a word. Dr. Iero’s head was reeling with all the new found insight. The trauma idea was out of the window, he now believed Gerard’s breakdown was the box’s fault.
There was just no way to prove it.
On January 16th 2001 Mikey’s apartment fell silent. His heart almost stopped. He craned his neck to look at the black box, his keys still on top. The time he’d been waiting for had come. He stood and took a step towards his future before fear gripped him. The box could fuck him up. There was an extremely good chance it would. He didn’t want to become like his brother.
Before Mikey grabbed the box he wrote everything about himself, everything he knew so he wouldn’t forget it on the walls. He left a note on his door for Bob in case he contracted living rigor mortis and had to be taken to the hospital. It was only then Mikey grabbed the handles and braced himself for the worst of the worst. He took the box to his couch and did what Gerard had done eight years before, his finger resting on the button ready to pop it back in. Taking his last breath as a sound minded man Mikey placed his left eye over the lens and pressed the button before he could bottle out. At first there was nothing then a white light attacked his eye, sending Mikey backwards into the couch cushions, the box still on his lap. It took a few minutes for his brain to register what he saw. Mikey smiled to himself and giggled slightly. Gradually the giggles got louder until they sounded manic, like he’d lost his mind and all he could do was laugh. The box fell to the flood with a heavy thump as Mikey continued to laugh to himself.
Himself and the ticking noise that had resumed as the background soundtrack.
Bob found his note the next morning and obeyed what Mikey had asked. Bob found Mikey giggling on the floor, tightly gripping the almost threadbare beige carpet so his knuckles were white, and staring up at the smoke damaged ceiling. The box lay where it fell next to him. Confused Bob walked over to his giggling tenant and kicking him lightly. It only caused Mikey to giggle more and move his optical direction to stare at Bob before completely loosing it. The carpet ripped under his hands where he yanked them away.
To say that Bob wasn’t freaked out would be an understatement.
Two weeks later Mikey went the same way as Gerard. He was laughing when the nurses striped him of his clothing. He giggled when they put the gown material shirt and pants on him. He cackled when they called his mother. He snorted when he saw the look of fear in her eyes as she gave Mikey’s details and an emergency contact number. He chuckled when they put him in his padded room. He sniggered to himself when the lights were shut off.
All he could do was laugh in the dark. Not that he cared anymore. What he saw changed him. Mikey had no cares anymore, no inhibitions because none of it mattered.
“Gerard was right,” he thought between bursts of laughter. “Gerard was fucking right.”
Author:
xx_anarchy_xxor
synthetic_tales
Rating: R
Pairing: Frank/Mikey
Disclaimer: I own nothing but merchandice and an overactive imagination
Summary: His head was filled with possible ideas of what it could be, where it came from, what was in it, but every time he voiced them his new baby brother would start crying...
Warnings: AU
Author's Note: Inspired by Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted and Mrs. Clark's story.
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3
Mikey moved out of the nightmare house September 11th 1997 when he was 18. He’d been saving since his brother was taken away. A lot had changed in five years but two things remained constant; the once a month visits and the fact he wouldn’t talk to his mother. The first thing he’d said to her in years was to say he was moving out and even then he didn’t give her time to respond. He grabbed his bag and drove off to his newly acquired apartment. Mikey was pretty sure someone had died in there, the place had the faint smell of formaldehyde and dried blood. It would also explain the cheap rent but beggars can’t be choosers. It was a roof over his head and that’s all that mattered.
Money was tight for a few months, he was balancing paying rent, attending collage, going to work and seeing his brother on his slender shoulders and something was sure to slip. He’d managed to get a job at Barns and Noble which paid good money for merely stacking shelves. At collage he studded human psychology and kept himself to himself. He’d been alone for years he thought a few more couldn’t hurt. He occasionally talked to his landlord, Bob, but that was only for pleasantries sake rather than to have some kind of human contact.
The box moved with him.
Although he wanted to break it, toss it into a fire or under a steamroller, the mystery of what was inside, what Gerard saw still followed him around like a cloud above his head. It became the background soundtrack to his new life. The rhythmical ticking filled his apartment like smoke; its hollow sounds lingered in the air as he slept, infecting his head and bringing him dreams of what was inside, of why it ticked.
He always forgot them when he woke.
For years it sat by his door, he kept his keys on it, constantly ticking and setting off ideas of what was inside, of what Gerard saw, in Mikey’s head. No one asked what it was, those people being the repair man for when the garbage disposal broke and Bob for when he came for the rent. No one apart from Mikey seemed to care anymore. Around his old neighbourhood it had become a kind of folk law, his old house avoided by children for fear the monster will get them and the monster’s keeper will eat them. Mikey knew he was the monster; it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He felt disgusted that people thought he had inflicted what had happened to his brother. Even in his wildest dreams he couldn’t contemplate destroying him as bad as the box did.
The fisheye lens occasionally glinted from the light that managed to break through the dirty windows, a temptation to look inside and become on of the living dead. Mikey never did though, he knew it wouldn’t do anything, it wouldn’t answer any questions.
Mikey tried to use what he’d learnt in class when he went to see Gerard, hoping to prise open and locked door in his mind to see what the problem was. Why he was so fucked up when he used to just be odd. The therapist obviously wasn’t doing a good job is after so many years nothing had changed.
“Lies,” Gerard muttered while Mikey was talking.
“What?” Mikey asked, excitement coursing through him. One word is better than none.
“Lies. Everything is made of lies.”
“Why is everything made of lies?”
“Nothing is real. It’s all lies. Lies upon lies upon lies.” Gerard’s eye shot up from his hands to his brother, staring at him intently and hanging on every word escaping his dry lips. “Promise me you will never look in the box.”
Mikey leant back in his chair, the predicament placed in front of him. The only way for him to find out what was inside was to look when it stopped ticking but it would mean loosing the one person he had left.
Their time was up before Mikey could answer.
Instead of being transferred to a senior therapist like everyone else over 18 in the asylum Gerard stayed with Dr. Iero. The doctors thought they would get something out of him that way. His sessions always ran the same. He would stare at the wall or Dr. Iero depending on which took his eye more and absorb everything that was said to him like a human sponge. People thought he was dumb. They were wrong. He took everything in even if he didn’t want to; there was no way to switch his brain off. There was no way to make the thoughts stop swimming, no way to make the theories about him from reaching his ears and sinking in. Gerard knew they talked about him, about what Mikey told them had happened. He knew no one believed him. How can a box cause you to have a psychological break down? It’s impossible.
“There has to be some kind of deep rooted trauma you’ve repressed,” Dr. Iero spoke to himself, tapping his pen against Gerard’s notes. They consisted of one page and even then it was about how he sat. “It can’t just be about a box. Everyone has boxes. If they were dangerous there would be a government health warning.”
“The government is a lie,” Gerard spoke softly. Dr. Iero nearly leapt out of his chair in shock. It was the first thing Gerard had said in their sessions in nearly eight years. His pen flew across the paper as he jotted down the spoken words. “Everything is a lie.”
“What do you mean? You have no faith in what you once held dear?” Dr. Iero asked, probing further. Gerard nodded slightly, as if his neck were fractured.
“We’ve all been lied to. And we all believe it.” Everything Gerard said was written down. Dr. Iero could smell payday, his big medical pay off, cracking Gerard would secure his place in the medical profession. He could gain a greater insight into the human mind, publish books and self help tapes for those who were unsure of how things worked upstairs and be used as a study aid in class rooms. If he could crack Gerard he’d be made for life.
“Don’t look in the box. Don’t look in the box. Don’t look in the box if you want to live in this lie we call life,” Gerard said clearly before falling silent again, like he hadn’t said a word. Dr. Iero’s head was reeling with all the new found insight. The trauma idea was out of the window, he now believed Gerard’s breakdown was the box’s fault.
There was just no way to prove it.
On January 16th 2001 Mikey’s apartment fell silent. His heart almost stopped. He craned his neck to look at the black box, his keys still on top. The time he’d been waiting for had come. He stood and took a step towards his future before fear gripped him. The box could fuck him up. There was an extremely good chance it would. He didn’t want to become like his brother.
Before Mikey grabbed the box he wrote everything about himself, everything he knew so he wouldn’t forget it on the walls. He left a note on his door for Bob in case he contracted living rigor mortis and had to be taken to the hospital. It was only then Mikey grabbed the handles and braced himself for the worst of the worst. He took the box to his couch and did what Gerard had done eight years before, his finger resting on the button ready to pop it back in. Taking his last breath as a sound minded man Mikey placed his left eye over the lens and pressed the button before he could bottle out. At first there was nothing then a white light attacked his eye, sending Mikey backwards into the couch cushions, the box still on his lap. It took a few minutes for his brain to register what he saw. Mikey smiled to himself and giggled slightly. Gradually the giggles got louder until they sounded manic, like he’d lost his mind and all he could do was laugh. The box fell to the flood with a heavy thump as Mikey continued to laugh to himself.
Himself and the ticking noise that had resumed as the background soundtrack.
Bob found his note the next morning and obeyed what Mikey had asked. Bob found Mikey giggling on the floor, tightly gripping the almost threadbare beige carpet so his knuckles were white, and staring up at the smoke damaged ceiling. The box lay where it fell next to him. Confused Bob walked over to his giggling tenant and kicking him lightly. It only caused Mikey to giggle more and move his optical direction to stare at Bob before completely loosing it. The carpet ripped under his hands where he yanked them away.
To say that Bob wasn’t freaked out would be an understatement.
Two weeks later Mikey went the same way as Gerard. He was laughing when the nurses striped him of his clothing. He giggled when they put the gown material shirt and pants on him. He cackled when they called his mother. He snorted when he saw the look of fear in her eyes as she gave Mikey’s details and an emergency contact number. He chuckled when they put him in his padded room. He sniggered to himself when the lights were shut off.
All he could do was laugh in the dark. Not that he cared anymore. What he saw changed him. Mikey had no cares anymore, no inhibitions because none of it mattered.
“Gerard was right,” he thought between bursts of laughter. “Gerard was fucking right.”