Shattering Realities - edit + addition
Dark and silent, the apartment sat quietly as the night crawled on. It was a small, cheap apartment, with a small kitchenette, a living room, and two bedrooms, each with a bathroom. A father and daughter lived there, alone, both sleeping quietly with the windows shut tight on such a cold night. Snow was falling steadily outside as the seventeen-year-old girl slept in her bed, covers pulled tight around her. Across the small living room, a man slept lightly in his bed. The whole place seemed to ring with silence. Even the neighbors were being quiet. It was as if the entire world had simply stopped in its place.
And then, with a shattering sensation of breaking glass, the silence was pierced by the shrill, vexing ring of the phone sitting on the man’s desk beside his bed, sounding like a thousand smashing windows with each unbearable ring. The man snapped awake, sweat pouring down his face even though the room was freezing cold. Shaking, he rose slightly to stare at the phone, as if looking at it would make the ringing stop. It simply kept on ringing. Continuing to stare at it, as though it were possessed, he decided he would let the answering machine pick it up; anyone who called at this hour was probably not anyone he would want to talk to, and with no connections to anyone except his daughter, who was sleeping soundly in her bed, he knew it couldn’t be an emergency. At least, not one which pertained to him in any way. Ring. Ring. Ring. He stuffed his head into the pillow.
Just a few more rings, he thought. The machine will pick it up.
But the machine did not pick it up. The phone just continued to ring. The man was beginning to grow worried. Slowly sitting up, he lifted a shaking hand and willed it to go towards the phone. His clammy hand wrapped around the receiver. He lifted it carefully from the base and, shaking, put it to his ear.
“Hello?” He asked. The voice coming from his lips sounded terrified and shivering, much unlike his own.
“Daddy?” The childlike voice answered. The man nearly dropped the phone.
“What?!” He cried, his stomach lurching. He felt sick. “Cheryl?!”
The voice changed suddenly, to a sickening, deadly woman’s voice, filled with hate and madness.
“Cheryl’s gone. She’s dead. You killed her.”
“No!” He jumped up from his bed, clutching the phone tightly in his hand. “Who is this?!”
“It’s your fault she’s gone.” The voice continued. “And we want her back.”
“Leave me alone.” He gasped. “Leave Heather and I alone!”
“Heather?” The voice laughed. “Don’t you mean Alessa?”
“Stay away from me!” He screamed, slamming the phone down. He was hyperventilating, his hands shaking out of control. He rushed from the room, to his daughter’s bedroom. Pulling the door open, he flicked the lights on. She was lying peacefully in her bed. As he entered the room, she stirred, slowly opening her eyes.
“Dad? What’s going on?” She glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“Heather...” He whispered, “Were you awake? Did you hear the phone just now?”
She stared at him through delirious, tired eyes for a moment or two.
“Dad, are you feeling okay? The phone hasn’t rang all night...”
He stared at her for a moment. It’s was like his entire world was falling apart. He could hardly bear it. All around him, the glass shattered in the windows. Heather was gone. The floor beneath him turned to sharp, gory grating, cutting and biting into his bare feet in the night. The room filled with blood, thrown against the walls, tearing everything apart. He could hear screaming, and his eyes filled with tears, crumpling against himself as he realized that the screams were his own...
Heather jumped up from her bed.
“Dad?” She cried, rushing to her father and kneeling beside him. “Dad?! Are you okay?!”
And then everything was normal again as she placed her hand on his shoulder. The room faded back in, and it was warm. No smell of blood, and Heather was there. The sirens were fading away. He took deep, cleansing breaths, slowly trying to stand.
“I’m... sorry, Heather.” He muttered quietly. “You should get some sleep.”
She simply stared back at him as he turned and walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Dad...” She whispered quietly, tears coming to her eyes.
---
What’s happening to you, Dad?
Heather stared at the closed door, ignoring the tears sliding down her face.
It’s always the phone. I never hear it, but you always ask. And you have that look in your eyes...like you know I didn’t hear it. Sometimes I wonder why you bother to ask. Sometimes, I think about lying; about telling you I heard it, just so you won’t think you’re going crazy. And I know you think you are. I hear you muttering it, sometimes.
I hear you, crying for her in the dark; screaming her name, until your throat is raw, and you can’t talk well in the morning. Strangely, we never get any complaints from the rest of the apartment residents. Maybe it’s all inside our apartment, maybe once you start hearing the phone, we’re...not here, anymore. I know you’re not. You’re somewhere else, far away from me, and there’s nothing I can do but wait.
Wait for the morning, for light to take away the darkness. For light to take away your pain.
Sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes you sit in there for days. Door shut, door open, in the darkness. Staring. Sometimes I hear you typing in the dark. Pages you can’t see, that end up in the trash. Gibberish; lines strung together that make sense only in their madness.
[Harry p.o.v- Makoto / Heather p.o.v- Kas]
[Originally posted: 01.26.04]
And then, with a shattering sensation of breaking glass, the silence was pierced by the shrill, vexing ring of the phone sitting on the man’s desk beside his bed, sounding like a thousand smashing windows with each unbearable ring. The man snapped awake, sweat pouring down his face even though the room was freezing cold. Shaking, he rose slightly to stare at the phone, as if looking at it would make the ringing stop. It simply kept on ringing. Continuing to stare at it, as though it were possessed, he decided he would let the answering machine pick it up; anyone who called at this hour was probably not anyone he would want to talk to, and with no connections to anyone except his daughter, who was sleeping soundly in her bed, he knew it couldn’t be an emergency. At least, not one which pertained to him in any way. Ring. Ring. Ring. He stuffed his head into the pillow.
Just a few more rings, he thought. The machine will pick it up.
But the machine did not pick it up. The phone just continued to ring. The man was beginning to grow worried. Slowly sitting up, he lifted a shaking hand and willed it to go towards the phone. His clammy hand wrapped around the receiver. He lifted it carefully from the base and, shaking, put it to his ear.
“Hello?” He asked. The voice coming from his lips sounded terrified and shivering, much unlike his own.
“Daddy?” The childlike voice answered. The man nearly dropped the phone.
“What?!” He cried, his stomach lurching. He felt sick. “Cheryl?!”
The voice changed suddenly, to a sickening, deadly woman’s voice, filled with hate and madness.
“Cheryl’s gone. She’s dead. You killed her.”
“No!” He jumped up from his bed, clutching the phone tightly in his hand. “Who is this?!”
“It’s your fault she’s gone.” The voice continued. “And we want her back.”
“Leave me alone.” He gasped. “Leave Heather and I alone!”
“Heather?” The voice laughed. “Don’t you mean Alessa?”
“Stay away from me!” He screamed, slamming the phone down. He was hyperventilating, his hands shaking out of control. He rushed from the room, to his daughter’s bedroom. Pulling the door open, he flicked the lights on. She was lying peacefully in her bed. As he entered the room, she stirred, slowly opening her eyes.
“Dad? What’s going on?” She glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
“Heather...” He whispered, “Were you awake? Did you hear the phone just now?”
She stared at him through delirious, tired eyes for a moment or two.
“Dad, are you feeling okay? The phone hasn’t rang all night...”
He stared at her for a moment. It’s was like his entire world was falling apart. He could hardly bear it. All around him, the glass shattered in the windows. Heather was gone. The floor beneath him turned to sharp, gory grating, cutting and biting into his bare feet in the night. The room filled with blood, thrown against the walls, tearing everything apart. He could hear screaming, and his eyes filled with tears, crumpling against himself as he realized that the screams were his own...
Heather jumped up from her bed.
“Dad?” She cried, rushing to her father and kneeling beside him. “Dad?! Are you okay?!”
And then everything was normal again as she placed her hand on his shoulder. The room faded back in, and it was warm. No smell of blood, and Heather was there. The sirens were fading away. He took deep, cleansing breaths, slowly trying to stand.
“I’m... sorry, Heather.” He muttered quietly. “You should get some sleep.”
She simply stared back at him as he turned and walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Dad...” She whispered quietly, tears coming to her eyes.
---
What’s happening to you, Dad?
Heather stared at the closed door, ignoring the tears sliding down her face.
It’s always the phone. I never hear it, but you always ask. And you have that look in your eyes...like you know I didn’t hear it. Sometimes I wonder why you bother to ask. Sometimes, I think about lying; about telling you I heard it, just so you won’t think you’re going crazy. And I know you think you are. I hear you muttering it, sometimes.
I hear you, crying for her in the dark; screaming her name, until your throat is raw, and you can’t talk well in the morning. Strangely, we never get any complaints from the rest of the apartment residents. Maybe it’s all inside our apartment, maybe once you start hearing the phone, we’re...not here, anymore. I know you’re not. You’re somewhere else, far away from me, and there’s nothing I can do but wait.
Wait for the morning, for light to take away the darkness. For light to take away your pain.
Sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes you sit in there for days. Door shut, door open, in the darkness. Staring. Sometimes I hear you typing in the dark. Pages you can’t see, that end up in the trash. Gibberish; lines strung together that make sense only in their madness.
[Harry p.o.v- Makoto / Heather p.o.v- Kas]
[Originally posted: 01.26.04]