Hazillow

Think Happy Thoughts



Jack sat up in his bed with a grunt, and looked at the clock, then fell back to the bed, defeated. He was at a war with sleep and sleep was winning. The pills he was taking that supposedly induced sleep were far from working. He stared out his window into the night. In lighter times, there would have been a field of grass, a seemingly endless field, cut off only by a house two hundred yards away. There would be a barn off to the right, a red barn with white trim. There could be cows lazily grazing in the field. There might be a horse drinking from the pond. But not now. Not in darker times.

The dark pierced his soul as he thought about all the things that made him dark. Joanne. Rob. Think happy thoughts. He had been in bed for an hour, fighting consciousness, fighting the waking world. Fighting everything. He didn't like fighting anymore. He was drained. His friend John said warm milk would work. His friend Ben said clearing your mind would do the trick. His friend Mark said marijuana was sure to cure insomnia. His friend Jack thought nothing could help him. This wasn't insomnia. This was something else. Something darker. Darker than the farm out his window. Darker than the creatures that plauged his soul. Jack looked at his wife resting next to him. She wasn't conscious. Jack envied her. His son, down the hall and to the left, wasn't conscious either. Jack felt left out. Why is he the only one that had to suffer the torments of the waking . Jack sighed and turned back to the window.

His neighbor's kitchen light was on. He could barely make out what was going on. She was talking on the phone, and she seemed frantic. Jack would have worried, but he was too dark to care. He stared out his window toward her, watching her talk on the phone. She was an elderly lady, in her 80s or so, and Jack was amazed that she would be up at this hour. Something must have awoke her. Finally, she hung up the phone.


A sound came from the hallway, outside the bedroom door. A footstep. No, it wasn't a footstep. But it sounded like a footstep. Something darker. Everything was dark nowadays. Another wannabe-footstep. Jack was beyond the point of caring what it was.

Think happy thoughts.

A dark whisper came from the hall. And another.

Happy thoughts.

A crash, the Darkness must have bumped it's leg. That thought made Jack giggle. The door swung open. His salvation was here.

Light flooded the room. Jack was laying down, his back to the door, still staring out the window. He seemed oblivious to the white that had finally come for him. His room was a grotesque testament to Charlie Manson. Blood was smeared on the walls, forming some ancient symbols. His wife lay dead next to him, her chest and head caved in. The smell was almost too much to bear.

"Jack Crow! You're under arrest for the murder of Joanne and Robert Crow! You have the right...to..rema.." Jack wasn't listening. His freedom had come. He was finally slipping into the unconcious.

__________________
"...and the Red Death held sway over all."

SmokerForPeace

That's dark man. Good though, keep writing.

__________________
Cosmic Charley how do you do?
Truckin' in style along the avenue
Dumdeedumdee doodley doo
Go on home, your mama's calling you

Proud_Canadian

Very well written. Sounds worthy of a short-story collection book! I like how everything has a meaning, such as the old woman calling the police.