"Shackled By The Damned"
by Scott Wydra
The vilest deeds like poison weeds
Bloom well in prison air:
It is only what is good in man
That wastes and withers there.
--Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol, 1898
Branded in pain, marked criminally insane
Locked away and kept restrained.
Disapprobation, but what have I done?
I have yet only just begun to, Take your fucking lives!
--Slayer, "Criminally Insane"
Wow, I never thought I’d be writing in a journal! But in here, Garrits County’s Peace Of Mind,
Pennsylvania’s premier mental health facility, what the hell else is there to do besides write, read, and
watch crazies eat their chess pawns?
So, here goes. And whoever might come along and read this after I’m gone, even if you don’t believe
my words, at least listen to this: BEWARE!
Because there are things out there we can’t explain.
And another word of advice: Also beware of the crimes you commit in life. Because I’ll certainly take
this punishment for the rest of my days than what They did to me.
Here is my story.
* * *
People always talk about "monsters". Are monsters merely dragons in fairy tales, chainsaw psychotics
in movies, and slimy, three-headed ogres in comic books? Or could they exist with us? Are some of us
monsters? Monsters come in all different forms, as I now know.
It seems to me essences walk and creep around us everyday, and we feel them completely. But
sometimes we refuse to, whether consciously or not. And sometimes they do touch, slither, and tickle,
and we pass it off as the wind. Maybe an unexplainable shiver races through our core and we laugh it
away. Those things we think we see out of the edge of our vision and disappear, could they be real, or
just imagination teasing our brainwaves? Are we being watched by things that we can’t see?
Questions the mortal mind attempt to fathom on these subjects die like puffs of cigarette smoke.
They start out as white thoughts--clear and sure. But after inhaling the problems into the mind, they
gray and dissipate, and we are left in a new state of confusion. Are they real? When they leave our vision
for a second, are they really gone? I know this is not true, for these Things had imprisoned me in my
own home.
* * *
As I sat in my Lazy-Boy, I stared at the Thing that has been attached to my wall for the past four
days. It whispered to me, telling me of things I’ve done without movement of lips. Over and over It
reminded me of my deeds. It repeated their names to me in a voice that sounded like a clogged drain
bubbling over. It‘s not just my ears that heard the voice, but it also swam throughout my head, and
echoed off the walls of my conscious state. The language was English most of the time, and It taunted
me with Its black words.
The tall lamp on my left blinked directly into my eyes; it made it hard for me to watch the television.
My skin was freezing, I remember, as I glanced from the screen to that Phantom. It looked like a child’s
painting of a blackened and burnt person. It never moved, only stared, with pure white eyes. Eyes as
white as freshly peeled bone. And It grinned. All day, all night, it smiled at me, showing me It’s brown
needle-teeth.
I thought that Thing on the wall was the only One. But I was wrong.
I felt something caress my cheeks, like icy nails. I shivered and screamed at the Thing on the wall. It
didn’t even twitch. I threw myself out of my chair and grabbed a pairing knife that was on my coffee
table. I rushed to the grinning bastard and drove that knife into it.
Dumb move, I now know.
The knife along with my hand went right through the wall. I thought I felt a chill before, but the
frigidness of whatever laid on the other side of the Thing was like if you could touch death. I tore my
hand back and shouted in supreme pain. I fell backwards over the coffee table; my head hit the
cushioned foot of my chair. After I stumbled-- through tears of agony and frustration--back over to my
chair, I fell into it. I studied my hand and forearm. It was covered in speckles of brilliant ice the color of
phlegm.
I exhaled a long breath. I knew I’d pay for what I did to them eventually; me knowing was all part of
my rehabilitation. I tried the whole Bible-reading thing, going to church on Sundays...but that urge never
left me. I would even be on my way to church and I would see one, skipping along in a flowered dress in
front of her folks, not a care in the world. Her father, I would think, has someone that beautiful and
precious in his own house, and he doesn’t even realize what she wants. Or needs. And I would turn
away, go home, and "relieve" myself. But those urges never stopped. I had to always do something more
about it.
They called me the Bleacher Creature in the newspapers. I would stalk the late-night high school
football games. When I found one worthy of me I would snatch her and take her to where I did my
business. Then, well, I disposed of her. I knew her purpose was fulfilled on this planet.
For three years I collected, and then it happened.
I was found not guilty by reason of mental defect and sent to Peace Of Mind. And, five and a half
years later, they said I was cured. Just like that, and I’m home again! I was so happy, and I really tried to
get a new life for myself. I guess that wasn’t the way the dice were rolled for me.
"But I’ve been good lately!" I yelled at my wall that now had a pairing knife buried in it.
I was so tired and I couldn’t get any sleep. And when I did sleep, my nightmares were filled with
horrid childish screams and visions of unholy torment with tools of twisted evil. I awoke with sticky sweat
pouring out of me as I roared for it all to end.
I asked time and time again if It or Them wanted to just please kill me and get it over with. It seemed
they had other plans for me. I thought of suicide, but I figured I’d committed enough sins already. No
need to add a mortal one.
I would think for reasons why these Things were here if not to kill me or really torment me with some
kind of unknown pain, but the One on the wall just grinned, and that other One touched me at times,
making my skin squirm. It was horrific, believe me. But what else did they have for me?
In the middle of the Evening News, the television started to blink on and off. I saw the pretty
newscaster’s face pop in and out between squares of black; the sound was split into bits of unknown
clutter. I shook my head and was disgusted by everything. Sweat was wiped from my forehead. I decided
to get a bottle of water from the fridge.
When I stood, one of those icy nails drew up the center of my naked back. I shivered and almost
burst into tears. I swung my right arm around to see if, maybe--you never know--I could hit whatever it
was this time. But I just arched my arm through chilly air, almost falling in the process. Three short
blunts of laughter seemed to come from every wall. The last one trailed off in a deep growl.
Still tears in my eyes, I walked towards the hallway that led to my kitchen. I looked over at my
demonic roommate. He continued to smile. I stopped under the arch...and It slid closer to me across the
wall like an ashy smear. No features changed, It just came closer. I already knew what it was like to be
close to that Thing, so I hurried down the hall.
Halfway in, I looked down. And almost shit myself. It was right there! Under my feet on the floor, It
grinned up at me like a damned-to-hell hyena. I took my steps; It kept Its pace with me, and I could feel
my toes almost going numb.
I reached the kitchen. I went to flick the light switch on to my right...but it seemed the Other One
wanted to get it for me. I felt the chill as It touched my hand. Then It switched the light on. The
fluorescent lights blinked once...twice...then came on in a wash of brilliance. Unlike my living room,
everything in there was spotless, mainly because I hardly ever went in since those Things arrived. Don’t
get me wrong, I would have loved to be able to stay away from Them all the time, and I tried. I was so
thankful my mother sent the landlady a check every month for the rent and a second one for my meager
expenses because I couldn’t even get a job, with my past and all. Plus, I don’t think they’d let me leave,
anyway. But everywhere I went in the house, the Invisible One would follow close behind. I don’t even
want to inscribe how it was when I tried to go to the bathroom. That day was different when the grinning
bastard trailed along.
My fridge was on the right. I grabbed the handle and opened up the door. There was a fresh case of
bottled water on the second shelf. The plastic wrapping was torn off. I noticed the number of bottles left,
and I froze. Twelve. The same number of my victims, all lined up next to each other. I reached out for
one, grabbed it, twisted the top so hard that the cap flew off, and took a long drink. I exhaled.
"Why did you ruin me?" A small, sullen, girly voice entered my ears. "Why, Mister?"
I looked around, saw the silhouette of the Thing on the far side of the kitchen, and knew it didn’t
come from Him. My gaze went to the bottle. A stream of urine trickled down my leg like an insult. What I
saw couldn’t’ve been there. It just couldn’t!
A small mouth had opened up on the bottle; the lips painted in bubble gum lip-gloss. The water--now
turning from clear to pink to crimson--flowed over the child’s lips and onto my feet. I tried to scream but
nothing came out. My feet intertwined as I staggered backwards. I fell to the floor, plastic bottle still
gripped in my hand. More red slopped all around me.
The kid’s voice came again, only this time it had that bubbly quality to it. "I’m waiting to play with you,
Mister. Wanna play jump rope with some razor wire? Wanna play doctor? I have a nice, shiny scalpel. You
can see it if you want. I’d luuuuuuv to show it to you..." She ended with laughter. Long, cheery but
menacing laughter.
This time the scream came, and the bottle was whipped into the open fridge. It collided with the other
bottles, all of which now had mouths of their own. They rolled out of the fridge, onto the floor, and
started coming at me. I scrambled away, but they were quicker. They told me of similar things they
wanted to do to me like Rosa did (I remember every name of every victim; they say that most serial
criminals never care to know their victims’ names, but I did). They went for my feet first, but I finally got
up.
I knew what had to be done.
I ran to the phone and dialed the hospital’s number.
I was picked up in fifteen minutes after I confessed to my doctor that I needed to be put back in
there; needed it.
As I was led away from my home, I turned to look through the open door at the wall. The Thing was
fading right in front of me. I snapped out laughter. I turned to see the ambulance and cops that showed
up. On the side of the ambulance, I thought I saw that same phantom shape, reminding me. But maybe I
didn’t.
* * *
Either way, I’m back here, and I know I belong. I never want to leave here again. Every night before
lights-out, I check all parts of my room to see if I’m alone. And every night I go to bed satisfied.
But once in a while, I feel something icy on my flesh, and I break out in goose bumps. I know that
when I die, I am in serious shit. But at least I’m here, and not with them anymore...or maybe I still am, in
a way.
Like I said, be careful, you never know who or What is watching you...
by Scott Wydra
The vilest deeds like poison weeds
Bloom well in prison air:
It is only what is good in man
That wastes and withers there.
--Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol, 1898
Branded in pain, marked criminally insane
Locked away and kept restrained.
Disapprobation, but what have I done?
I have yet only just begun to, Take your fucking lives!
--Slayer, "Criminally Insane"
Wow, I never thought I’d be writing in a journal! But in here, Garrits County’s Peace Of Mind,
Pennsylvania’s premier mental health facility, what the hell else is there to do besides write, read, and
watch crazies eat their chess pawns?
So, here goes. And whoever might come along and read this after I’m gone, even if you don’t believe
my words, at least listen to this: BEWARE!
Because there are things out there we can’t explain.
And another word of advice: Also beware of the crimes you commit in life. Because I’ll certainly take
this punishment for the rest of my days than what They did to me.
Here is my story.
* * *
People always talk about "monsters". Are monsters merely dragons in fairy tales, chainsaw psychotics
in movies, and slimy, three-headed ogres in comic books? Or could they exist with us? Are some of us
monsters? Monsters come in all different forms, as I now know.
It seems to me essences walk and creep around us everyday, and we feel them completely. But
sometimes we refuse to, whether consciously or not. And sometimes they do touch, slither, and tickle,
and we pass it off as the wind. Maybe an unexplainable shiver races through our core and we laugh it
away. Those things we think we see out of the edge of our vision and disappear, could they be real, or
just imagination teasing our brainwaves? Are we being watched by things that we can’t see?
Questions the mortal mind attempt to fathom on these subjects die like puffs of cigarette smoke.
They start out as white thoughts--clear and sure. But after inhaling the problems into the mind, they
gray and dissipate, and we are left in a new state of confusion. Are they real? When they leave our vision
for a second, are they really gone? I know this is not true, for these Things had imprisoned me in my
own home.
* * *
As I sat in my Lazy-Boy, I stared at the Thing that has been attached to my wall for the past four
days. It whispered to me, telling me of things I’ve done without movement of lips. Over and over It
reminded me of my deeds. It repeated their names to me in a voice that sounded like a clogged drain
bubbling over. It‘s not just my ears that heard the voice, but it also swam throughout my head, and
echoed off the walls of my conscious state. The language was English most of the time, and It taunted
me with Its black words.
The tall lamp on my left blinked directly into my eyes; it made it hard for me to watch the television.
My skin was freezing, I remember, as I glanced from the screen to that Phantom. It looked like a child’s
painting of a blackened and burnt person. It never moved, only stared, with pure white eyes. Eyes as
white as freshly peeled bone. And It grinned. All day, all night, it smiled at me, showing me It’s brown
needle-teeth.
I thought that Thing on the wall was the only One. But I was wrong.
I felt something caress my cheeks, like icy nails. I shivered and screamed at the Thing on the wall. It
didn’t even twitch. I threw myself out of my chair and grabbed a pairing knife that was on my coffee
table. I rushed to the grinning bastard and drove that knife into it.
Dumb move, I now know.
The knife along with my hand went right through the wall. I thought I felt a chill before, but the
frigidness of whatever laid on the other side of the Thing was like if you could touch death. I tore my
hand back and shouted in supreme pain. I fell backwards over the coffee table; my head hit the
cushioned foot of my chair. After I stumbled-- through tears of agony and frustration--back over to my
chair, I fell into it. I studied my hand and forearm. It was covered in speckles of brilliant ice the color of
phlegm.
I exhaled a long breath. I knew I’d pay for what I did to them eventually; me knowing was all part of
my rehabilitation. I tried the whole Bible-reading thing, going to church on Sundays...but that urge never
left me. I would even be on my way to church and I would see one, skipping along in a flowered dress in
front of her folks, not a care in the world. Her father, I would think, has someone that beautiful and
precious in his own house, and he doesn’t even realize what she wants. Or needs. And I would turn
away, go home, and "relieve" myself. But those urges never stopped. I had to always do something more
about it.
They called me the Bleacher Creature in the newspapers. I would stalk the late-night high school
football games. When I found one worthy of me I would snatch her and take her to where I did my
business. Then, well, I disposed of her. I knew her purpose was fulfilled on this planet.
For three years I collected, and then it happened.
I was found not guilty by reason of mental defect and sent to Peace Of Mind. And, five and a half
years later, they said I was cured. Just like that, and I’m home again! I was so happy, and I really tried to
get a new life for myself. I guess that wasn’t the way the dice were rolled for me.
"But I’ve been good lately!" I yelled at my wall that now had a pairing knife buried in it.
I was so tired and I couldn’t get any sleep. And when I did sleep, my nightmares were filled with
horrid childish screams and visions of unholy torment with tools of twisted evil. I awoke with sticky sweat
pouring out of me as I roared for it all to end.
I asked time and time again if It or Them wanted to just please kill me and get it over with. It seemed
they had other plans for me. I thought of suicide, but I figured I’d committed enough sins already. No
need to add a mortal one.
I would think for reasons why these Things were here if not to kill me or really torment me with some
kind of unknown pain, but the One on the wall just grinned, and that other One touched me at times,
making my skin squirm. It was horrific, believe me. But what else did they have for me?
In the middle of the Evening News, the television started to blink on and off. I saw the pretty
newscaster’s face pop in and out between squares of black; the sound was split into bits of unknown
clutter. I shook my head and was disgusted by everything. Sweat was wiped from my forehead. I decided
to get a bottle of water from the fridge.
When I stood, one of those icy nails drew up the center of my naked back. I shivered and almost
burst into tears. I swung my right arm around to see if, maybe--you never know--I could hit whatever it
was this time. But I just arched my arm through chilly air, almost falling in the process. Three short
blunts of laughter seemed to come from every wall. The last one trailed off in a deep growl.
Still tears in my eyes, I walked towards the hallway that led to my kitchen. I looked over at my
demonic roommate. He continued to smile. I stopped under the arch...and It slid closer to me across the
wall like an ashy smear. No features changed, It just came closer. I already knew what it was like to be
close to that Thing, so I hurried down the hall.
Halfway in, I looked down. And almost shit myself. It was right there! Under my feet on the floor, It
grinned up at me like a damned-to-hell hyena. I took my steps; It kept Its pace with me, and I could feel
my toes almost going numb.
I reached the kitchen. I went to flick the light switch on to my right...but it seemed the Other One
wanted to get it for me. I felt the chill as It touched my hand. Then It switched the light on. The
fluorescent lights blinked once...twice...then came on in a wash of brilliance. Unlike my living room,
everything in there was spotless, mainly because I hardly ever went in since those Things arrived. Don’t
get me wrong, I would have loved to be able to stay away from Them all the time, and I tried. I was so
thankful my mother sent the landlady a check every month for the rent and a second one for my meager
expenses because I couldn’t even get a job, with my past and all. Plus, I don’t think they’d let me leave,
anyway. But everywhere I went in the house, the Invisible One would follow close behind. I don’t even
want to inscribe how it was when I tried to go to the bathroom. That day was different when the grinning
bastard trailed along.
My fridge was on the right. I grabbed the handle and opened up the door. There was a fresh case of
bottled water on the second shelf. The plastic wrapping was torn off. I noticed the number of bottles left,
and I froze. Twelve. The same number of my victims, all lined up next to each other. I reached out for
one, grabbed it, twisted the top so hard that the cap flew off, and took a long drink. I exhaled.
"Why did you ruin me?" A small, sullen, girly voice entered my ears. "Why, Mister?"
I looked around, saw the silhouette of the Thing on the far side of the kitchen, and knew it didn’t
come from Him. My gaze went to the bottle. A stream of urine trickled down my leg like an insult. What I
saw couldn’t’ve been there. It just couldn’t!
A small mouth had opened up on the bottle; the lips painted in bubble gum lip-gloss. The water--now
turning from clear to pink to crimson--flowed over the child’s lips and onto my feet. I tried to scream but
nothing came out. My feet intertwined as I staggered backwards. I fell to the floor, plastic bottle still
gripped in my hand. More red slopped all around me.
The kid’s voice came again, only this time it had that bubbly quality to it. "I’m waiting to play with you,
Mister. Wanna play jump rope with some razor wire? Wanna play doctor? I have a nice, shiny scalpel. You
can see it if you want. I’d luuuuuuv to show it to you..." She ended with laughter. Long, cheery but
menacing laughter.
This time the scream came, and the bottle was whipped into the open fridge. It collided with the other
bottles, all of which now had mouths of their own. They rolled out of the fridge, onto the floor, and
started coming at me. I scrambled away, but they were quicker. They told me of similar things they
wanted to do to me like Rosa did (I remember every name of every victim; they say that most serial
criminals never care to know their victims’ names, but I did). They went for my feet first, but I finally got
up.
I knew what had to be done.
I ran to the phone and dialed the hospital’s number.
I was picked up in fifteen minutes after I confessed to my doctor that I needed to be put back in
there; needed it.
As I was led away from my home, I turned to look through the open door at the wall. The Thing was
fading right in front of me. I snapped out laughter. I turned to see the ambulance and cops that showed
up. On the side of the ambulance, I thought I saw that same phantom shape, reminding me. But maybe I
didn’t.
* * *
Either way, I’m back here, and I know I belong. I never want to leave here again. Every night before
lights-out, I check all parts of my room to see if I’m alone. And every night I go to bed satisfied.
But once in a while, I feel something icy on my flesh, and I break out in goose bumps. I know that
when I die, I am in serious shit. But at least I’m here, and not with them anymore...or maybe I still am, in
a way.
Like I said, be careful, you never know who or What is watching you...
