tomasyaguana

Gracias Por Encender La Luz Estas en la fiesta disfrutando el ambiente y bebiendo con tus amigos unos tragos mientras charlan sobre las chicas que les gustan. No sabes cómo pero después de unas 3 horas terminan hablando sobre historias de terror. La fiesta acaba y vas a la casa de algún amigo a ver una pelicula de terror. Regresas a tu casa tarde, tus papás están dormidos en la habitación al final del pasillo y lo único que quieres es irte a dormir, llegas a tu cuarto y apagas las luces mientras recuerdas la buena fiesta en la que estuviste, y de repente, las imágenes de los monstruos ficticios que tenías con tus amigos empiezan a formar parte en tu mente. Caes dormido rápidamente, pero a los 15 minutos unos pasos fuera de tu cuarto te despiertan y los recuerdos te vuelven a traicionar, y aún después de eso vuelves a la cama sin darle mucha importancia. Pero a los 30 minutos escuchas más sonidos y esta vez están dentro de tu habitación y despiertas exaltado, prendes la luz porque recuerdas que de niño eso ayudaba a calmar tu miedo, pero no hay nada… Justo cuando cierras tus ojos y te tumbas a tu almohada, una fría y descompuesta mano sube lentamente a tu espalda provocandote escalofrios en cada hueso y nervio que toca, no te mueves porque estas en shock. Escuchas una voz ronca, tan solo oirla tus oidos arden y pronuncia: ”Gracias por prender la luz, era muy difícil encontrarte en la oscuridad”

Enfermedades Mentales #1: Schizophrenia Grabacion del Hospital Mental, Teodore Walfburg, 11 de julio 1977, Patterson, NY… -‘Comencemos, esta es la grabación #001, Nombre del paciente: Teodore Walfburg, Enfermedad: Desorden mental’- -‘Señor Walfburg, digame, cuales fueron los primeros síntomas que presento, (susurrando) parece una persona normal desde mi punto de vista’- -‘Ya le he dicho varias veces lo que ha sucedido, no quiero hablar de esto mas’- -‘Si no habla no podremos ayudarlo’- -‘Ya no pueden ayudarme, no lo entiende, el saldrá, me obligara a hacer cosas, vayase, aejese de mi’- -‘Señor Walfburg, tranquilícese, nadie vendrá, solo estamos los dos solos’- -‘Ja-jaja-jaja-jajajajajajaja….’- -‘¿Señor Walfburg?, tal parece que se ha desmayado, continuaremos la sesión en cuanto despierte, fin de la grabacion’- ……….. -‘Esta es la grabación #002, parece que nuestro paciente esta despertando, Señor Walfburg, ¿Teodore?’- -‘Si, digame doctor’- -‘Continuamos con nuestra charla, ehmm, digame, ¿Por qué asesino a esas jóvenes hace 3 años en la playa?’- -‘Porque el me lo pidio’- -‘¿Quién se lo pidió?’- -‘El’- -‘¿Quién?’- -‘El’- -‘Bueno, cambiemos de tema, y ¿por que asesino a esos jóvenes en el anfiteatro?’- -‘Porque el quería sangre’- -‘¿Quién?, tiene que decirme quien, digame su nombre’- -‘No tiene nombre’- -‘¿Y Por qué hace lo que le dice?’- -‘Porque es parte de mi’- -'¿Como que es parte de usted?'- -‘Bien, tomemos un receso por hoy, mañana continuaremos con la sesión, fin de la grabacion’- ……….. -Grabacion #003, primeras conclusiones, se me ha pedido dar mis opiniones del caso cada dos grabaciones, a mi parecer no estamos avanzando, pero se ve muy confiado, al principio, con lo que sucedió, cuando se empezó a reir alocadamente de la nada y se desmayo, pero cambie de parecer cuando al despertar parecía una persona normal y logramos comunicarnos, pero no de la forma que yo quería, tal vez la próxima ve… ¿Qué fue eso?, oh mierda, no se me acabo la….’- ……….. -‘Grabacion #004, Dia 2, Nombre del paciente: Teodore Walfburg, Señor Teodore, despierte’- -‘Ah, ah si, ¿que pasa doctor?’- -‘Continuemos donde nos quedamos ayer, ahora digame, ayer menciono qque esta “persona” es parte de usted, ¿Cómo es eso?’- -‘Es simple doctor, el me pide hacer algo y yo lo hago, no puedo evitarlo solo no quiero sufrir mas dolor, cada vez, cada vez que no hago algo el toma control de mi y empieza a pegarme, no lo entiende, No Lo Entiende, ¡¡¡¡¡¡¿¿¿¿¿NO LO ENTIENDE?????!!!!!!’- -‘Tranquilicese, el no esta aquí, el no esta, el no esta, todo esta bien’- -‘ Ja-jaja-jajajajaaja, es lo que usted cree, mire detrás de usted’- -‘No hay nada’- -‘Le va a clavar un cuchillo en el estomago, yo de usted me alejaría de ahí’- -‘¿Quee-e-e-e-eueooql’- Birterddsdsdasasdsdasdsdsdsdsdsdsdsdsdsdsds……………. ……….. -‘Contiuacion de la grabación #004’- -‘¿Qué ha pasado aquí?, respóndeme maldito, ¿Por qué le habéis matado?, ¿de donde carajos habéis sacado el cuchillo?, que me respondas’- -‘Ya deja de patearlo, el tiene camisa de fuerza, no puede haber hecho nada’- -‘Callese doctora, es un asesino, y el doctor no estaba con nadie mas, todo apunta hacia el’- -‘ Calmate Richard, no es lógico, alguien mas debio haber estado aquí, revisemos las cintas, asi podremos…’- -‘Bien, bien, analizaremos las cintas’- -‘Gracias’- …… -‘Teodore, estas bien, ¿Qué ha pasado?, puedes contármelo todo’- -‘No puedo, el la matara’- -‘¿Quién?’- -‘Detrás de usted’- -‘¿Qué?’- -‘Cuidado doctora’- -‘Teodore, ¿Por qué me…., Aahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!’- Fin de la grabación Grabacion #037: -‘Analicémoslo una ves mas, ¿Cómo pudo un hombre zafarse de una camisa de fuerza?, no hay explicación lógica, te clavaste el mismo cuchillo con el que mataste al Prof. Riggory, la doctora Shaw vio todo, no tienes excusa, te daremos sentencia de muerte, no solo porque mataste a profesor, sino por los demás asesinatos que has cometido’- -‘Ya se lo dije, yo no he hecho nada, es el, es el’- -‘Di todo lo que quieras, tu destino ya ha sido juzgado’- -‘No, por favor, ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡NO!!!!!!!!’- ……………… Grabacion #039: -‘Han alargado tu vida y lo sabes, estas feliz, dime, estas contento ahora’- -‘No, no importa, el me seguirá atormentando, y los matara a todos, el los matara, el me lo esta ordenando, el, el, salga, ¡SALGA!, ¡¡¡¡¡¡SALGAAAA!!!!!!’- -‘¿Que ha sido eso?’- -‘Ja-jaja-jajajajajajajajajaja, estas muerto’- -‘¿Por que cambio tu voz, y a que te refieres con que estoy muerto?’- -‘Mira tu pecho’- -‘No tengo nada’- -‘Mira otra vez’- -‘Assskksdkdsklskl, cOmkoask me osaclavasmiwrte el cuchissllo’- -‘Porque yo soy el, y yo los matare a todos’- Fin de la grabación… ……………………. Grabacion #051: -‘Hemos capturado al prófugo, esta acorralado en este hospital, el mismo en el que asesino una vez a un doctor, vamos a entrar e intentar sacarlo, ahora mismo estamos entrando *se escuchan voces: Matenlos, matenlos, matalos*, habéis escuchado eso, emmm, Rodriguez, ¿Qué te pasa?’- -‘Debo, debo, ¡Matarlos!’- *Empiezan a disparar* -‘No, no le, no le disparen, recuerden que estamos aquí para encontrarlo a el, no para matarnos entre nosotros’- *Se oyen disparos en el piso superior* -‘¿Oyeron eso?, vamos’- -‘Teodore, tranquilízate y aléjate de ese cuerpo’- *Un policía que estaba presenciando la escena vomita* -‘Calmense, Teodore, solo queremos ayudarte, (susurrando) a la cuenta de tres disparan, uno, dos, tres’- *todos disparan al mismo tiempo y recargan y asi hasta quedarse sin municiones* -‘Bien, eso bastara, vamonos’- *Se escucha el sonido del cuchillo cortando la carne rápidamente* -‘Chicos, ¡CHICOS!, ¿pero que?’- -‘Se los dije, no era yo, era el..., ja-jaja-jajaja-jajajajajajajajajajaja’- -‘¿Quien eres tu?’- -‘Yo soy tu, jajajajajajajajajajajajaja-jaja-ja’- -‘¿Qué? Tu no eres…, ja-jaja-jajaja-jajajajajajajajaja, destruyamos la evidencia’- Fin de la grabación….. Grabacion #001 (052) del Hospital Mental, Teodore Walfburg, 11 de julio 1978, Patterson, NY -‘Volvamos a empezar señor Walfburg,¿ desde cuando han empezado a manifestarse estas voces?’- -‘Desde que….’-

The Dark Cell Wake Up Darkness surrounds you in every direction. Is it for a few feet? For a thousand miles? You neither know, nor care. Distantly, you hear the distant drip-drip-drip of water into some long forgotten pit. Your hair feels filthy and matted under your head. How long has it been…? I don’t know. No way to tell. You stare up into an inky blackness for a long time. If only there was some way to get out of here… What’s the point? I’ve searched this damn pit ten times. I never should have gone with Arnold… that bastard. I hope he dies. In fact, I’d like to kill him myself. Savoring the sweet, sweet thought of taking vengeance on your former comrade, Arnold, you drift into a cold and listless sleep. “Wake up,” a rushed whisper pleads. A blinding light is flooding into your room. You can’t see a thing. “Hurry,” the voice says. “You have to come with me. Now.” “Who are you?” “You can call me Agamemnon,” says the voice. A hunched, round figure beings to form amidst the blinding flourescent light. “Why are you helping me?” “Please,” says Agamemnon. “We have to hurry. You have to trust me.” “No.” The man curses softly. “Don’t you understand? I’m trying to help you.” You hear the sound of distant boots growing louder. “Damn it!” whispers the man. He disappears from the doorframe. You notice a mysterious square object by the foot of the door. A keycard? Why is he helping me? “What’s going on there?” comes a voice from the hallway. The door to the cell screams open, blinding fluorescent light flooding the room. “Easy there, come on now. Nice and easy,” says an unfamiliar voice. “You’ll never take me alive!” you shout. As you struggle against the guards, you are swiftly knocked unconscious by a fiberglass club. “Your tea is getting cold,” says a man, broad and strong, with a shaved head and small, round spectacles. “What?” you say. You realize you are drinking tea from a small, blue cup. “You have always been forgetful, just like your father.” “What are you talking about?” You realize you are sitting across from the man, on the other side of the stump of a massive tree stump. All around you are rolling hills and many-colored flowers. The two of you are alone except for a ponderous man in a blue tuxedo who stands at the broad man’s side. “We don’t have a lot of time,” he says. He places his tea cup gently on a small saucer, and smiles. “I have instructed Lisa to assist you. You must not, under any circumstances, tell her what happened.” You try to reach out and touch the man, but the tree trunk seems to get more massive the farther you reach. Suddenly, a bowling ball crashes down from the sky, crashing through the ground, shattering it like stained glass. “Ah,” smiles the man. “It seems we are out of time,” another bowling ball shatters the ground next to the stump. “I will see you soon, – ” and a bowling ball crashes through the center of the stump, sending the man flying, sending you flying into a spiraling vortex of pain and sharp, glassy numbness. The Assistant Your eyes flutter open, adjusting slowly to the bright lights in the room. Not fluorescent, you notice. This room is different than the others. There is a fireplace and a bookshelf. There are no windows. “Ah,” the fat man smiles a mean smile. “I see you’ve woken up. Care for a drink?” The woman shoots him a seething glance. The man smiles. He glances at the woman. There is something lewd in his expression. “See? I told you. It’s just like I said.” He smiles. He has a ponderous jowl that hangs almost to his tie. “I knew it. You’re a little shit, aren’t you?” “Stop it,” says the woman. “Shut up,” says the man. He sips from a round, ornamental glass. “Don’t worry,” he says to you. “I’m going to let you go. Don’t worry. Do you know why you’re here?” “Leave him alone,” says the woman. She looks at you worriedly. “You mean a good deal to a friend of ours. A good friend, heh,” he laughs. He gets up from the chair. He looks well-built under the smelly wool and fat. He walks over to you, stroking your cheek with smooth, flabby fingers. “But our little friend owes me, buddy,” says the man. “He owes me a lot.” He grabs your jaw. His fingers are strong. “And you’re going to make him pay, you dirty little shit.” “Stop it, Chalmers!” says the woman. “I thought I told you to shut up!” says the man. He whips a clock on the desk at the woman. It bounces off a bookshelf behind her and hits her in the back. He smiles at you. “So, Jake,” he strokes your hand. “What’s say I let you go, and you can be on your merry, little way?” The man’s expression instantly turns black. He smacks you suddenly with the back of his hand. Despite the ample padding, it fucking hurts, and you are thrown bodily from the chair. The man stomps over to you and begins kicking you mercilessly. He is shouting, “You motherfucker! You motherfucker! I’ll kill you!” Things begin fading. You hear the woman screaming and see her rush at him, striking him feebly with slender arms. Two orderlies pull her and the man apart. Then you pass out from the pain. When you awaken you are in a bright room. You are alone except for the woman. “You’re awake.” She smiles. “Are you okay? I know it hurts, but we have to move. I’m getting you out of here.” “You’re… Lisa?” The woman looks shocked. “How did you know my name? I…” She takes you by the arm. Her grip is gentle, her skin soft. “I’m so sorry about what’s happened to you. Here, I need to give you this.” She hands you a small folder. “Keep it hid. Once you get out, open it.” She kisses you. “Hurry, we have to go.” “Okay.” The woman leads you by the hand through a series of old, wooden staircases. You emerge in what looks to be a perfectly normal living room, with a carpet, a television and small fridge. “This way,” says the woman. You wander through the living room into the small kitchenette. Flies buzz around what looks to be an ancient dinner. Stairs lead to the basement. You peer down. Suddenly, a pale hand grips your shirt and begins dragging you down the steps. You grab it, and realize that it is not a normal hand. It is too cold. It is cold as ice. “Careful!” A glint of steel, and you fall back onto the ground and something tumbles down the stairs to the basement with an unsettling series of thumps. A cold hand still grips your shirt, but it slides off easily enough, its body severed. Above you stands Agamemnon, curved knife in hand. He helps you up. “You must be more careful. It is imperative that you escape. Please, you must. Take this.” Agamemnon hands you a shiny gun with a pleasingly grooved handle. “Leave here now,” is all he says, and he is gone into the shadows, a blur of cloaks, almost never there at all. The cold steel of the gun feels reassuring. You walk slowly onto a grassy courtyard. You see a few other buildings, lit by tall yellow lights. You seem to be in a compound, surrounded on all sides by forbidding black spikes. “Come on!” shouts the woman. “Leaving so soon?” says another voice. The fat man steps into a yellow circle of light. “I was hoping you would stay.” He chuckles. “I do so enjoy our time together.” “You’re a sick bastard, Chalmers,” says the woman, hate dripping from her voice. He laughs. “Guilty.” He produces a gun, points it at the two of you. “I didn’t want to kill you, Lisa,” his tone is grave. “You made me kill you.” You step forward, pull the gun from your pocket. The man stutters. And you shoot him. The gun flies from his hand, and he falls to the ground cursing. “That was for hitting me,” you say. You walk up to him. “And this is for kicking me.” You kick him twice. “And this,” you say, pointing the gun at his head, “is for putting me in that cell for two weeks.” “No!” shouts the man. “No!” screams Lisa, pulling your arm away. She looks at you softly. “He… doesn’t deserve it.” You look at the man. He is pathetic, breathing heavily, with an arm over one breast. You lower the gun. Lisa puts her arms around your neck, kisses you. “My hero.” The fat man is still breathing heavily. “There’s something I need to do. After you get out, meet me here.” She gives you a small business card, and kisses you again. “The exit is through the front door.” She backs away. “And don’t go upstairs,” she says, and then she disappears into the darkness of the courtyard. You leave the man where he lays and approach the mansion. It is very large and gothic, with black shutters that are mildewed with time. A small door faces the small guest house that you have come from. The heavy wooden doors swoop shut behind you, sending in a draft of cold air. Dust and papers tumble about listlessly. This place has been trashed. You are in a vast foyer, with two sets of derelict wooden staircases leading grandly to the second floor. A disused chandelier sways uselessly from the domed ceiling. A massive set of oak doors set at the front, with a great black bear fur on the ground before it, seems to indicate the exit. O Brother, Where Art Thou? You climb the winding staircase that leads up the wall of the great foyer to a pair of massive wooden doors with fine marble handles. You touch one of the handles, and with a gentle click, the door swings gracefully open. A broad-shouldered man is sitting behind a massive, oaken table, covered with sheafs, leaflets, folders and all kinds of anatomical diagrams. Behind him is a great window with clear glass panes. It is a nighttime, with many stars shining. The room is bright, lit by two great torches. Behind the man stands an enormous, stuffed bear, seemingly mutated in some way. The man frowns. “I was hoping you wouldn’t come here.” Who are you? The man rises from his chair, smiles, cleans his glasses with a small cloth. He is tall, broad-shouldered, with a bald head and small, round glasses. He has a kindly, smiling face. “I am John Davison,” he says. “Guardian of this place.” Some guardian. This place is full of fiendish traps. “Did you put me in that cell?” “I did not,” he says, pouring a drink from a fine, crystal decanter. It sparkles in the torchlight. “That was my half-brother, Chalmers.” “What? Why did he do that?” The man sighs. “Jake, there is something I need to tell you.” “He means to tell you you’re one of his mutants, Jakey. A freak,” says a voice. A man has entered through the doors. A bandage wraps his left shoulder, stained inky red with blood. “Davison cooked you up in one of his little tubes. Isn’t that right, John?” The man smiles a mean little smile. Davison stutters. “Jake, it’s not like that. You are my son.” Chalmers laughs. “Your son? Is that what you call this mutant? I must say, there is a certain resemblance.” He pulls a gun from his breast pocket. “The big, stupid eyes. The sniveling grin.” He scoffs, pointing the gun indiscriminately between you and the broad man. A gunshot echoes throughout the room… and Chalmers falls to the ground, motionless, blood pooling around his dying body. In the doorway is a woman, holding a gun. Her hand is shaking. “You did well, Lisa,” says Davison, smiling. He approaches her. “Put the gun on the table.” “Wait don’t!” you shout. Both look at you, both nervously. “Something doesn’t add up,” you say. “Add up? What do you mean?” says Davison. “Why don’t you tell us the truth, John? Or whatever your name is?” He pauses for a moment. Looks at you both. Then his smile twitches ever so slightly. He laughs. “So you figured it out, did you? Okay. It’s the truth. My real name is David Chalmers. The other Chalmers was the real Davison. He was the true heir to the fortune. But you see, he’s dead now.” You both look at his lifeless body. “What good would killing me do now? Let me go.” “Get out of my sight,” you say. Without a word, Davison disappears from the room, with agility surprising for such a big man. Light spreads throughout the room as the sun begins to rise.