dahliathederanged

[dahliathederanged]

Passenger

2:47 am

The signal was deteriorating with every mile; static cut in and out as it interrupted the song that played on the radio. It did nothing but intensify the tightening coil of anxiety in my stomach. The whites of my knuckles showed as I gripped the steering wheel like a vise. A street light illuminated the inside of the vehicle and, ritualistically, I looked at the rear-view mirror.

“And I've got all that I need… right here in the passenger seat…”

On the seat beside me sat a bottle of holy water and a bible. The water swished with the movement of the car, bumping into the spine of the bible every so often. My eyes darted between the passenger seat and the rear-view mirror. Sweat dripped from my forehead as dread made my vision swim. The road was long and winding but the church had to be close.

“Oh, and I can't keep my eyes on the road… knowing that she's inches from me…”

Another street light. The signal had completely disappeared. I twisted the knob looking for a station, any station. My fingers trembled as I fiddled with the knob. Desperate to drown out the infernal silence, I twisted the knob left and right but to no avail. All that was audible was the gentle swishing of the water beside me. Then, I looked at the rear-view mirror.

Something was looking at me.

I looked back at the road. The bones on my knuckles threatened to pop out. I blinked and wiped my eyes, trying to convince myself that it was a sleep-deprived hallucination. I passed by another street light and looked in the mirror again.

It got closer.

Against my better judgment, I did something potentially stupid. I turned on the lights. It looked to be a woman; skeletal in build, donning a sick grin from ear to ear revealing a set of sharp teeth that looked like it was stolen from an anglerfish. Its skin looked pallid, dead like it hadn’t had a pulse in eons. Its eyes were bulging milky white orbs that, despite lacking pupils, looked like they were fixed on me. Its long and jagged fingers were embedded in the headrest of the driver’s seat. As I passed another street light, it moved again. This time, to my right, its face inches from mine.

I could see the church.

I needed to make it.

x

[dahliathederanged]

Kleptomaniac

The unstoppable urge to steal.

Hi, my name is Irene and I’m a kleptomaniac. I’ve been struggling with it since I was a teenager. I would go to local stores and steal whatever I could. Then after the rush wore off, I would dispose of everything I had. I didn’t actually want or need what I was stealing. I just liked the excitement it gave me. I got in trouble for it and my parents immediately sent me to therapy. After years of working on my mental health, I stopped stealing completely.

Then I saw a purse.

I was walking home from work when I saw an unattended purse on a table outside of a cafe. I could see the person’s phone and wallet just sitting there. I don’t know what came over me. I thought I was already past this part of my life. But I couldn’t help myself, I had to take it. I walked over to the table and pretended to drop something. When I was getting up, I deftly took the phone and walked away briskly. The owner of the purse came out of the cafe with her coffee and food and sat down, not realizing I just swiped one of her most important belongings.

God, I missed the rush.

I practically ran to the train station thinking I was going to get caught. I was buzzing with excitement the entire ride. When I got to my stop, I spotted a trash can. I walked over to throw the phone away but somehow I just couldn’t. For some reason, taking the phone wasn’t enough. I had to see what was inside it. I debated with myself for a bit before ultimately deciding to pocket the phone and go home.

You’d be surprised how easy it is to unlock a secured device. All I had to do was Google. After a bit of tweaking, I finally got it open.

The first stop was the album. I started from the very bottom. It contained what you would expect: selfies, food pictures, animals, and memes. Nothing too exciting. I scrolled up a bit and I saw pictures of a guy, probably her boyfriend. I scrolled up further and started noticing something. She had dozens of pictures of the same guy but no pictures of them together. I continued scrolling and saw she had candid photos of him outside buildings, out on the street, in bars, and whatnot. I started feeling uneasy. Scrolling even further, I saw pictures of him through what looked like the window of an apartment. The last picture was of him with another girl. It looked like it was pulled from his Instagram.

“What the fuck,” I said as if I would stop prying.

The next stop was the messages. I scrolled through and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Then at the very top, I saw her texts with a guy named Jared. Or rather, her texts to Jared. She sent him walls of text, proclaiming her undying love one minute and then threatening to kill him the next. He never responded apart from one text saying, “Leave me alone, Meadow.”

To say that I was uneasy is a gross understatement. I was petrified. But my dumb curious ass decided to continue my exploration.

I checked Meadow’s call history. She called Jared two hundred and fifty-six times over the past three days. All calls were missed. Then I checked her email. She had dozens if not hundreds of emails sent to Jared saying more of the same; pledges of undying love and threats of violence. Checking her notes, I found: love spells, boyfriend manifestations (whatever that means), and the most disturbing grocery list of all time:

Knife

Duct Tape

ZipTies

Axe

Plastic Tubs

Hydrofluoric Acid

Not only that, but I found a long, all-caps rant about “Jenny” (Jared’s girlfriend I’m assuming) and how he was cheating on her with Jenny, how Jenny was in the way of their perfect love, etc. Just out of sheer curiosity, I checked her Spotify and her most played song is Keep Awake by 100 Monkeys. Lovely.

Suffice it to say, I was freaked the fuck out.

What freaked me out more was the sudden notification that popped up. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard it. With much trepidation, I shakily opened the notification. It was an email Meadow sent to herself. It read:

“I know you have my phone.”

x

[dahliathederanged]

Lucky

I found Lucky behind a dumpster by my house. It was pouring rain and I found him while I was taking out the garbage. He was a tiny black kitten, all alone and shivering in the wet and cold. Obviously, I had to take him in.

I wrapped him in a towel and placed him next to the heater. My old cat, Storm, just passed away and I still had a bunch of his food left. As I opened a can of wet food, my girlfriend Dawn came in and said,

“You know those things are bad luck right,” referring to Lucky.

Now, she had always been the type to believe in luck and magic and I always humored her. I even let her set up an altar and do weird spells I don’t understand. But this time, I had to put my foot down.

“That ‘thing’ is just a defenseless kitten. Relax.”

“Whatever,” she passive-aggressively replied.

So because of that, I named him Lucky out of sheer spite.

A week passed and Lucky started getting stronger. In fact, he is one of the most rambunctious cats I’ve ever seen. He loves it when I play with him and get him new toys. At night though, he starts winding down and he turns into an absolute cuddle bug. His favorite place to sleep is on my lap while I play DOTA.

It’s just that there are times at night when he is wide awake and just staring at something; hissing even. I caught him staring at the corner of my living room with his hackles up, hissing up a storm. I tried to pet him but he wouldn’t relent, swiping his paws at the invisible intruder. Then as soon as he started, he stopped. He turned into a cuddly furball again.

Just in case you’re curious, Dawn and Lucky don’t like each other. Every time Dawn does a spell, he avoids her like the plague. Whenever Lucky is near her, she either moves away or physically pushes him out of the way. I always thought that was weird. I thought cats were witches’ best friends. I didn’t think much of it. I chalked it up to personality differences and moved on.

Two weeks after I found Lucky, weird things started happening. I would lose my keys, I would trip at random times, and I’d wear my shirt inside out. Tiny things that on their own wouldn’t really bother you but they happened so frequently that I started wondering if I was losing it.

“It’s that cat,” Dawn would say.

I shrugged her off. What the hell does she know?

Then, other stuff started to happen. Picture frames would fall off the walls. Dishes and cups would fall out of the cupboards like someone is throwing them around. Doors would slam in the middle of the night. One time, Dawn and I woke up to the bed shaking violently. I screamed for whatever it was to stop but to no avail. Lucky came into our bedroom and ran under the bed. He was hissing and meowing violently like he was fighting for his life against another cat. Eventually, the shaking stopped. I raced to the light switch and turned it on, looking for… something. Seeing nothing and no one in my bedroom, I crawled under the bed to take Lucky out. His ears were placed back and he was curled up into a ball, he was clearly afraid. I coaxed him out and carried him. I pet him and whispered reassurances.

Dawn did not like this.

“All of this? It’s because of that fucking cat! Think about it. This all started when you took that thing home!”

“Stop calling Lucky a thing! It’s not his fault and I know that for a fact.”

“What do you know?! I know about the supernatural way more than you.”

The gears started turning in my brain. Then, something clicked.

“Dawn.”

“What?!”

“When was the last time you did one of your weird spells?”

The look of indignation slowly melted into a look of shock and shame.

“Two weeks ago,” she said.

I knew it. My cat wasn’t the problem. My cat was protecting me. It was her.

“Undo it.”

“But-”

“Now!”

“Okay, fine!”

I followed Dawn to the kitchen and watched as she got oils and herbs from the cupboards. She went to her altar and started pouring her oils into bowls. Then, she recited an incantation as she lit some candles and burned some herbs.

“There, done.”

“Take your altar down.”

“What-”

“Do it, Dawn!”

She begrudgingly put away her crystals, cards, and candles and put them in a box. She also spitefully disassembled the table it was previously on, looking at me with anger and hatred the whole time.

“There! Are you happy? What else?”

“Get out of my house. We’re done. And take your witch shit with you.”

I sat on the couch cradling Lucky as she stomped all over the house while gathering her things. Once she was done, she slammed the door behind her. I looked on from the window as her car aggressively backed out of my driveway and drove into the night.

It’s been three months since she left. I’m single now but I am happily and peacefully living with my pal Lucky. Maybe I should rename him, after all, I turned out to be the lucky one.

x

[dahliathederanged]

They Never Left (NSFW)

CW: Gore, body horror

Thomas loved trees. He told me he felt more at home in the forest than in his actual home. He spent countless hours playing soldier in the local woods as a child. Shooting stick guns with his tree comrades. As a teen, he stopped playing with sticks and started playing with girls. He was the town lady killer. Every other man in town warned us girls to stay away from Thomas. But that didn't stop them from adoring him. Any girl would've jumped with joy to have been invited to spend time with him alone in the woods.

That made all the fathers and brothers loathe him all the more. I couldn't help but develop a little crush on him back then. Tall, handsome, dark hair, beautiful eyes, and a sharp wit are an irresistible combination. The day Thomas left for the army was a dark day for all the girls in town. We lost the only exciting thing in that boring little place. But as time passed, everyone became busy with going to college and getting work. After a few years, Thomas became more of a memory than a person.

Then he just suddenly came back. I saw him on the day he returned. He was still a handsome devil but more tanned and muscular. His eyes were a little... I guess dark would be the right word for it. I kind of expected it though. Ten years in the battlefield can do that to a person. We would often see each other in the local cafe. We started talking. I would babble on about my life and he would listen, interested. He didn't really talk much about his childhood and even less about the military. I could see it in his eyes when I asked about those things. He didn't look right. I didn't push it.

The talking turned to dating, then to a serious relationship, then to marriage. He got a job as an auto mechanic and soon afterwards he had his own shop. He became a beloved member of the community. The men saw him as a good buddy that they could count on for anything. The women wanted a piece of him but with me in the picture all the could do was stare.

His shop did really well. He was the town's go to guy for any mechanical trouble. I was happy for him. I really was. But I was jealous of him. He was good looking, popular, and had a lot of opportunities swinging his way. Meanwhile I was just a plain looking girl that was still working the same teaching job I had since graduation. After I got married most girls left town. Probably to chase their dreams in a big city like New York or Los Angeles. But here I was. Stuck. He sensed my unhappiness and did his best to cheer me up.

I tried to be happy for him but every time someone said "Did you hear? So and so is going to a big city to become a..." My self esteem sank lower. I tried telling him I wanted to go to New York by myself for a little bit. Just to do something different and see something new. He would never allow me. Even my girlfriends left town to chase happiness.

As a result, we fought almost nightly. He would ask me why I couldn't be happy with what we had. I would tell him I was the problem. I felt like I didn't reach my full potential and I needed time to grow as a person. He couldn't comprehend the fact that personal growth doesn't stop when you're married. He would storm off to his workshop at that point.

After a particularly nasty fight, I decided I'd had enough. I was tired and so was he. I wasn't happy and I didn't want him to be stuck with someone who didn't want the same things he did. I went to his workshop. It was an abandoned cottage in the woods behind our house. After a five minute walk I came face to face with a door. The note on it said "At the bar. Need time and alcohol. Don't wait up. Love you. T."

Even before all the fighting he would be in his workshop whenever he had free time. I didn't know what he was making but it looked like it needed a lot of time. The more I thought about it the more my curiosity consumed me. It wasn't long before it ate me up. The door was locked. I was starting to have second thoughts when I saw something shiny partially covered by a rock and some soil. It was a key. Not fully sure it would work, I used it on the door. It did.

The inside was pretty bare. There was a couch in the middle, a bookshelf off to the side, some power tools, a fireplace, and a basic kitchen. I made my way to the couch. The color was dulled by age. That's why I noticed that little piece of fabric pretty quickly. It was blood red and poked from under the cushions. I pulled it out. Panties. Red lacy panties. I ripped the cushion from the couch. Women's delicates. Lots of them. My knees went weak and I broke down.

He was having an affair. I slammed my fists on the floor out of rage. I was mad at him. Mad at me. The only things I could hear were my cries and the solid sound of wood colliding with flesh. When my throbbing hand wandered near the foot of the couch the sound wasn't that solid anymore. My angry pounding turned to curious knocking. The floor underneath the couch was clearly hollow.

I pushed the couch away. So he was hiding... rope? There was a length of rope sitting where the couch used to be. I tried taking it but ended up taking a section of the floor instead. It was a door. The door opened to a dark set of stairs. I had a knot in my stomach. I slowly descended careful not to trip. When I got down I groped blindly trying to find a light switch. I found a doorknob instead. A strange smell was emanating from it. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and focused on sticking it out to the very end. Once I opened the door my nostrils were flooded with the scent. I then realized what it was. Formalin. I groped the tiled wall until I found a switch. What I saw will be with me until the day I die. Hands, fingers, feet, toes, limbs all meshed together forming a giant tree. The trunk was comprised of bloody, severed legs. The branches were tens maybe even hundreds of crudely sawed off arms. The fingers were positioned to look like bloody, disgusting flowers. Some looked like they had to be broken to look that way. At the foot of it was a pile of blood soaked women's clothing.

I fell on my hands and knees and dry heaved which made me take in more of the smell which resulted in me heaving some more. I was heaving and crying at the same time. How was I so blind? My husband was making a fucking giant corpse bonsai right under my nose and I didn't suspect a thing.

I ran and ran until I tripped and ran some more. I called the cops when I got home. I was already sapped of emotion when I showed them the cottage. I didn't react when they interviewed me. I didn't react when they said they were going to arrest my husband. I didn't react when they told me he ripped his throat to shreds with a broken beer bottle the moment he saw the cops coming for him. I was barely even there. The only thing I could think about were the women he killed. I knew them. Some of them were even my friends. They were sisters and daughters. All this time I thought they were somewhere where they could be someone and do something with their lives. It hurts so much to think about it.

They never left.

x