The Glass House

I saw Satan today. I found him under the darkening sky, in the middle of my suburban nightmare where carbon copied houses lined up next to each other and perfectly paved roads stretched on endlessly.
He was a tall man with a red mask over his face, his gangly limbs seemed stretched out over his bones. “Are you looking for the Glass House?” He asked, and I did my best to avoid his intense gaze.
“No.” I said
“Everyone’s looking for the Glass House.”

“I’m not.” I made a move to walk passed him and he stuck out his hand, gripping my arm.

“Of course you are.”

“I don’t even know what the Glass House is.” I said, ripping my arm out of his hold.

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

“Where is it?” I asked finally, pursing my lips. I pulled my hands away from the biting cold and into my pockets.

“It’s there.” He pointed. I followed his finger to an empty space. There was nothing, just a field past the gates of my fenced in neighborhood. The sun hid behind trees in the distance, casting a purple glow across the open space that stretched on exponentially. I turned back to him. “There’s nothing there.”

“Of course there is.” He pointed again. I turned towards the field and this time my eyes were met with a tall house, it was seemingly run down. Broken glass in all of the windows except one, the door was boarded up. Shadows passed in front of the Windows.

In a blink of an eye he was gone and so was the Glass House.

I woke up at 3:02 AM to a figure standing over my bed. It was him. His mask showing only his eyes. His eyes were darker this time, as were the bags under his eyes. His skin was a purplish hue, illuminated by the moon that found its way in through my open window.

“Come to the Glass House.” He said. My heart thumped in my chest erratically. I couldn’t scream, it felt like hands were tightening around my throat.

At some point in the night I must have fallen asleep, I shook off the events as a bad dream but the bags under my eyes showed that I had received very little sleep.

The day passed slowly. Everywhere I went seemed cold, I felt like I was being watched. I turned off my phone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Every so often I would look out my window to see if the Glass House had returned but it hadn’t, and at this very point I had determined that I was just imagining things. I’ve started taking my medication again, I shouldn’t have ever stopped but it made me feel slow.

I took some sleeping pills hoping that I would be able to get through the night. I’ve started keeping a pair of scissors and a couple kitchen knives by my bedside table.

I woke up at 3:02 AM again. I found a dark figure hunched over at the end of my bed. It was him but it wasn’t. The suit was gone, but it was still a man. I listened to it whisper sweet nothings into my ear, it told me to stop taking my pills. That the pills were hurting me. That the doctors were lying to me. I ripped at my covers and grabbed the pair of scissors that were under my pillow, I stabbed at the figure. It didn’t do anything, just smiled at me as the scissors meet it’s skin. The sound of tearing flesh echoed in my mind as I wildly trashed and attacked the thing.

I woke up to find my bed covered in blood. Gouges in my legs and up my torso bled. I took the scissors that lay beside me and the knives out of my house. Dumping them into the trash as well as my bloody sheets. I didn’t leave the house after that. Everyone is out to hurt me. It wasn’t safe to leave. I couldn’t even trust myself.

Tonight it came again, this time his limbs seem longer than normal, his fingers gradually getting thinner and longer as if he was standing in a funhouse mirror. His mask was gone. His face was distorted, an eerie smile pasted on his ghostly skin. His torso grew longer, exposing his tight skin that clung to his ribs. He wasn’t human anymore.
He was beautiful. And he told me that I could be like him if I listened to him

He stayed there all night. Standing over me and smiling like he knew something that I did not. He pushed knives into my hand and told me that there were insects under my skin, I need to cut them out. I did. I can’t believe that no one told me that there bugs inside me before.
We pulled them out together. He was my friend.

It’s thin fingers wrapped around my throat, and it guided me towards the Glass House. His hands didn’t hurt, they were comforting. He was here for me and they were not. I walked to Glass House. He stood behind me, gently pushing. Guiding me, his grip still tightly yet comfortably around my neck.

I’be stopped taking my pills again.

The glass house was more beautiful the closer I got. Inside I saw shadows, they looked down at me from the windows. They were waiting for me. He pushed me to them.

The last I remember is jumping from the window, with his tight grip still around my throat, stopping me just before I hit the ground. He didn’t pull me up, he let me hang. I’m happy now, I don’t need pills. Now I have many friends in the Glass House.

Are you looking for the Glass House?

  • Amanda Short

    Pure AWESOMENESS!!!!!!

  • SkullNboNes

    Nice story, I’m guessing the character had some sort of schizophrenia or something and hung themselves?