Am I Real

Am I Real, A Short Story

Chapter One: Childhood.

Earlier this year my mom and dad went on a midnight drive to go and do something and i was all alone. Although we were very poor, we somehow managed to be one of the most happy families in the city. They also tend to leave me at home a lot by myself. Anyways as i was saying, i was home alone and very tired. Since it was already 1:30 in the morning i knew mom would be furious when she and father returned, so i decided to go to bed so i didn't get in any trouble. I walked to my room and turned on the light, and when i turned around the sight of what i saw brought tears to my eyes and a fiery feeling in my heart. There was blood everywhere. Mom's ribcage was torn out and pushed around her head and neck as if it was someone's sick twisted way of crowning her a princess through her death. Her organs were also gone, deep almost black holes in their place from being ripped out, the color caused by the saturation of all thick and dark red blood. A few organs had been forcibly stuffed into her cut mouth. I glanced around the room and saw the rest of her organs circled around her and scattered across the room.

Dad's body was barely even recognizable as a human beings body. there were lots of thin cuts on dads chest and blood and guts seeping out of them his face was ripped off and his eyes sat there dangling from their sockets. his legs had been torn off, deep Cresent shaped nail marks in the tan flesh of his dismembered dismembered and quickly paling legs. His legs were used as a paintbrush which would now explain why blood is so evenly and heavily applied to the wall. Although i didn't really like my dad it still pained me to see his mangled body and my mother's mangled body as well. (If the bodies were not there i would think someone just painted my room because of all the blood) I looked up at the wall behind me and saw one thing that truly frightens me, "Mr.John" it read, it was obviously written in blood on one of the few spots on the wall that wasn't completely covered with the thick red substance. I somewhat remember having an imaginary friend named Mr.john as a younger child. He was a frail looking man and looked somewhat around sixteen or seventeen. He was very boney and had the darkest of hair, He was around six foot three and had the most green eyes i have ever seen and the palest of skin. He was my only friend as a child because my parents actually never let me go outside. I didn't know why though. Through common knowledge of eavesdropping on my mothers phone calls i learned we live in a fairly decent neighborhood and i didn't really see why i was never allowed to leave. Overall this whole situation is upsetting but I oddly don't feel remorse for the death of my father, he he had never been the kindness but I did miss my mother.

Since my parents never let me leave my attic i was very glad to have a new friend. We talked and played and had the best of times. It was nice to have someone to play with again even if he was a bit creepy, it was so lonely around here. A little later on in our friendship he started asking weird things of me. Things that i would later learn would come back to haunt me and cause something truly disastrous on a long term scale.

An example of this would be that one day when he asked me if i wanted to play a game and as usual i was more than glad to play with my dear friend. Until he told me the game. The game was to see how long it would take us to paint a picture. For a little while i was confused but then he told me how to play. He handed me a knife and said

"poke this thing in one of your parents and get that red stuff that pours out of them in a jar and we can paint with it."

Sadly i said "But wouldn't that hurt them john?"

"No" he said.

"I..i don't think i want to p..play this game" i stuttered.

"It's ok kid, we will play something else." He said with a comforting smile.

Later that night i was plagued with these strange whispers saying things like

"Follow him"

"Stay away from him"