Innocent, Not Innocent (Short Story)

Innocent, Not Innocent

"Hey, what's that?", said every irrational kid at the beginning of a horror story before unleashing an evil force. We all know the ending to that story all too well. And so did I, but what can I say? I've always been a bit crazy.

This is my 'unleashing-an-evil-force-who-will-surely-kill-me-but-hey-let's-do-it' story. I guess it all started in that haunted mental asylum. Yeah, I know. Why in my right mind would I do that? The answer is simple..but more on that later.

"Hey, what's that?"

I noticed a notebook smack in the middle of the desk, in an immaculate room of oranges and greens. The bed was made and shoes lay neatly by the door. The desk was made of light wood and polished. Nothing you'd think of, considering the rest of the building was dark, brooding and eery. Things were strewn all over the place, the walls stained and peeling, the windows transluscent with dirt, and the corners menacing with its shadows. This room was different, almost like frozen in time, rejecting decay as it awaited the return of its owner with patience.

The notebook was leather. The writing messy, but elegant, speaking words so beautiful, so menacing, so terrifying, it chilled my bones. 

It read:

"Everyday is like a new beginning. Everyday, I wake up, and the sun is shining in my face, and the birds are chirping, and I get up, and go on a walk. The sun is warming my pale hands, and the breeze is so soft on my skin. It's such a beautiful time to be alive.

We ran out of coffee today. I could feel the fury rising in me, my hands itching to grab something, to throw something, to hit something. My mouth opening without my consent to spit out a string of curses before I could stop them. I kept telling myself that I'm not angry, that I can't let this control me, that I dont't really even want coffee; I'm just irritated that I don't have the choice. I stomped around for a few minutes and closed a cupboard a bit too harshly, until I felt fine. I'm fine. I'm learning to control it so much better, I'm so proud of myself. I haven't felt really bad in a long time. I'm doing great.

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"I'm having a really bad day. I'm so angry. I keep telling myself that it's because of all the chocolate I ate (chocolate always makes me moody) but it's not working. I'm so agitated. I read back and can't help but wonder how could I ever think life is worth it. I tried to go on a walk and walk it all out. It always helped me. It's not helping. Nothing is ever helping anymore. I just feel the same kind of anger and guilt and self-hatred, and I'm trying to help myself, but why would I even want to? What's the point of doing anything? I should be doing something, something productive. But all I'm doing is sitting here and doing nothing and I don't have the energy even though I should have. I am a failure. A complete, utter failure."

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They're telling me I've killed a girl. Did I? Of course not! How could I ever have killed anyone? It was a beautiful night. There was a full moon and stars were out. It was warm. I went on a long walk with the dog. The place I went, it was in the opposite direction of the town. There are no streetlights there. No one saw me. There's no one to prove my innocence. I didn't kill her. I've had a great day. I wore my favourite clothes, read a very good book, tidied my room, went for a run. I was happy. I am happy. They are telling me I have anger issues, They are telling me I must've got very angry and frustrated and acted out on impulse. It' s true, I do have some problems, but how could they think that I would kill someone? I feel like I'm just stuck in this nightmare, and I know I'm dreaming but I can't wake up. I just want to wake up."

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"I lied. I lied, I lied, I lied. I understand that now. They helped me understand. I killed her. I watched her die. I didn't mean to, I was just so angry. I needed to hurt something, hurt someone, just like life was hurting me. And then she was dead, and I just couldn't look away. I wanted to do something, to help her, but I just couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to do anything, except watch. I deserve this. I deserve all of it. "

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"I feel safe. Like I'm in my own haven. The pastel colours soothe me, and the immaculately made bed gives me some inner peace. I feel at peace here, like I've never felt before. I wish I never had to leave. They keep trying to make me leave. To come down to eat, to wash, to do laundry; all that silly stuff. The whole place scares me though. They don't understand. They don't see it as it really is. The walls are old and stained, there's things strewn all over the place, a storm brewes whenever I take even a single step out of my room. There's monsters here; a bloody figure follows me wherever I go. I don't know why, I can't remember. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I recognise her, but it's all cloudy. The pills they give me makes my memory very cloudy. The only time I ever feel at peace is in my room. I want to stay there forever."

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I sat on the bed, astonished. It overwhelmed me. I felt like I was trapped in my own body, unable to move, to escape. I remember now. It's me. This is mine. I killer her. The bed, the shoes, the desk. It's all mine. I am forever stuck here. Oh God, I need to leave. I can't succumb to this again, they're evil. They're trying to make me forget, but I can't. Not again

I try the doorknob, but it's locked. In my desperation, I take a few steps back, and ram my shoulder into it. It works. I don't look around me, I start running, I need to leave. Now. My breathing is heavy, and I feel like my lungs are filling with carbon dioxide, choking me. I feel like blood is suddenly drained out of my body and replaced by pure adrenaline. 

I hear footsteps behind me, but I don't look back. I can't look back.

As I near the exit, my heart jolts with the image of sunlight and fresh air that I used to adore so much. My happiness came too soon; however. I felt my foot twist and the floor rushing towards me hastily. And then..a sharp thud and confusion. And nothing.

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This tragic story became the famous legend associated with this town. The pranksters were punished, and the asylum locked forever, but nothing could bring back the young girl's life. The legend claims that this amateur book became haunted after this incident, bringing misfortune onto anyone who dared to go near it. The aspiring author of this work of fiction that hypnotised and lead to the death of that innocent girl, could not bear to so much look at a pen again and swore to never again write a single word. The pranksters who stole that notebook and thought it amusing to place it in the abandoned asylum with the intention of scaring curious tourists, disappeared exactly 2 weeks later and were found drowned in a nearby river shortly after. The body of the girl was cleaned and buried, yet some say, that to this day, she may be heard humming to herself in that immaculate room of oranges and greens, forever stuck in the belief that it is she who committed murder as the protagonist of that story did.