Jonas

Jonas had never really thought of himself as a man who believed in the paranormal. Superstition and other such nonsense was for the weak minded and those he deemed inferior. However, what Jonas did not know was that he was on a collision course with a series of events that would have him come face to face with the very foundation of his beliefs, and shake the core of his own "superiority."

It all started around 1 AM. Jonas was, of course, sleeping soundly in his bed, which, apart from him, was empty. The same was true for the rest of the house. It was an old house that would creak and moan with a small gust of wind or a slight step on the antique staircase. Indeed, this house was not modern by any stretch of the imagination, when the wood-creaking gusts would blow, the old walls invited a chilling draft. The house was not warm, nurturing, or any normal person’s idea of comfort. However, Jonas decided long before that these “flaws” were in fact a comfort. Jonas was the type of man who believed hardships made one stronger, they built character. He found self-worth in silent suffering.

At 1 AM the house was empty, unbothered by its sole occupant. It was uncaring towards the recently vacated rooms, paying no mind at all to the half torn up furniture and walls. At 1:01 AM, one of those gusts blew through the house, causing the two hundred year old wood to uncomfortably shift, making its complaints known while doing so. A draft snaked through hallways and spread its cold tendrils through each room, filling them from corner to corner with its cool, musty air. As the night air trudged through, it toppled over several innocent objects in its wake. Papers, recently signed, flew from tables and desks onto the floor, scattering far past their origin, with surprising noise. It was this very commotion that caused Jonas’ eyes to fly open.

He darted his eyes from one side of the room to the other, taking stock of where things were. Some things were out of place, yes, but nothing that warranted Jonas getting out of bed to fix. Mostly just belongings that were left behind by his previous bed mate. Some of her clothes, a cheap hairbrush that made its wear known, and the jewelry box that Jonas had given her for Christmas some years ago. The latter of which, still sat in the corner of the room, in multiple pieces, right where he had left it. Jonas closed his eyes, and began drifting off back to sleep, when the wind ran rampant through the halls again, once more noisily disturbing the delicate slumber of this old house. However, this moan sounded different. It almost sounded like someone had said Jonas’ name. He tasted the bitterness in his mouth as a shot of adrenaline caused him to shoot straight up, a slight sweaty tingle at his back.

At 1:02 AM, Jonas heard a different kind of creaking. He was familiar enough with every sound of this old house to know it wasn’t from the wind this time, it was the sound those ancient stairs make when someone descends. Not dissimilar to how it sounds when he walks down the stairs himself. His eyes fixated on his bedroom door, knowing that just beyond that door, were those stairs. He stared at the center of the wooden door, strained his ears through the relative silence, and held his breath. His heart raced at the sound of a startling crash that Jonas surmised had to come from the base of the stairs. Jonas sat very still for a few moments, waiting, but no other sound followed. In truth, he was too frightened to move. His body would not allow him to go back to sleep, and he absolutely did not want to investigate whatever that strange sound was. So, he sat there, unmoving until the first speckles of sunlight began peaking through the closed curtains of his bedroom window.

Something about the light made Jonas feel a little more at ease. Or perhaps it was the quiet stillness of the house. Considering no other creaks were heard, Jonas was quite sure that the house was empty. But, whether it was the light, the quiet, or some combination of the two, he felt confident enough to take those first steps out of bed. Although he was comfortable enough to move, his every nerve was filled with trepidation, his mind racing at what that mysterious sound could have been, what he might possibly find at the landing of his staircase. As an intellectually superior man, or at least he thought as much. The only thing it could have been was the wind. He must have left a window open, or perhaps Gwen had left her bedroom window open before her mother dragged her away from him, or at least that’s how he remembered it. Even being a superior-thinking, rational man, there was a slight sense of dread in him as he turned the doorknob. The door let out a tortured howl with every inch it opened before Jonas stepped into the hallway to find nothing but the center cavity of the house as he remembered it. He leaned over the banister to look down at the stairs. That’s when he saw the family photos, which were just yesterday, hanging on the wall in the stairway in an ascending fashion, all on the ground. They were still set within their freshly smashed frames, atop the shards of glass that blanketed the entire staircase.

Jonas sighed a breath of relief, as clearly he had been correct in assuming there must have been a gust of wind. However, that relief was short-lived. As he surveyed the steps for a glass-free path, he noticed shapes pressed in the wreckage. His heart raced as he leaned down to examine the clear footprints in the glass, boot prints would be more accurate to say. His heart went from racing to pounding like a steam engine rushing down the track at full speed. More distressing to Jonas, was that he recognized the specific pattern, for it was one he had seen a million times when leaving muddy job sites. These were the prints from his own boots.

Jonas straightened in a panic and gasped audibly as he took a few steps backwards. His breath was now sharp and heavy, his legs felt weak and shaky. In his stumble, he felt a hand grab his shoulder and in a quiet whisper, he heard a man's voice say “I’m sorry.” In a moment of instinct, Jonas turned around to swing as hard as he could at the man, but when the momentum of his swing turned him all the way around it wasn't a man his fist made contact with, it was the wall. He could hear his knuckles crack as they made contact, sinking into the sheetrock creating a perfect outline of his fisted hand. He screamed, unsure if it was from the pain shooting up from his hand, or the pure shock of being in an empty corridor.

Jonas gathered himself enough to run into his bedroom, with the intent of picking up his phone and calling the police, but what would he say? That he thought he heard something but there wasn't anything there? Then what if Mary heard about this, or there was a report of the state of the house? That bitch would use it to ruin him, or at least that’s what was in his mind. No, first Jonas would need to find and confront whoever was here, in his mind he was a king protecting his castle. After besting this intruder then he could call the police, and he knew they could get here quick, by this point they certainly knew the way.

Jonas hastily got dressed in the same clothes from the day before, shoving his phone in his pocket to be prepared. He grabbed a broom from the hall closet and hurriedly pushed all the glass to the bottom of the stairs. He ran straight to the mudroom, where to his surprise, were his boots. Sitting exactly as he left them, still muddy from leaving yesterday's job. With a slight tremble, he picked them up, grasping both boots with his non-swollen hand. He turned them over and saw nothing but mud. He had expected to see glass, but there wasn’t so much as a tiny chip. Jonas did not have an explanation for this. He stood there, boots in hand, looking down at the glassless mud, sweat beginning to dot his brow. Though unsure exactly why, it seemed the next logical step would be to take a look outside, with that in mind, he put on his boots.

He quickly grabbed the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door expecting to travel through it. However, the door that leads outside from the mudroom would not open. Jonas forced his entire weight against it, but it would not budge. The sweat on his brow gathered in beads that threatened to drop, his breathing quickened as he tried to set aside the feeling of panic before turning to try the other door, the one that was attached to the kitchen on the side of the house. As he made his way through, he scarcely noticed all the papers that had blown onto the floor. Gwen’s art projects, unpaid bills, liquor store receipts, a marriage license. Though Jonas knew what they were, he paid little attention to which lay in his path as he stepped through them, leaving muddy footprints over carefully constructed art projects and legal documents.

As he made it to the door, he nearly fell into it from rushing through the house awkwardly. He gripped the doorknob and began to twist and pull, but much like the other, it would not budge. As he pulled in desperation, there was a sudden explosion of glass next to his head. The majority of the shards cascaded around from the point of contact, while one bitter shard nicked him in the cheek, drawing a slow stream of blood that tickled a steady path down his face. The cut stung as his own, now near constantly streaming sweat infiltrated the wound. Jonas dropped to the floor, still facing the door and covered his head. As the glass hit the ground beside him he recognized the distinct tint of a beer bottle.The sticker label still attached to one of the larger shards, it was his preferred brand. Then he heard that same man’s voice, the one he had heard behind him upstairs, yell in a whispery breath, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Again, Jonas jumped up and turned around to face the man, but all that lay before him was an empty room. Before he could give a second thought to what had happened to him, Jonas felt his pocket vibrate. He pulled his phone out and there on the glowing blue screen was a text from what appeared to be his own number. It read simply, “I didn’t mean it.” Being of a superior intellect, Jonas surmised that his phone had just glitched out and resent an old message of his own. The bottle was a little harder to rationalize, but there was a perfectly sound reason. He just hadn’t thought of it yet.

Jonas scarcely had a moment to begin the process of rationalizing as there was an explosion of sound and glass behind him. Two arms had smashed through his door and wrapped themselves around his neck and chest, pulling him back and pinning him against the remainder of the door. A great pain shot through Jonas as shards of glass and wooden splinters lodged themselves into his back. He could feel the blood start to drip down his back, his shirt collecting it in blotchy spots. In the sudden commotion, Jonas had dropped his phone to the ground. But he didn’t notice as he grabbed at the arms trying to break their grip.

Jonas attempted to pull away from these arms, but they were strong, and overpowering. Panic set in as he realized air was not making its way into his lungs. He struggled harder, trying to gasp for air but this only caused him to become weaker faster. Then in one swift motion, just as Jonas thought he would lose consciousness, the arms threw him forward, onto the ground. It was with such force that his head bounded on the floor as it made contact. Jonas pulled himself up into a sitting position, choking and coughing his way up, grasping and rubbing his neck. Drool ran from his mouth into a pool on the floor as he gasped for air. He looked up at the door, expecting to see the man who had been terrorizing him only to see, yet again, no one. Then he heard the voice of a man whisper in his ear, “Why did you make me do this?”

Jonas could not tell where this voice came from, but he was no longer filled with a slight sense of dread. His body had become a vessel for dread, much of the constricting emotion spilling over the sides. He attempted to pinpoint the location of the voice. He had definitely heard it in his ears, but at the same time, it sounded like it came from his own head.

Jonas knew he had to call the police, he was in real, and immediate danger. He knew he needed to find a safe place to make the call. ‘I’ll barricade myself in the bathroom!’ He thought, and acted on without hesitation, jumping to his feet and setting off in a full run. It was a straight shot down the hall from where he was, luckily, he was able to make it safely without incident. He slammed the door behind him, but just as he latched the old lock there was a loud thump, just before the knob turned left and right rapidly, making a horrendously guttural clanking noise. The door jerked back and forth as if someone was trying to get in. Jonas took a few steps back, looking from the door knob to the door itself, he watched it as the wood flexed and bowed at the pressure from the other side. The loud bangs and raps did not stop, they would not stop, why wouldn’t it stop? Then that same man’s voice, the one from upstairs, the one that threw the bottle shouted.

“Who gave you permission to slam doors in this house!”

A hit at the door emphasized every other word. Jonas’ heart pounded against his chest so hard, he thought it might burst against his ribcage. Someone was in his home, he felt unsafe, he felt violated. He stood there frozen, unable to think, unable to feel anything except the terror of this horrible force. The voice continued to scream through the door.

“Who gave you permission to lock doors!”

The door flexing harder than it had yet, it looked as if the hinges would give way any second. Jonas reached into his pocket for his phone, but it wasn’t there. With one final horrible bang, the hinges gave way and the door slammed open and wilted into the wall opposite. Jonas jumped out of the doors path just in time and looked to find no one standing in the doorway. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” The voice screamed behind him.

Jonas turned once more, but this time, he wasn’t met with an empty space. There he stood, face to face with himself. His reflection in the mirror, only he didn’t recognize the face that stared back. This face was hollow, his eyes dark and sunken. His forehead marked with permanent frown lines. His skin drooping like wax. This man was unrecognizable from the pictures on the walls. This was not the face that appeared in his mind’s eye. Tears welled in his eyes, he looked down in shame staring at his boots on the ground. That’s when he saw a photo stuck to his boot. It was his wedding photo. He picked it up, and held it next to the mirror. He looked at the man from fifteen years ago, beaming with happiness and life in his eyes. His whole future in front of him. He compared it to the face he saw in the mirror. Anyone else would think these were two different people.

Rage is what Jonas felt, rage at himself for allowing this to happen. He hated what he saw in the mirror, he cocked his fist back and hit that stupid reflection as hard as he could. Glass and blood exploded all around him, at this point, it didn’t phase him. Jonas was empty, he could have had everything, and yet here he stood amongst his shattered reflection and nothing else, understanding for the first time in his life that it wasn't anyone else's fault. He had done this to himself.

Jonas was a man who never really believed in the paranormal, superstition or other such nonsense. Now, he is a man who serves as a warning to those who would dismiss the thoughts and feelings of those some may deem inferior. His beliefs and assumptions of his own superiority created a personal paranormal hell. Now he is nothing more than a moral in this tale to be amused by.