From the Bottom of the Well
Samara's Story
Ch. 2
Countless hours later, I was up, pacing my room. Pondering my powers. How could I see things that hadn't happened yet? It made no sense. I hated it.
Kill. Kill them all.
I shook my head quickly. I couldn't. Not yet, at least. And I couldn't physically do it.
But I could make them do it for me.
I crawled down the ladder. Daddy forgot to take it down. I gave the horses an icy stare and kept walking. I hated them. I hated everyone.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. What did hate mean again?
Surveying the bleak, gray landscape of the house, I saw mommy leaving. "Wait!" I called out, rushing to her. She turned and seemed disgusted when she saw me. More horrible images boiled in my brain and were passed to her, even as I hugged her around the waist. "Don't leave me with daddy," I begged.
"Oh, I won't. You're coming with me! It's you who needs to see a psychiatrist!" she snarled, grabbing my wrist.
Another vision overcame me. It looked like someone struggling behind a black garbage bag. A box of disembodied fingers, still twitching. Even worse, a mouth with something that resembled an intesting being pulled out.
Anna wrenched me after her, and I could see the terror on her face.
A smile spread over my lips.
It made me happy to see her so scared and alone. I reveled in it.
When we reached the small cottage of the psychiatrist, the woman greeted us warmly. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked Anna, "Is Samara sick?"
"In the head," Anna replied coldly. I looked down, pulling my wrist away from her.
The woman ushered me into another room. I sat down, hugging my knees and trying to ignore the other child staring at me. I didn't know him personally, but I knew that his name was Darby. He bothered me. Finally, I turned and snapped, "Stop staring at me."
Nothing.
"Quit it!"
His eyes remained fixed.
Finally, I lost my temper. I heard almost a searing noise and then his arm was bleeding. He let out a small cry of shock and rushed for the bathroom. Didn't that feel so good, Samara? It feels wonderful to hurt, but better to kill.
"Who are you?" I whispered, closing my eyes. The voice always came to me when I did something bad. I could never identify the owner, but it scared me. There was always no answer to my questions. Only a soft whirring noise.
After an eternity, Anna came back out. "Get up. We're going to Eola County Psychiatric. Or, rather, YOU'RE going."
"What?!" I shouted, rising to my feet.
"Don't ask questions."
Everyone will suffer.
And then I realized who the voice was.
Days had passed and I had not slept. They kept me in a small, confined space with nothing but a clock and a camera. Spying on me. Studying me.
Finally, the doctor led me out.
The sat me in a chair that I would soon grow to hate and hooked things up to my arm. The doctor, with his strange, monotonous voice, sat at a table with a camera next to him. I tried not to look at the camera, so I put my head slightly to one side and stared at a table leg.
A click, and the camera was on.
"This is patient number SM0015. Now, what's wrong with you? You must sleep sometime." I was silent. "Samara?" I didn't respond. "Well, then, Samara, tell me about these pictures. How did you make them?" he asked me, holding up the pictures I had 'made'. They were made out of the material used for x-ray photos. I didn't know how I made them. I focused on the table leg.
"Samara?"
"I..don't know. I see them in my head, and they just..are," I said softly. A millipede wound it's way up the table.
"Now, don't lie to me, Samara. You can't lie to us if you want us to help you," he scolded me. I hated him. He never believed me. Kill him! Kill him, paint the place red with blood, kill.
But I just asked, "Can I see my mommy?"
"No, Samara. Not until we figure out what's wrong with you."
THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!
"I love my mommy."
"I know. You don't want to hurt her, do you, Samara?"
"But I do," I hissed, glancing into his eyes with a piercing gaze like nails, "and I'm sorry."
Which I was. I wasn't entirely lying.
"That's why you're here, Samara. We want you to stop." "I'll never stop." I said. A very faint smile spread across my lips, and I looked back down to hide it. They'd never let me out if they saw. "Your mommy and daddy love you."
"Not daddy," I whispered.
"Your daddy loves you, Samara."
I narrowed my eyes. "Daddy loves the horses." Filthy animals.
"Don't say that."
I went on, lost in my madness. And there, whatever that force inside me was took over. "But they don't know," I said, and there was a crazy type of laughter in my voice. I looked up and stared at the camera slowly. I saw the red light go out.
Samara's Story
Ch. 2
Countless hours later, I was up, pacing my room. Pondering my powers. How could I see things that hadn't happened yet? It made no sense. I hated it.
Kill. Kill them all.
I shook my head quickly. I couldn't. Not yet, at least. And I couldn't physically do it.
But I could make them do it for me.
I crawled down the ladder. Daddy forgot to take it down. I gave the horses an icy stare and kept walking. I hated them. I hated everyone.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. What did hate mean again?
Surveying the bleak, gray landscape of the house, I saw mommy leaving. "Wait!" I called out, rushing to her. She turned and seemed disgusted when she saw me. More horrible images boiled in my brain and were passed to her, even as I hugged her around the waist. "Don't leave me with daddy," I begged.
"Oh, I won't. You're coming with me! It's you who needs to see a psychiatrist!" she snarled, grabbing my wrist.
Another vision overcame me. It looked like someone struggling behind a black garbage bag. A box of disembodied fingers, still twitching. Even worse, a mouth with something that resembled an intesting being pulled out.
Anna wrenched me after her, and I could see the terror on her face.
A smile spread over my lips.
It made me happy to see her so scared and alone. I reveled in it.
When we reached the small cottage of the psychiatrist, the woman greeted us warmly. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked Anna, "Is Samara sick?"
"In the head," Anna replied coldly. I looked down, pulling my wrist away from her.
The woman ushered me into another room. I sat down, hugging my knees and trying to ignore the other child staring at me. I didn't know him personally, but I knew that his name was Darby. He bothered me. Finally, I turned and snapped, "Stop staring at me."
Nothing.
"Quit it!"
His eyes remained fixed.
Finally, I lost my temper. I heard almost a searing noise and then his arm was bleeding. He let out a small cry of shock and rushed for the bathroom. Didn't that feel so good, Samara? It feels wonderful to hurt, but better to kill.
"Who are you?" I whispered, closing my eyes. The voice always came to me when I did something bad. I could never identify the owner, but it scared me. There was always no answer to my questions. Only a soft whirring noise.
After an eternity, Anna came back out. "Get up. We're going to Eola County Psychiatric. Or, rather, YOU'RE going."
"What?!" I shouted, rising to my feet.
"Don't ask questions."
Everyone will suffer.
And then I realized who the voice was.
Days had passed and I had not slept. They kept me in a small, confined space with nothing but a clock and a camera. Spying on me. Studying me.
Finally, the doctor led me out.
The sat me in a chair that I would soon grow to hate and hooked things up to my arm. The doctor, with his strange, monotonous voice, sat at a table with a camera next to him. I tried not to look at the camera, so I put my head slightly to one side and stared at a table leg.
A click, and the camera was on.
"This is patient number SM0015. Now, what's wrong with you? You must sleep sometime." I was silent. "Samara?" I didn't respond. "Well, then, Samara, tell me about these pictures. How did you make them?" he asked me, holding up the pictures I had 'made'. They were made out of the material used for x-ray photos. I didn't know how I made them. I focused on the table leg.
"Samara?"
"I..don't know. I see them in my head, and they just..are," I said softly. A millipede wound it's way up the table.
"Now, don't lie to me, Samara. You can't lie to us if you want us to help you," he scolded me. I hated him. He never believed me. Kill him! Kill him, paint the place red with blood, kill.
But I just asked, "Can I see my mommy?"
"No, Samara. Not until we figure out what's wrong with you."
THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!
"I love my mommy."
"I know. You don't want to hurt her, do you, Samara?"
"But I do," I hissed, glancing into his eyes with a piercing gaze like nails, "and I'm sorry."
Which I was. I wasn't entirely lying.
"That's why you're here, Samara. We want you to stop." "I'll never stop." I said. A very faint smile spread across my lips, and I looked back down to hide it. They'd never let me out if they saw. "Your mommy and daddy love you."
"Not daddy," I whispered.
"Your daddy loves you, Samara."
I narrowed my eyes. "Daddy loves the horses." Filthy animals.
"Don't say that."
I went on, lost in my madness. And there, whatever that force inside me was took over. "But they don't know," I said, and there was a crazy type of laughter in my voice. I looked up and stared at the camera slowly. I saw the red light go out.
