The Man in the Screen

He was always a paranoid man, and he never had friends as a result of his inability to

trust. He was what many people would describe as schizophrenic. Early in life, he had taken an

interest in the paranormal. Said interest turned into a belief, which became an obsession. He had

seen ghosts, demons, ghouls, and all manner of other paranormal phenomena, yet very few

people had ever believed him. He holed himself up in his little bunker, funded by his obsessive

writings of supernatural sightings, hauntings and the like. His bunker, a self-made prison cell that

contained only a single barred window, a fridge and freezer, a mattress, a reinforced door that

was constantly locked, and his computer, where he would type up his borderline schizophrenic

experiences and thoughts.

This night was a usual one, he sat at his desk writing frantically about children with pitch

black eyes. From the walls of his self-made cage he heard a noise. It sounded like the pained

cries of an animal mixed with the demented screams of a man. It was horrible, and he simply had

to write about it. He sat at his keyboard, as the whispers and screams told him what to write. His

bloodshot eyes darting around the screen, he typed and typed and typed until his fingers began to

bleed. He felt a million spectral eyes watching him, thousands of invisible ears listening to every

word he mumbled under his ragged breath. It was terrifying, and that fear fueled his frantic

records of the unknown.

After hours of typing he finally stopped, not because he was finished, but because the

power cut out. The whispers had silenced. What would replace them was much more unsettling.

For a short time the man sat there, frustrated at his work being interrupted. And then he noticed it

--him. A man on --no-- in the screen. The man’s face was deformed, uncanny, human-like but not
quite human. His face was long and crooked, his mouth much further below his nose than it

should’ve been. He didn’t have any ears. He had an eerie expression upon his face, one of

malice, yet somehow also apathy, the mouth ever so slightly curved. And the eyes, the eyes! The

eyes were large, larger than what should be possible. They had an almost blank expression to

them, but the man could tell that those eyes were watching him. This was no video, he felt that

this was real. The paranoid man could not seem to tear his eyes from the screen, from the eyes of

the deformed man. With no motion, the Man in the Screen began to speak.

“For long I have waited for this damaged soul to appear before me. Long I have waited to

see the morning sun, drink the evening sky. To see the world once more, and to take control once

again.” The Man in the Screen spoke. As he spoke, he began to change. Slowly, a maliciously

joyous smile, an impossible smile, began to form on his face. But the eyes never changed, they

watched the now enthralled man. They watched and watched and watched, eyes never changing,

never moving. The paranoid man felt a force tugging at his face --no-- his mind.

“Be afraid child, it is the fear that makes this easier. You have been afraid for a long time.

I have done this, every last thing you saw, the ghosts, the ghouls, the monsters and demons. It

was all my toying, you may not remember who I am, but it does not matter. You will soon lose

control.” As the Man in the Screen spoke, his face changed even more, to a shape very familiar

to the paranoid man. The Man in the Screen had his face. The paranoid man tried to scream, but

his trance was too powerful. He could not fathom what may be happening to him.

“The eyes are the windows of the soul. I see your soul, your fractured mind and spirit. I

will take what was rightfully mine, what was stolen from me long ago.” The eyes began to bleed.

They were all he could see. The eyes, the eyes, THE EYES! The paranoid man, desperate to

break his trance, began clawing at his own eyes. He cried tears of red, finally able to scream as
he viciously tore at his face, marking crimson streaks from his bleeding fingertips. And then, the

face vanished, leaving only the eyes, the eyes trailing crimson tears. They began to grow, taking

up the entire screen, enveloping the man's vision. The paranoid man could feel himself, his mind,

being dragged away from him. As he was pulled deeper and deeper into the black void, the Man

in the Screen spoke once more.

“You will take my place in this desolate void. Alone, forever, never to be heard by a soul

outside this place. Scream all you like, no one will hear you. You have been overthrown, your

will has no power to it anymore. You will drown in the deep.” The paranoid man heard this, but

he heard it in his own voice, as though he himself spoke it. With these final words, he falls into

an endless black void, the last tattered scraps of his shattered sanity drifting away in the dark.

There is no light here, only the eyes. The eyes will watch him forever. The eyes the eyes the eyes

the eyes the ey-.

I look around at my surroundings, a desolate room, void of color. Through a crack in the

window, a ray of moonlight shines onto my face. I see the remnants of the paranoid man, now in

the screen. His face, torn and bloodied, as is mine. The paranoid man is gone now, me in his

place. I have taken control, I am awake once more.

I am awake.