The Mortia

I am in some kind of dreamland. As I look around, I can see waves of white powder, and a strange voice calling my name, as if beckoning me. I got up for the first time and chased that voice that formerly embraced me. Although, as I followed the voice, the waves of white powder I stood on began to try to bring me down. I used both arms to latch onto the powder and pull myself out before I began to sink. As I pulled myself, I landed face up to the pure black sky, inhaling, and all I felt was pure coldness. I awoke and instantly sat up, looking around; I was in some sort of alley, and my vision was blurry, and I felt sick. I looked down at my arm, and I removed the heroin needle. 
Damn it, and I said I would quit. Well, so much for the attempt at stopping. Sorry, Michael. He’ll understand, right? That’s what lovers do. They’re there for you even when you aren’t there for yourself or them. As I attempted to stand, I put my back against the wall to support myself because I felt a sudden wave of vertigo come over me. I swear, these symptoms are getting worse every time. As I walked, my head hurt like hell. I put my hand on my head and dizzily approached the road. As I began to walk across the street, I watched as blinding lights came at me at incredible speeds. I held up my hand in front of my face to block the brightness of the lights. Then, I watched as the man parked on the side of the street and exited his vehicle. As he stepped out of the car, he ran in what felt like slow motion towards me, and wrapped his warm and embracing arms around me. As he spoke, it was muffled. My ears began to ring, and my vision was blurry. He held up his flashlight and shined it in my face, and then helped me get into the backseat of the car. I lay on my back with my eyes closed. I didn’t feel good enough to open my eyes. I could hear Michael’s voice coming from the front seat, and I knew he was there for me. I opened my eyes, and a twisted woman was lying on the ceiling of the car, her one eye wholly rotated to the side, her other eye looking away from me, her mouth wide and gaping, and her body–
What? I'm just seeing things. I wiped my eyes, and she was still there, but her hand reached for me this time. I quickly sat up and backed away from her as much as I could. I blinked again, and her other hand was now facing me as well. My heart began to beat faster, and she began to twitch and approach me at an incredible speed. I covered my face with my hands and heard a car horn. I uncovered my face and watched the car's lights behind us beam into the backseat. I kept looking around, not knowing what or who that was. 
What was that? How do I even describe what just happened? I sat up and glared at Michael, and he turned back and looked at me in confusion as we sat at a red light. 
“What the hell were you thinking? I thought I told you to quit with the needles. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep that up.” 
I nodded. “Well, why don’t you try being in my shoes with my work and trying to figure out a solid schedule for everything? Sometimes we all need a break, man.” 
He continued to glare at me. “I am in your shoes, and I share your life. I have sacrificed my work hours to rescue you because you haven’t answered your phone for six hours. You were gone for six hours. I thought you were dead, Elijah, and surely could’ve died. You’re a moron.”
I watched as a tear rolled down his face. He faced away from me and focused on driving. I somehow felt even worse now. He cares so much, and I give so little in return. My eyes began to darken. I suddenly felt exhausted, and before I knew it, I blacked out. 
The following day, I awoke on the couch and stared at the blinds of the apartment as the sun beamed down onto the floor and back into my eyes. Man, that’s bright. I got up, and I stared at my new clothes. I had one of Michael’s short-sleeved shirts on. I looked down at my arm, at the spot where I had been injecting myself. It looked infected and disgusting. I would describe it more, but I can’t without feeling sick. I looked away and felt like puking instantly. I remembered the terrifying woman who appeared to me last night and her every detail, from her twisted body to her face, so I quickly ran over to one of the shelves and began sketching her as accurately and as best as possible. After all, I was a top student in art class in middle school. 
It took me literal hours to draw her to the best of my ability, and once I finished, I felt complete. Once I finished drawing, I went to my room and took my stash of needles hidden under my jacket. I sighed as I stared down at my despair. I started doing this crap about a year ago. I went to a party with my friend Natalia in high school. We both were the life of the party. She was a great friend. So, what happened, was, well, terrible, and I am terrible. Basically, at the party, we both were high, and we encouraged a friend of ours named Gerald to do heroin, and he did. Still, he had already taken every other drug imaginable beforehand. He had a seizure and was gone for his junior year. Natalia and I believed we had killed the kid, and the pressure and guilt we felt were unimaginable. Natalia couldn’t handle it, so she overdosed and was found dead in her parent's bedroom. It’s messed up, but that’s the price we have to pay. 
I looked down at my pocket as I felt a sudden vibration. I pulled out my phone and read the text message on my lock screen. It was Michael saying he would be home in five minutes. Is it the end of the workday already? How long was I out for? I heard a knock on the apartment door, so I got off my bed and answered. I opened it and glared around the hallway as I saw nobody. I noticed the janitor's closet down the hall was open and still slightly moving. 
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you again, Liam. How goes the cleaning upstairs? Is it still awful?” 
I yelled and got no response. I thought this was strange, since he was usually talkative. I went down the hallway, peered into the closet, and saw a yellow note on a black box. The handwriting, admittedly, was horrible, but it read “Mortia”. What on earth is a Mortia? Is it similar to a tortilla? I took my phone out and snapped a photo of it, and then I picked up the paper and crumpled it up into a ball before putting it in the trash bin in the closet. It had to be some sort of prank, but it wasn't funny. 
“Hey, I just want to let you know that if you’re still here–stop being a wise guy. Alright?” I yelled, shut the janitor's closet, walked back to the apartment, entered, and shut the door behind me. 
I saw the same note I had just crumpled and thrown into the trash in the janitor's closet was now on the floor before me. Wait, I thought I just got rid of this stupid note? I bent down to pick it up and noticed the blinds moving abnormally, almost as If something had touched them. 
“Is someone here?” I yelled, and then the entire building had a sudden blackout. “Damn.” 
I grabbed my phone, turned on my flashlight, and began to look around in the dark. I heard a strange cracking sound coming from behind me. I shined my light behind me and saw a woman facing the corner. 
"No, I’ve seen Blair Witch more than a few times to know where this is going. I’m good."
I kept my eyes on the figure as I backed up slowly into the door to my room. I turned to open it quickly, and then, as I got it open, I turned back to see the woman suddenly in my face with her hands out as if to grab me. I fell backward and continued to crawl backward until I reached the bed; I kept my eyes on her while trying to reach with my right arm under the bed to grab anything that could help. I pulled out a flashlight and then turned it on, and to my surprise, a bright purple beam of light hit the figure. It slowly began to dissipate, and the lights flickered and came back on. 
"Wait a minute. This light isn’t a flashlight." I bought this ultraviolet light when I was into ghost hunting, but it seemed to do the trick. It seems like whatever monster or entity is after me, is afraid of Ultraviolet. 
I quickly got up, grabbed my laptop from my bed, brought up the search engine, and typed in "Mortia". Instantly, I found something titled “The Little Girl & Mass Suicide”. I began to read the article. The author's name was Carlos, and he began to talk about how he battled alcohol addiction and had been haunted by an evil being called the Mortia, a being whom he believes attacks those lost in guilt or struggle. Yeah, that checks out. 
I scrolled down to the end of the article, and It says that he was helped by his best friend, Gerald–wait, as in the Gerald I know? I studied the picture of the author and Gerald together, and it looked exactly like the boy from the party. So he is alive, then. I’m so sorry, Natalia. But now I know, for both of us, I have nothing to be afraid of or guilty of anymore. I grabbed the needles hidden under my jacket in my closet, threw them into my trash can, flicked a match into the trash, and watched the fire. 
It was pretty watching the flames engulf the past and my guilt. I believe I'd found peace of mind in the end, but I wonder, will others be able to?
Category:Beings
Category:Weird