Tag Archives: drunk


They kicked the front door in, screaming for me to get down.

Only when one of the officers turned me over and pulled my arms behind my back, only then, with my face shoved into the pillow, did I feel the massive headache.

They were pulling me out of our studio and when we were on the stairs I finally woke up enough to turn and shout for Reana to wait, that I would come back, that it must all be some mistake. In about the same moment an officer said that it was no mistake while I realized that Reana wasn’t in the room.

I’m trying to reconstruct it all, I tried in those four hours of questioning, and I’m still trying. But there’s nothing to reconstruct. But there’s nothing in my mind to reconstruct. We were on the couch, watching TV and waiting for the fireworks shows. She was cuddled up against my chest and had a blanket wrapped over her feet. We were speaking the countdown together with the announcer on TV. There were the first fireworks. We raised our champagne glasses – and then all is just blank. Or maybe rather black. It’s a black curtain that’s blocking me from my own memories.

I didn’t drink any alcohol before midnight. I don’t even remember drinking the champagne, but they still found a blood alcohol level of 0.2 % – in my body, not in hers. Continue reading

Floor 5

“You’re single?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But hopefully not for too long.”

“That’s good,” he said. “Not that I mind, you know. But women smell too much.”

“Oh, I always thought men are more dirty.”

“Well, he said. “It all depends on your sense of smell.”

The apartment was large and sunny, solid wooden floors, a lift and large windows that I would soon grow to hate. In every respect a bargain.

“The only thing,” he said. “Is that you can’t use the stairs. They were too dangerous and we had to block them. So you have to take the lift and in case of a fire there is an emergency ladder that goes right to your bedroom window.”

“Five floors on a ladder?”

“Well,” he said. “You look pretty strong. I’m sure you can handle that.” Continue reading

The Veil Between Her Mouth and Mine

The veil that hid her eyes wasn’t on her face. It was between her face and mine, like a white fog or a silken tissue hovering in the air where our breaths would have met. I could only see her open mouth, round like a perfect circle, exposing a black abyss where her throat should have been.

I had seen her first at the corner of 5th street and Lancaster road. From behind she looked normal, despite the raised hands and slow gait. Only her hair was unusually long; unusually long and dark.

Her body followed the young man’s movement. Her head and neck stayed as if nailed on the rest of her body; her feet likewise were nailed on the floor. Just from the hip upwards her body turned; first to the right, then, when the young man started to curve around her, back into a healthy relation to the feet and legs, finally a full 90 degrees to the left.

I saw how he sped up; how his brown jacket turned around a corner. She followed him. That’s all I saw that night, and still it was enough for me to walk the long route home, the one that led to the right, not the one that led to the left where the young man and her had gone.

I think I heard a scream that night. It could have been a bird or just a screeching car, but in my head it sounded like a scream. I ran the rest of the way home.

There was nothing in the news; nothing that could have warned me or reminded me of her. I forgot about her.

Most days I glanced over the crime section, but I never gave much for politics. Instead I read the other articles, those about lost dogs, an old man so crazy for video games that he forgot his own name, a new recycling plant, and fraud with resold gravestones. There was nothing about a woman with strangely stiff legs and an unusually flexible hip.

The second time I saw her she was standing intimately with another woman. They were standing close, face to face, and both were whispering to each other. Her arms were in the same, slightly cramped upward position in which I had seen them the first time.

It was the same corner, roughly even the same time, just after 11pm. I walked past the two women at a great enough distance to stay away from the oddity, but not in a distance that betrayed suspicion. The second, younger woman whispered questions, questions that I thought a daughter would ask an overbearing mother – “Why?”, “Why can’t I go?” – but even when I accidentally kicked some stones against the curb neither of the women didn’t pay me any attention.

In retrospect it is easy to say that I should have done something, but honestly, looking bad at this moment, everything seemed off, but nothing seemed off enough to be alarmed. I was sure that I didn’t want to be close to that woman, but even when I was nearby the young woman didn’t bother to look over or ask for help. The older woman with her long black hair and the raised hands seemed odd, but not menacing.

I still don’t know how I lost my phone. I noticed it five minutes away from home. I suppose the smarter version would have been to go home and try to find it through the tracking apps, but my only slightly sober mind decided that it was better to turn on my heel and walk the whole distance back towards the station.

I made sure to keep my eyes on the ground; half because I felt the neurotoxin slowly spreading through my brain and affecting my ability to walk and half because at night finding a black phone on dark gray ground is not an easy task.

If my eyes had been further up I would probably have seen the two from the distance. I would have known whether the younger woman was already sitting for long. I saw shining metal on the ground, hastened forward to pick up my phone and felt the exuberance of knowing that I hadn’t lost my two week old phone. Only then I looked up.

The old woman was still standing there, in the same position as before. The young woman was kneeling on the ground with her hands as support. I said “Hello and good night,” and the young woman looked up. I was shocked to see that despite her jeans and black and yellow shirt the young woman wasn’t young at all. She looked like sixty, maybe even eighty. She stared at me as if she didn’t know what humans looked like.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

In that moment the standing woman turned. Her hands were still raised; her head and neck still fixed stiffly on her shoulders; but her body, everything above her legs, turned in one swift motion towards me. I half expected to hear a loud cracking from her hip or leg bones, but there was nothing, just silence.

The street light was behind her, so that a shadow covered her eyes and most of her face. Her lips were pursed, as if for a kiss. She stood there, with her feet facing in the opposite direction of her upper body and her mouth ready to kiss.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go then.”

The kneeling old woman in young clothes stretched a hand out to me. I stopped. The legs of the standing woman slowly began to turn. The heels didn’t leave the floor, only the toes slowly circled around the legs until they were facing me. Then, with a loud, snapping motion, she took a step.

The kneeling woman sank to the floor. I ran.

Whenever I turned around I saw her behind me. She looked as if she was walking slow; still she was faster than me. I ran around a corner; when she came back in view behind me ten seconds later. At the next corner the time had shrunk to eight seconds. At the next corner it was four seconds. I was never so fast at pressing the key in the door and jumping inside.

I locked the door from the inside; then I ran to close the rolling shutters. She already stood outside the window; her hands raised, her grayish lips still pursed for a kiss. The shutters slammed down in front of her.

I still felt her for the rest of the night; like a cold air pushing through the infinitesimal space between the window frame and the wall.

The morning was better; it was warm. There were no singing birds or sounds of laughing people, but it was just that – warm. It took me long to finally open the shutters.

The newspaper, right next to the horoscope section, said something about an old woman that had been killed while crossing the four-lane highway.

I didn’t leave the house for three days. I enjoyed the sun from behind the window and closed the shutters long before dark. The nights were calm, silent.

On the fourth evening, just when I wanted to close the shutters, a loud bang attacked the front door.

I froze; didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

Another bang.

My chest cramped.


“I know you’re home! Open up!”

I fell backwards on a chair and breathed deeply. Logan’s voice.

I unlocked the door; his heavy hand grabbed my arm and pulled me outside.

“Come on man, I know you aren’t sick. You gotta get out!”

I tried to refuse. When that failed I played along. I went inside “to get my keys;” Logan quickly placed his foot in the door.

He didn’t believe a thing. At least he promised he would drop me back home.

Old friends, new drinks. Being among people felt safe. It was Wednesday, at 10pm the first began to leave.

Then Logan packed me in the back seat. A girl I never saw before sat in the front seat.

“Have to drop my friend.”

“That’s sweet of you.”

They kissed for what felt like a minute.

The car drove.

“I’ll drop you here,” Logan said.

“Can’t you bring me home?”

“Don’t be so lazy. I have a lady here, you know?”

He even pulled the door open for me; slammed it shut behind me.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked the girl.

Then they drove off.

I walked quickly; alone on the empty street the story of the woman felt more real than with fifty people in a bar.

Then she became real again.

She stood in the entrance of a small house to the right of the street; her hands raised. I ran, but this time she was faster. And it wasn’t just her; it was my legs that made her catch up. First they ran, then they got heavy and I only walked. Then they stopped. Invisible hands seemed to hold my feet to the ground.

Her legs walked slowly and still she was in front of me within just a second.

Her lips were pursed; her eyes covered in a strange shadow. Her face was only an arm’s length away from mine. Then her lips opened wider; to one perfectly round circle. I was frozen in place, but I felt my face and mouth being pulled towards her.

I felt a pull in my chest, as if a strong metal hook was stuck through my throat right into my heart and was now being pulled back out. The darkness around her eyes slowly turned gray when a white fog moved between our faces, just where our breaths would have met. It danced in circles; moved out of my mouth and towards hers.

The round of her lips swallowed the white fog that left mine; I felt tiredness spreading through my head just like the silken tissue spread in the air in front of my eyes. The tiredness made everything dark; the fog made everything white. A veil of gray sank over everything; over everything except the round, black abyss between her lips.

Sudden light; a high-pitched scream; the sound of a car horn pressed without break; pain in my arms and side.

“Dude, who the hell was that?”

“I think he broke something,” said a female voice.

“Did you see that woman?” asked Logan’s voice.

“I did. Where did she go?”

“God, he wasn’t imagining it.”

Somebody shook me. The sound of a car. Darkness.

The steady beep woke me up. Everything was okay, except for my right arm and two ribs.

I am out now; I am home.

I found newspaper articles about missing people. One of them was a young man in a brown jacket. Another was a young woman in jeans and a yellow shirt.

And I found articles about old people. Old people that just appeared and that no one recognized.

The arm and ribs have healed. I head things about trauma shaking your body, but not like this; not the number of wrinkles and the sudden loss of hair.

Some nights I still feel the cold seeping through the space between the window frame and the wall.

Maybe it’s that; maybe it’s the ongoing stress. My body has definitely changed.

And it’s not just my imagination; other’s see it too. Everybody keeps telling me that I now look at least ten years older.

This is my story, originally I published it on Reddit.

The Woman in the Mirror

I came home, stumbled against the sofa and regretted another night of drinking too much. I drink when I feel the world is too heavy; when I need to just get out of my life for a night. That night, with my girlfriend going overboard in a swirl of emotions and memories and blame addressed at me – I needed the drink. If I had known that she would die that night I would have listened more; likely I would have drunk more too.

I went out after our far-too-long video call. Then I got drunk. Then I came back and stumbled against the sofa; finally I found myself in the bathroom. The light was on, but my eyes were closed; bright lights confuse me when I’m drunk. That’s one of the things Dana always complained about – that I do stupid things when I was drunk; like ignore the sound of pee splashing on the seat.

I flushed and walked over to the sink; the cold water ran over my hands, then I lead some in my mouth and splashed it in my face. My hands were freezing and stiff when I wiped the water off my face.

Only then I raised my head and opened my eyes. I’m not sure what I was looking for, maybe whether my hair was wet. But I didn’t even notice my face. I only noticed the woman behind me.

I whirled around, grabbed a shaver to defend myself.

“Who –“

There was no one behind me.

I ripped the shower curtain back, looked around the room and finally turned back to the mirror.

She was smiling back at me. She was standing behind my mirror image and smiling at me.

I stumbled backwards, threw a stack of towels off the shelf. My mirror image did the same. The woman stood next to my mirror image. But she didn’t look at my mirror image, she looked at me. Her smile turned into a grin.

Then she stepped forward. My mirror image was still in the same position as before; still pressed against the wall just like me.

The woman stepped closer to the glass. She looked familiar and at the same time as if I had never seen her before.

Her features were those of Dana – but her expressions were wrong; her smile wasn’t Dana’s, her eyes weren’t Dana’s, not even the small wrinkles in the corner of her mouth were Dana’s.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She moved her lips. I didn’t hear a thing.

For a moment I felt my body pulling forward; felt a strain on my arms and chest and head. Then it stopped.

I was still in the same place, in the same position, confused and mesmerized.

But I think my mirror image had pushed himself away from the wall. I only saw her lips; I only saw her mouthing the word “Future.”

She said other things; I didn’t understand what she was trying to say. But I think my mirror image heard it; he heard what she said.

I’ve never seen myself when I’m angry. And never in my life have I hit a woman.

I saw her screaming and falling on the floor; I saw how he jumped on her chest; I saw how his fingers closed around her neck.

I screamed at him to stop, but he didn’t.

She tried to beat and grab his face, but she did not manage to do more than break his skin before her hands fell to the ground.

He held onto her throat; then he got up. He kicked her body – the head, the chest – and stepped on her arms and hands.

Then he looked at me and smiled.

I felt myself being pulled; felt my body moving to where he was in the reflection; I stemmed my feet against the ground, grabbed hold of a shelf – but he just stepped to where my reflection should have been. He smiled for a moment, then he stemmed his feet against the ground and grabbed hold of a shelf.

The pull was gone.

I waited for him to move, but he didn’t – until I took a step. He stepped just like me, the same moment, the same movement. For a moment I had a feeling he was still smiling, but when I stared at his face he looked just like me.

The woman in the mirror was still lying on the ground with blood slowly forming a ring around her body.

I went to bed. I swore to drink less, if ever again.

I broke that promise the next day shortly before noon; when the phone call woke me up.

I listened to the deep voice explaining Dana’s murder. The phone call ended; the metal lid bent in my hand; I didn’t even take a glass.

The questioning took hours. I was the prime suspect; the door wasn’t broken – and only I and the landlord had spare keys – and the chat logs suggested a fight.

The security in my building saved me. The guard remembered helping me to the elevator; the tapes corroborated his statement. I, officially, didn’t remember a thing.

It’s been months now. Still, when I look in the mirror in my bathroom, I see the dark stains on the floor. It’s not an illusion, I’m sure of that, but it doesn’t show up on photos.

What worries me more are the scars; the scars are not like the blood on his pant legs and shoes that I can only see in the mirror in my bathroom.

No matter in which mirror I look; the scars are not just on his face; I can also feel them on mine.

This is my story, originally I published it on Reddit.

Missed calls

I apologize in advance. The main part of this post isn’t technically a story. And it isn’t even something I wrote.

A few days ago I had to assess a 19 year old girl called Harley. She had been brought in by her parents due to suicidal tendencies and self-harm. She looked as if she had not long ago been a sweet girl – I saw the long, dark blonde hair, innocent eyes, and elegant makeup. But all that changed with her depression. Sitting in front of me her hair was mostly ripped out, her eyes swollen and red, and her facial skin was scratched open at several spots.

Harley feels responsible for the disappearance of her boyfriend, Gage. She believes him to be dead, which in my opinion is the root cause of her condition.

From January to February Harley was on holidays abroad, but she forgot her cellphone charger. I think it is the latter part that makes her feel responsible for Gage’s death. It appears that Gage tried to call Harley at least 40 times during the first ten days of Harley’s vacation.

Among Harley’s commitment papers was this transcript of her mailbox. From what she told me she only heard these when she returned home in early February.

20th of January, 11:01

Hey Sweetie, it’s me.

Just wanted to say I hope you have a great time. Sorry I couldn’t kiss you goodbye. I will miss you but please don’t miss me! Enjoy yourself, you really deserve it.

Love you, and greetings to your friends!

23rd of January, 18:02

Hey my love!

Hope you are missing me? Ha, no, I really hope you enjoy yourself. I’ll be out with the guys tonight. This is like the first time in ages that I don’t have any essays due or exams approaching.

Hope you won’t be jealous if I go out. I couldn’t reach you so I guess you are all fine and I hope not too many guys are trying to hit on you.

Take care, sweetie. I really miss you.

24th of January, 10:21

Hey my teddy.

How is the beach? The night out with the guys was great – we were at Stan’s bar for hours. Really happy I didn’t have any early lectures. And there were some strange people out yesterday, like, loads of guys dressed in black and they weren’t even drinking, just standing around on the streets and in the bar.

We later went to get pizza and had another few beers. The pizza tasted strange but I was too drunk to care. I’m feeling like crap today; maybe it’s because of the pizza.

Either way, don’t worry about me. I’ll be safe. I hope you are safe and all.

Love you!

24th of January, 19:40

Hey cutie, it’s Gage again.

Just wanted to let you know that I’m fine now; it was probably just a hangover. But I don’t even know if you listen to these messages. Could you call me back or send me an email?

I wrote you a message yesterday. I guess you are too busy or too relaxed to reply. [Laughter]

I’d really like to see you.


Love you.

25th of January, 16:14

Hey sweetie!

Your number still goes straight to voicemail. Can’t you turn your phone on, please? I don’t know what hotel you are staying at. If you tell me I can call you in your room at night. Or in the morning; whichever you want.

I miss you a lot. Really. My stomach aches when I’m thinking of you.

Love you.

Please call me.

26th of January, 12:41

Harley, it’s Gage.

Could you please call me back?

I feel pretty bad today; not just because I miss you. There’s something wrong, like, my stomach really hurts. I’ve been lying in bed since this morning, it hurts to get up.

I don’t know what this is, but probably just some food poisoning.

I think I’ll call my mom later to see if she has any ideas. She always has ideas.

Hope you have fun.

Please call.

26th of January, 22:51


I really think I’m sick. I feel dizzy and I feel really strange. I only left my bed once today, to throw up. My stomach still hurts, but my legs now hurt too.

I couldn’t reach my mom.

If you hear this, could you please call her?

And please call back. Please!

I love you.

27th of January, 6:43

Hey. It’s me. Gage.

I feel really bad. My alarm just woke me up and I feel like hell.

My body really hurts. Like, it really hurts, as if a truck drove over me, or as if there’s some heavy weight on my body.

I don’t know what to do. I hope this goes away.

Please call me.

27th of January, 13:44

Hi cutie.

I just got a call but couldn’t pick up. Was that you? My phone is not working properly. It’s like it’s stuck only on your contact.

Fucking iPhone. I always hated this thing.

Please call again. Please try. Or pick up.

Just something, please!

27th of January, 21:18

It’s me.

I can’t really move anymore. I haven’t left this bed for like two days.

And there’s a guy outside my window.

I just noticed him a few minutes ago. But I don’t know when he came.

I thought first he saw me and wanted to help. But he’s just standing there, staring at me.

He’s wearing a black suit, he really freaks me out.

I feel so dizzy. And my whole body aches.

It took me like ten minutes to get the phone to my ear.

I tried phoning the police, but I can’t change the number.

Please answer.

Please, I love you.

Please answer.

29th of January, 11:37

It’s me.

Please do something.

I must have fallen asleep. It’s morning now [inaudible]

This guy is still there, staring, and now he’s rubbing the window.

It hurts to speak.

Please, come [inaudible]

Please, answer.

Just, please, something!

30th of January, 17:47

Please, call [inaudible]

These men are in here.

They were doing something [inaudible] feet. I can’t feel them anymore.

I can’t even lift my head. My mouth hurts really badly. [inaudible] rolled on the call button.

Those men didn’t say anything. They stood there when I woke up. Don’t know how [inaudible] got in.

My [inaudible] hurts, but I can’t feel my feet anymore.

[inaudible] coming back.

31st of January, 12:57

Call the police.

I [inaudible] speak anymore.

Oh god, it hurts so much.

I saw [inaudible] cutting part of my arm off.

They ate [inaudible]

They are coming back.

I just want you to know I [loud footsteps] love [call ends]

31st of January, 21:58


[inaudible] cut my muscles. They even pulled something [inaudible] think that was my stomach.

They look but [inaudible] not human. [inaudible] long fingers.

Get away, [inaudible] whispering about more [inaudible]

[approaching footsteps]

I will alwa- [call ends]

This is my story, originally I published it on Reddit.