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Just a Room - NSW


Anakin T Skywalker

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Title: Just A Room

Rating: PG-13

Rated for: Somewhat disturbing ideas and mention of violence ( wanted to stay on the safe side.)

Critique Level: CRITIQUE ENCOURAGED

 

 

JUST A ROOM

 

*************************************************************

 

It's just a room.

 

That's what I tell myself, every time I go down there.

 

It's just a room.

 

It's down in the basement of the dorm building ”“ you know, back in the corner of the basement, where all the rooms start to get small and dark and a little claustrophobic. It's one of the oldest part of the campus, I think, from back in the fifties when the place was first built. But somehow, it feels even older than that.

 

It's still just a room.

 

I see it once a week, when I go down there to do laundry. The laundry room's in that part of the building, too, with six washers and eight dryers quietly humming and whirring away like they're taking part in some sort of séance. It's kind of surreal; it makes my head spin a little every time, and the floor always feels like it's floating gently up and down, like a raft over gentle waves. But that's not what makes the room about twenty feet further down the hall feel the way it does. In fact, I think it's the other way around.

 

It's just a room; in fact, calling it a room may even be a little generous. It has no real apparent purpose; it's more like an extension of the hallway. Only the empty doorway and the slight widening of the walls make it a separate room. That and the feeling.

 

There's something wrong with it. It's not just that it's small and dark, and smells of dust and old. All the rooms down there smell like that, and none of the others feel like this one. They all carry a tinge of sadness ”“ but it's not their own. Over the years, they've just been contaminated by contact. It's all emanating from the Room.

 

It feels wrong. It's hard to describe ”“ sadness, depression, gloom, shattering loneliness, a weight on your whole body, a sort of vague horror, and that awful feeling that something you can't see is watching you. Actually, I think you can see it. I think the room itself is watching you ”“ or maybe just the walls, I'm not sure. It's like the room is alive, in a very dead sort of way.

 

But it's just a room.

 

There's a couple of old, posters on the walls. Or maybe they just look old. They can't be more than forty years. They feel eighty times that. They feel like they've seen things ”“ years and years gone by, watching with the same vague horror I feel when I'm down there. They're not really part of the room; it's not their fault. They're just captive observers, witnesses to something nameless. Stuck on those living dead walls forever and a day.

 

The walls used to be a dreary gray. Sometime last year, somebody who deserves endless pity went and painted them ”“ a bright, shocking, neon orange that gleams in the light of the naked bulb. I know why: they were trying to cheer it up, to get rid of the Feeling. But somehow, glowing orange paint only makes it worse, more horrible. New, it manages to make the room look and feel older than ever.

 

The tile changes color there, too, going from a pebbly reddish tan to a dark greenish gray, like it's made of leftover tile from something else, put in as an afterthought. Or to cover up what used to be there. It's a bad color combo, but that's not what makes it so eerie, so awful. Somebody else who deserves endless pity sweeps the floor from time to time. And despite the new paint and the swept floor, the room still feels like no one's been in it for decades.

 

I don't blame them.

 

Even though it's just a room.

 

I don't believe in ghosts, but sometimes I have to wonder. This university used to be a convent, and the dorms used to house the nuns. The students like to toss around rumors of weird things happening and blame it on nuns haunting the school. The stories usually seem to be made up, the result of too much contraband alcohol; they're told as jokes, not ghost stories, accompanied with smiles and laughter. It's really all just silly, we're not gullible enough to truly believe in dead nuns' spirits haunting the place.

 

But that room ”“

 

If there's something in there, it's not a nun, dead or otherwise. Nuns can be terrifying if you have them as teachers, but they're not like this. This is different. This is not right. This is frightening.

 

But it's just a room.

 

I went in it once. I had to, it made me feel so bad. It fascinated me. Most of the time, the light is off ”“ I could never go in with it off ”“ but it was on that once. It has been once or twice.

 

I went in and was surrounded by watching orange walls. My heart started to pound, thudding in my ears. There was a whirling sound, like a wind picking up, quiet at first, then growing in a crescendo. My eyes started to see things interposed on the glaring orange ”“ bad things. A rope hanging from the glaring light, the half transparent body dangling, unrecognizable as male or female. Blood splattered on the walls, dripping down in a deep black-red puddle on the floor and welling up between the cracks in the tile from underneath ”“ maybe that's what the new tile covered up. A woman, struggling, her face twisted in a desperate grimace, her mouth wide open. Screaming; I could hear it over the roaring of the wind. There was a man's maniacal laughter ”“ he might be torturing the woman. But the other tormented screaming was a man's voice. And other voices, legions and myriads of them ”“ the floor tiles and the walls wailing and shrieking and groaning in a wild terrified lament for the horror they witnessed.

 

I couldn't take it, I had to leave before I passed out. I was gasping for breath. It had only been a few seconds ”“ but I felt the air charge with anger, in addition to all the other raw, violent emotions. I had violated something, I had come where I was not wanted.

 

I left the room to mourn whatever hideous tragedy it had seen ”“ as fast as I reasonably could.

 

It could have been my imagination, probably was. Mine is fairly excitable, especially when I'm already feeling mildly afraid.

 

There's not that much that makes me even mildly afraid in the first place.

 

Yet, it's just a room”¦

 

I have to wonder what happened there ”“ when I'm away from it, of course. It seems something must have. Rape? Torture? Murder? Some of each? Maybe a spiritists of some sort had a meeting there ”“ I've heard of that sort of thing happening. The hall doesn't go any further; maybe when they built the place, they stumbled on something much older than the building itself, that they didn't want to see. That would explain the incredible oldness. Or perhaps it used to go further, and beyond it the tunnel the dug collapsed, maybe with someone in it. If it did, I don't think they got him out.

 

But there's a set of double doors there. Visibly padlocked, but they're there. I don't think they'd put doors there if that had happened. Besides, the room silently screams of a trauma more violent.

 

What terrible thing happened there? What horrific crime have the walls and floor dumbly hidden all these years? What dreadful, heinous secret are they forced to keep, even now, as they weep for the grievous event?

 

I don't know. And I never will. It's not like I can go ask about it.

 

Because it's just a room.

 

Just a room!

 

Only a room.

 

I went down to move my laundry into the dryer, and there was a guy in one of the other rooms down there, working on homework. I know him; he bugs me to death. Even so, how can he sit down there, with the awful feelings leaking up the hallway, poisoning the air, like water from a backed up sewer.

 

”œI like it down here,”

Edited by Guest

anit.jpg

 

Thanks, Tiana!

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I thought it was very good. You painted a good image and I can visualize what this creepy must be like. I used to live in a building was formally a children's mental hospital, as crazy as it sounds, and it was closed down for strange, yet predictable, reasons I won't go into, before being remodled into what it currently is. There were parts of that building which gave me the creeps, mainly at night, but I often wondered what happened and where. Sounds similar.

 

Why were the grammar mistakes intentional? Sounds like a cop out.

apeditname.jpg

[Associate of the Illinois Mafia since November 2002.]

Member of the Four Horsemen

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That was....amazing. Creepy. Extremely well-written.

 

I think this is one of your best peices on this site. It was so intense, and you sucked me into the story immediately. I loved the personnification of the room, and the use of capitals for "the Room" and "the Feeling". Every little detail you threw in really added to the overall feel.

 

I'm normally not a horror/suspense kind of person, but I really liked this. Very creepy...the way you described it, I could visualize everything. I think it helps if you've been in the basements of old buildings, too.

 

I only saw one typo and one comma that was unnecessary, and now that I skim back through it I can't even find them.

 

Brilliant stuff...and I hope this means you'll be around more often!

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SHE MEANS TO END US ALL!!! DOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!!!11eleventyone!
There goes Ami's reputation of being a peaceful, nice person.
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Very well-written was the first thing that popped into my head. I was hoping that it would be more than the regular murdered ghost images though. Couldn't see any grammatical errors that jump out at me though, I must be losing my touch.

 

Oh wait I found this!

 

I think this is one of your best peices on this site
.

 

JJK

 

Now you have to go and remind me about doing my laundry...

ilikegreenguyscopy.jpg

 

Darsha Assant turned dark at 2734 posts.

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Thanks, everybody! This one was really easy to write, because I had just been down doing laundry when I wrote it, and, as I said, it's true. I'm not much into the horror genre myself, but I had the sudden urge to write it down. It helps me deal with stuff that produces strong negative emotions when I write it down.

 

I really do want to be aroud more often, and if you send me stuff to beta, LAP, I will give it priority over anything other than schoolwork. I try to be pretty thorough, though, so each thing usually takes 1-2 weeks (I read it through quite a few times).

anit.jpg

 

Thanks, Tiana!

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Wait... wait... I find this totally unbelievable. The protagonist actually does laundry once every week and is in college? Unheard of!

 

In all seriousness, great mood and a wonderful job pacing matters. The tension builds up to a very fine point, I think climaxing at the various visions, with a chill resolution from the other student's admission. Well done.

KVCsig.jpg

 

The monarch of madness has returned!

 

[Associate of the Illinois Mafia since March 2002.]

[2nd in Command of the Lords of Hate since March 2002.]

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I really do want to be aroud more often, and if you send me stuff to beta, LAP, I will give it priority over anything other than schoolwork. I try to be pretty thorough, though, so each thing usually takes 1-2 weeks (I read it through quite a few times).

 

No!!! I want this to be the number one priority in your life, trumping classes, family, and any sort of job you've got to support yourself.

apeditname.jpg

[Associate of the Illinois Mafia since November 2002.]

Member of the Four Horsemen

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I really do want to be aroud more often, and if you send me stuff to beta, LAP, I will give it priority over anything other than schoolwork. I try to be pretty thorough, though, so each thing usually takes 1-2 weeks (I read it through quite a few times).

 

No!!! I want this to be the number one priority in your life, trumping classes, family, and any sort of job you've got to support yourself.

 

I figured you would. In that case, I shall gladly abandon all else and give my life into your service, O Great One. *Formal Judo Bow*

anit.jpg

 

Thanks, Tiana!

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Not meaning to sound rude, but if you say "room" one more time in a story I'll kill you.

 

Other than that I was okay entertained.

 

It's like you tried to pull of Stephen King, but not.

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Not meaning to sound rude, but if you say "room" one more time in a story I'll kill you.

 

Other than that I was okay entertained.

 

It's like you tried to pull of Stephen King, but not.

 

I've never read Stephen King. I wasn't trying to copy him. As much as anything else I wanted to write what happened because it helps me deal with weird stuff like this happening to me. I just tried to do it as creatively as I could, then set it up here to see what you guys thought.

 

I put "room" in just exactly as many times as I thought it needed to be in. I'm sorry if its presence offends you.

anit.jpg

 

Thanks, Tiana!

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