Day 141 - Scratching Story

Scratching Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

From outside his door came the quiet sounds of scratching, but upon investigation no person was found matching. Like a cat locked outside, using its claws, trying desperately to gain admittance, it seemed to be some sick plea for attention. Jaiden had no cat and he expected no visitors, but the scratching created all sorts of tension. No one was there, and yet the sound must have come from somewhere. No sign of life, no sign of its originator, Jaiden stood and waited, feeling foolish and foolisher still.

Jaiden returned to his room, returned to his desk when no sooner had he done so, the scratching came again as well. He checked the front door once more, but once again found the outside world wanting. He was tired and lonely and lost, but above all he knew in his keen senses he could trust. The scratching came from nowhere and the scratching came from everywhere. But Jaiden knew it was real and unimagined. He knew it to be true, he knew what he heard and it wasn’t just some imaginary phantom.

The scratching returned once and again, a gentle reborn annoyance to which he had no cure. He played loud music, and the scratching same through. He sat in silence, and the scratching only grew. He closed his eyes and meditated and wished and hoped and prayed. For a moment there was silence. For a moment he had hope. For a moment he was alone. For a moment, but only for a moment. He opened his eyes, and the scratching was there. Faint. Just beyond the distance of sound it came and went.

Jaiden was not a man of superstition or mysterious belief. He was not particularly macabre and no illusions of grandeur. He couldn’t believe this was being done to him from the great beyond. He couldn’t believe that there was something dark and sinister out there lurking just for him. He had read his Poe and made no attempt to make himself out to be something akin to gothic greatness.

Jaiden was well educated. He had no doubt that something real and tangible was making the sound. But he had no suppositions as to the creation or intent of the recurrence. He suspected no one, he knew no one that would put him through this for humor or torture or any other reason. He remembered a theory on low-frequency infrasound experiments and the sounds and noises just at the edge of hearing. But he didn’t believe in ghosts or ghouls or tricks of the mind. He had faith in his mind and had no doubt that he could reason this out.

Jaiden sat as his desk, sat in his chair, nervous and anxious. He made himself sick with worry. He worried he would drive himself mad. He stared off towards the door, listening, waiting, expecting. As expected, it began over and over more. The scratching – evermore. Ever evermore.

It seemed that the purpose was torture. It seemed unjust and without cause, unfair and unyielding. Wrath had come, some revenge for some unknowable offense. Jaiden had been judged and his payment had begun.

In the back of his mind he knew his crime. His crime of existence. His crime of desire. He knew the unspeakable horror that was in his soul. A scratch at his dark surface was but the beginning of the wicked that would come.

He scratched. He sat there scratching. Evermore and ever evermore. He scratched as penance and he scratched his payment. He scratched so hard to leave his mark. He scratched so hard he tore his nails off. He scratched until he stained the wood with blood. He sat and he scratched and he drove himself half mad. Jaiden scratched his fingers against his desk, unaware of what he had done.