J. F. Werner’s Haunted Site

my name is j. f. werner. this is my secret place. there are monsters hiding in the darkness. Look at the artwork. read the stories. Enjoy the experience.

The door is open. please enter.

The Witch
 
Every day I pass the dilapidated house. The curtains are always drawn shut. The paint has almost completely crumbled off the walls, and there is a dick drawn on the front door with a permanent marker. In the fence around the garden the occasional plank is missing, and in the middle of the tall grass stands the vintage car that has always been there, without wheels and with a rusty hood. The house has looked like this since I was a little boy.
“That’s where the witch lives”, the children used to say. She had crooked fingers, a long nose and a tall dark hat. Jon, who was in my class, claimed to have seen a boy morphing into a jellyfish. He and the boy, whose name was Peter, had gone past the witch’s house, and Peter had caught sight of the witch in the window, and in the exact moment his eye had met her gaze, he grew translucent and gelatinous. He melted onto the asphalt, like an ice cream scoop in the sun, and then he shrunk into one small, shiny lump of jelly. Peter’s parents kept him in an aquarium, Jon told us. They watched over him, day and night, begging for the jellyfish to become a boy again. Even at the age of 30, I am still terrified of that house.
 
Do you remember the carnival that was held in the town? A parade went through the main street, we knew everyone attending the great event, it’s not a big town after all. The masks made people we knew into mythical creatures, and at the same time they became anonymous and suddenly you couldn’t tell if it was the dad of someone you went to class with, the headmaster or the neighbour you saw. They had lost their familiar faces and replaced them with new, dead faces. In between these dead faces, in this crowd of rigid imitations of things that never have existed, I saw the witch for the first time.
 
Relax, it’s just a mask, my mother said.
 
It was as if the witch had picked out an extra fine piece of meat in the meat counter, me, that juicy little boy – she didn’t take her eyes of me, I could see her eyes somewhere under those bushy eyebrows as she walked determinately but slowly across the street from the parade and towards me. She bent down to look at me more closely, not uttering a single word. I heard a gurgling sound in her chest, or maybe it was the phlegm in her throat building, bubbling and popping behind her lips. I saw the pores in her skin, I saw the little hairs on her chin and nose, I saw the little wrinkles on her face – yes, in the skin itself. Her face melted seamlessly into the wrinkled neck, which rose and fell.
 
Relax, it’s just a mask, dad said.
 
But I saw the witch’s mouth barely open, and I saw the yellow, sharp teeth between her fully movable lips form a smile.
 
I still find it difficult to do even the simplest of tasks, at work and at home. I have recently changed jobs, and in my new job, I can see the witch’s house from the window by my desk. I can’t concentrate on anything. I can’t tell my colleagues why I am so tired. They’ll think I’m an idiot, believing in crazy fairytales. And things aren’t exactly better at home. I can’t bear to cook, wash or clean. Sometimes I doze off at work, but once I’m supposed to turn in for the night, at home in my own bed, I don’t get a wink of sleep. I can’t sleep, because I feel a heavy weight on my chest, a dark figure squatting on top of me, my body is paralysed, I can’t even move my eyelids. Fortunately, I have my own cubicle at work, which reduces the chance of being spotted when I’m half asleep by my computer. Occasionally I am woken up by a phone call, and I barely manage to stay conscious through the lengthy and tedious conversations with customers. I am so ashamed. The boss will probably have a word with me soon. I will get served my notice. Within a month I have been transformed from a healthy and hardworking man to a total nervous wreck. My colleagues are strangers to me, I can’t reach out to them, they are all so distant. We don’t understand each other. Not only that, but I have also changed, my appearance has changed. When I look in the mirror, I look paler, almost transparent. I can see the blood vessels through the skin, and the skin feels different too, when I stroke my fingers over it, softer, moister, it’s like it’s become slimy and smooth.
 
I remember well what happened to me that day in September, right after school. My heart beat faster as I saw the house, but I still felt a pull towards it, as if I could not escape it. What would happen if I went in there?
Usually, I would run as fast as I could past the house, but not this day. I couldn’t stop my legs, they moved on their own initiative. It scared me, yes, but it also excited me in a way. I went into the garden, passed the old car wreck. The door to the witch’s house was wide open, like someone was waiting for me there.
A figure stood in the innermost far end of the room, facing the wall, its back turned towards me. I was pushed down to the ground by some unknown force, I could not control myself, I sank to my knees. I felt weak. Helpless. And the dark shadow hovered over me, lay down on top of me with all its weight. I never told anyone about it, not my parents, not my friends, nobody. Sometimes I convince myself that I might have dreamt it, and that it was the first of many dreams I have had about this place since.
 
You are the only one I can tell this story. Yes, I know. It was difficult to get here, I was afraid to tell anyone anything, for so long. I’m ashamed that I went in there. Sometimes I would fall asleep in my own house, later waking up in the middle of that room, in that same old house and I couldn’t move. I was naked, it was cold, sometimes the room was lit by the moon, sometimes it was pitch dark in there, in most of my dreams I didn’t see the creature, I just heard its footsteps on the creaky wooden floor and its hoarse breathing.
Thank you for listening to me, I feel so ashamed about all of this. Maybe I voluntarily entered the house, that dark room. Maybe there was nothing controlling me, even if I felt that way, maybe I am misremembering. Maybe I am to blame for all that happened.
 
I don’t see people as people any longer. You are the only one I see as an actual person, you out of everyone. Nobody recognises me. I can’t take the bus to the town centre anymore. I feel claustrophobic. There is something wrong with the faces of everyone around me. They do not look alive, they are without pores, and they have no facial expressions, their mouths are cold and emotionless. There are faces who do not breathe, who have excessively long noses, painted on moustaches and eyebrows. They are all like that now. My colleagues look like that at work too, they have exaggerated caricatured faces, and unnatural skin hues, animalistic features, pointed ears and fangs in their barely human faces.
I am so sorry for losing my temper last time we met. I’m so sorry that I got mad, and I hope you will forgive me. I just got so scared, and I crossed the line. That’s why I yelled, threw the chair across the room, and pounded my fists on the wall. That’s the reason I punched myself in the face with my clenched fist, over and over again. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. Then you transformed me again. At first, I was paralysed, you just sat there, staring at me, doing nothing. You slowly transformed me, I felt my own transformation, it was as if my limbs became undefinable. My arms, legs, torso and head melded into one. My body felt different, softer, at one point almost liquid. I was a smooth, rubbery mass, somewhat jelly-like. I saw myself change shape and I knew it was my own fault after all. Now I’m sitting in the palm of your hand, I am confused, for all around the green hand is an infinite black abyss. You can close your hand if you want. You can crush me if you want, but you seem to be waiting for the right moment. You are taking your time. You are the only one I believe in, the only one I know who exists.