Dark Paranoia

      In a small studio apartment on the fourth floor, a cynical young man scratches indifferently at an early birthday present. The man’s name is Aaron Newman, a man whom life treats without deference, honor, or success; waiters bring him cold burgers, and gas station clerks shut doors in his face. On this day before his birthday, he is given a lottery scratch-off that will change not only the way he views the world but everyone in it.

           Aaron scratched away at the lottery ticket, scoffing as he did so at the cheapness of such a thoughtless gift. But as the second box read “$500,000,” same as the first, he felt his pulse double and thrum with the intensity of an orchestra of bass. He told himself not to get his hopes up, as the disappointment would only sour after that last scratch; but he couldn’t help himself. His palms and forehead began to sweat and he was acutely aware of his eyes beginning to blur.

           When the third “$500,000” revealed itself, Aaron flew from his seat only for his legs to tremble, forcing him back down to the chair. His face expanded into the appearance of a scream, yet no sound escaped him as his throat tightened. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes as to confirm to himself that this was not an illusion, and the numbers on the small slip remained the same – Aaron had won the jackpot, and it was all thanks to this apathetic, lazy idea of a birthday present.

           He decided he wasn’t going to cash it right away – he didn’t want to give the gifter the satisfaction of knowing they had given him such an exuberant gift; Aaron knew that they would claim credit as if they somehow knew they were giving him a winning ticket and would expect Aaron to share his money. No, that simply wouldn’t do. He’d have to play it cool and act casual with his life as if nothing happened. If the friend would ask about the ticket, he would say he won $20 – which didn’t feel like much of a lie to Aaron, anyway – there was $20 within $500,000, after all.

           Aaron gave himself some time in his lonely apartment to collect himself and re-center his nerves. After several moments of balancing his breath and matting away the nervous sweats, he put on his shoes and left to go to the grocery store to have a personal celebration of his newfound, unsuspected success.

           Once in his car, Aaron drove down Main Street on his way to his town’s small grocery store, the Piggly Wiggly – affectionately known as “The Pig,” to locals. Realizing he’s still jittery from his winnings, he sets his car on cruise control to keep a consistent, casual speed down the street. As he cruises, a black sedan rolls past a stop sign on his right and pulls in front of him, forcing Aaron to slam on his brakes. The car behind Aaron blares their horn angrily at them and swerves past him, continuing down the road as if this was all Aaron’s fault. Aaron slams his fist on the horn as he glares at the black sedan; he can just make out a silhouette on the driver-side window. The shaded head appeared to be staring at him, though for what reason Aaron could not say. “What the hell?!” Aaron yells out at the dark car which is idled halfway between two streets. Finally, it completed its turn and moderately accelerated down Main. Aaron muttered angrily under his breath as he moved on, eventually turning into the small parking lot of The Pig.

           The unfortunately meager lot was packed full of vehicles as Aaron weaved up and down the lanes. At last, he found an open space and as he turned the wheel to park, a faded blue truck rushed in, nearly scraping Aaron’s front bumper as it did so. Aaron laid his palm against the horn, blaring his siren – heads of pedestrians walking amongst the cars swiveled to glower at him and the driver of the blue truck scowled at him as they raised their middle finger. Aaron’s lower lip trembled, and his eyebrow twitched. He eventually gave up and parked along the curb at the front of the store – he saw others do it all the time, and figured just this once he would too; what’s the worst that can happen?

           Now in the store, Aaron goes to the refrigerated meat section. He knows on most days he wouldn’t even dream of buying himself a steak as he could barely live on the salary he made – but the money he had set aside for rent was chump change compared to what’s going to be hitting his bank later; now was the time to splurge. He picks up a decently sized New York Strip, then moves towards the beer. As he moved down the aisles among the other shoppers, Aaron noticed that several of them seemed to be looking at him with disdain out of the corner of their eyes. He saw a mother place her hand on the shoulders of her kid, quickly turning them away. Aaron wondered if he had something on his face and offhandedly rubbed at his cheeks.

           Once in the alcohol section, Aaron inspected the beer selection. At first, he wondered if such an occasion would call for wine, but he didn’t really care for the stuff. He settled on a twelve-case of Blue Moon – he didn’t know if he was going to drink all of them in one night, but wouldn’t fault himself if he did.

           At the checkout, the cashier was loudly and sloppily chewing her gum. She never looked Aaron in the eyes, though did come close when she looked at his nose when she told him his total charge. Aaron couldn’t say for sure why, but he felt like this cashier was harshly judging him in her mind.

           Let her judge. Aaron knew better.

           Aaron made it back to his apartment with little complication. The steak was overcooked, but the beers – all twelve of them – hit the spot nicely. He had music blasting as he danced awkwardly alone in the studio. With a break in the music, Aaron thought he heard something bang. He paused the music and stood, swaying, as he listened intently for sound.

           Bang!

           It was the window. Aaron rushed to the window, threw open the curtains, and looked outside to see two kids running across the parking lot in the dark, away from him. “You dipshits!” Aaron yelled, “Come try that again and see what happens!” he moved to slam the window shut and, after blinking several times he realized he never opened it in the first place. Now with the mood killed, he slumped down on his couch with an aggravated sigh. As he sat in desolate silence, now he thought he could hear whispering which sounded like they were being spoken just out of view of the corner of his eye. His head swiveled from side to side yet he saw no one. Though no one could be seen, the whispers and hushed voices continued; they were malevolent, invasive, and bitter. He heard them snicker as if they were sharing secrets that he wasn’t allowed in on. He paced around his apartment room, looking under the couch and behind furniture, even going so far as to lift the pillows on his couch, but could not find the whisperers.

           An unsettling feeling rose in Aaron’s stomach, and he knew it wasn’t just the beer. He was reminded of all the rude, hateful people from earlier today – the people who, if they weren’t casting malignant glowers, seemed as if they wanted to get him hurt or killed. That’s when it hit him; they know. He doesn’t know who they are or how they found out, but they know about his un-cashed lottery ticket and they’re out to get his money.

           Fervently he spun around, brushing off the aggressive quake to his head as he did so, and charged at the small coffee table in front of the couch where he left the scratch-off. He swiped it up and held it clutched it against his chest. His pallid, sweaty face peered over his shoulder. The whispers were growing louder – no, closer – as he shielded his treasure. He slowly backed away from the table, until he broke into a sprint across the room and into the closet. He slammed the door and collapsed on the floor. There he sat for the rest of the night until after an unknowable amount of time had passed, and he finally fell asleep.

           The next day – his birthday – Aaron’s head felt like it was being pounded in with a hammer wrapped up by thin lemon slices. He stood up from his corner in the closet with an aching back and walked into the main room of his apartment. He looked at his phone and had somehow slept until almost noon and felt grateful he didn’t have to go to work that day. He moved to the kitchen and with trembling hands he poured himself a glass of water and gulped it down. He refilled and did this two more times before shoving his face in his hands. He usually doesn’t remember nights of heavy drinking, but he can recall last night clear as a bell. He knows that people are out to hurt him – possibly even kill him – to get their hands on his money. So he decides he is going to cash in this ticket ASAP and secure his money in the bank.

           Still wearing yesterday’s clothes he hastily puts on his crumbling sneakers, allowing himself to reverie on the classy new shoes he’ll replace these with. He shoved the ticket in his pocket and rushed out the door towards the stairs, neglecting to even lock his door on the way out.

           Driving down his street he noticed two girls standing on the sidewalk, and he noticed them cover their mouths and laugh, and he swears he saw their eyes dart over at his old car. He scowled at them as he drove past.

           Further down the road, there was a fallen tree that blocked most of his lane. He didn’t see anyone from the other direction, but in light of everything he had started to get nervous. With sweaty palms, he turns the wheel to move around the fallen tree. No one jumped out to meet him with this inconvenience, but he could see the verdure around him rustling with ambushers waiting for the exact right moment. With the stirring vegetation around him, the violent chorus of whispers around him began again. They were louder, and somewhat clearer than before. He can make out some of their plans to string him up, beating him senseless. The phrase, “catch him, kill him,” echoing in his ears. His eyes are blurring as dime-sized droplets of sweat rush down his forehead and flood his eyes. His hands have gone far from clammy as now he struggles to maintain a grip on the steering wheel. He uses his forearm to wipe away his eyes only in time to see a shadow standing in the middle of the road. He screams as he swerves, driving off the side of the road and crashing into a tree.

           He awoke, unsure of how much time had passed, but saw that the sun had already started to drop. He blinks and squints as the sensation of something cooling slowly runs down the side of his face. He reaches up to touch it and his hand comes back red.

           Stumbling out of the car he hears a woman call out, “He’s awake! He’s getting out of the car!”

           Aaron turns his head to see a woman and a man standing next to their vehicle parked on the side of the road. He looks to the tinted back windows and sees more of the shadowy figures, their heads turned to look at him. He gasps and looks back to the woman who cried out – both she and the man carry twisted expressions of tentative eagerness. He knows they believe their time has come to take him, but he’d sooner go on his own terms before he lets them. He runs back in the direction of home.

           Tearing down the street lightheaded as he was, unsure of how much blood he’d already lost, he knew he just only had to get back home, and he’d be safe. He didn’t see those two girls with their mischievous giggles from earlier, but he knew that they couldn’t be far. There are several pairs of running footsteps behind him – he can sense them though he cannot hear them through the tremendous pounding of his hard-pressed heart.

           The whispers are shouting now, eager and hungry, their hands reaching towards him with greedy claws.

           He reached his apartment building and dove into the elevator. He slams his fist onto the button for the fourth floor. As the lift slowly rose, the lights flickered and the walls rattled. Aaron raised his hands and clutched his head as the bitter pounding of his attackers assailed the outside of the elevator.

           The elevator doors open, and Aaron knows that as soon as he steps over the breach between the lift and the apartment floor a hand should shoot up and grasp his ankle, keeping him immobile until the doors close and crush him. He jumps over it and runs down the hallway until he sees his apartment room’s door is left ajar – barely an inch, but open nonetheless.

           Aaron stood paralyzed. Horror tingled up his body like thousands of avid insects. He knows he has to make a choice – wait for them to reach him out here… or face them off in there. He likes his chances in there better, if only slightly. He runs into the dark room and slams the door behind him.

           Immediately he sees the shadows huddled against the walls. They begin their devious whispering. “Here he is,” they say, “get ready!”

           He can’t take it – he thought he could, but he can’t take it. Not anymore, and never again. With tears streaming down his face, Aaron cries out, “You’ll never take me!” With a blood-curdling scream, he begins to run again. The lights turn on, the trap is about to be sprung, and Aaron Newman jumps at the window and plunges four stories down to the concrete below.

           Emma Newman, mother of Aaron Newton, shrieks. Friends and family who had been hiding in the dark to surprise Aaron on his birthday all crowd around the shattered window and look down. No one would ever be able to understand what spurred on this paranoia that led to Aaron’s death, as all that was found on his person would be his wallet, his old crumbling sneakers, and a fake lottery ticket given as a gag. But that is perhaps the worst part of paranoia – the unknowing. A dark paranoia; the mind’s twisted masterpiece, where shadows dance and conspiracies unite to throw a party that only the troubled can attend.