Fascination

[ This story contains sensitive content]

. Mental health

. Dark thoughts

.thriller

Hello, My name is Killian Mathews, I'm a writer tucked away in the quiet suburbs of Boston. And I write this passage in the dimly lit corners of my room, the ink on the page leaking through. Though I would use the phrase, writer, loosely. For years, I have woven stories of ordinary lives, starting but not quite finishing. Each one was sewed with a gentle beauty that I thought would resonate with a small but loyal audience. Despite my modest success with my only novel, ‘The nettle leaves’, a void gnawed at me, a sense that my writing lacked the raw, visceral intensity I craved.

My life changed one fateful morning during a routine visit to the local bookstore when I stumbled upon a novel that would forever alter my course—‘Flowers in the Attic’ by Virginia Andrews.

The dark and brooding cover drew me in like a moth to a flame. The lustrous black and crimson colors enticed me. I bought it on a whim, feeling an inexplicable pull. I did not have much money but that did not stop me. The next day, I settled into my favorite spot on my sofa, opened the book, and was immediately thrust into the haunting world of the Dollanganger children. The tale of Chris, Cathy, and their two younger siblings, imprisoned in a hidden attic, struck a deep chord within me. I felt an undesirable kinship with Cathy, the determined protagonist, whose fierce drive to survive and protect her siblings mirrored something buried deep within my own psyche.

As I devoured the book, finishing it within only a couple days, I noticed a profound shift within myself. Cathy's voice, filled with both vulnerability and unyielding strength, echoed in my mind long after I had turned the last page. Her resilience in the face of unimaginable cruelty resonated with a part of me I had past aside. A part of me long since buried in the timeline of my life. It wasn't just her struggles that captivated me, but her ability to channel both her pain and anger into a relentless will to persevere. I found myself obsessively pondering the darker aspects of the human nature, the hidden wounds people carry, and the resilience required to overcome them.

Inspired by Virginia Andrews' writing, I began to delve into these themes in my own work. My next novel took a decidedly darker turn, exploring the complexities of familial bonds, the boundaries of relationships and the deep scars left by betrayal and confinement.

My characters became more nuanced, their struggles more harrowing and intense. I poured my heart and soul into my writing, allowing my own fears, desires, and buried traumas to bleed onto the page in a way I had never dared before.

The transformation in my writing did not go unnoticed. It took only a year for my novel 'Fascination' to stack the shelves. Reviewers praised my latest work for its raw honesty and emotional depth. Readers were enthralled by my ability to evoke intense feelings and pictures of empathy and sorrow, drawing them into a world of pain and redemption. I was both excited and terrified by this new direction; it felt as though I had tapped into a dark wellspring of creativity that was both consuming and exhilarating.

However, this newfound depth brought with it an unsettling darkness. I began to withdraw, spending long hours locked away in my bedroom, hardly eating and hunched over my work. My family and friends started to worry. My housemate and almost girlfriend, Emily, noticed the shadows under my eyes and the distant look that clouded my gaze. She tried to reach me, but I was consumed by the shadows I explored in my writing.

'Killian, you're scaring me,' Emily said one night, her voice trembling. 'You’re not yourself anymore. You don’t talk to me, you barely come out of your room or see our friends.' She tried to touch my face but I backed away.

Although something compelled me to turn around and as I looked at her, seeing the concern etched on her face. My vocal cords became silent. I couldn’t find the words to explain. How could I describe the way Cathy's resilience and torment had burrowed into my soul, awakening a buried memory in my past? How Chris's turmoil about his feelings for Cathy, compelled me to dig deeper into the darkness? Into my own past relationships?

Friends reached out too, their voices laced with concern. 'We miss you at our gatherings, Killian,' 'You've been so distant lately. Is everything okay?'

I assured them all was fine, just deeply engrossed in my work. Which wasn’t a lie. But the truth was more complex. Nightmares plagued my sleep, filled with images of confinement, lust and betrayal. I found myself withdrawing further, consumed by the shadows I explored in my writing and myself. Wanting to test the limits of both my relationships and society. The line between my life and my work began to blur, and I often wondered if I had delved too deep into the novel and lost myself within it.

I would often lay awake at night, staring up at my ceiling and fantasizing about all the things that intrigued me. Good or bad. Feeling uncontrollable burnings deep in my body. My mind and body were no longer mine and I desperately tried to control them.

One evening, while working on my latest manuscript, I received an email from a reader who in her own words had been 'profoundly affected by my book.' The reader shared their own story of a traumatic childhood and life, finding solace and strength in my words. As I read the email, a deep sense of fulfillment and connection washed over me. I realized that through my writing, I was able to touch the lives of others, much like Virginia Andrews had done for me.

Yet, with this realization came an awareness of the deep toll it was taking on my personal life. I decided to seek balance, to reconnect with my family and friends. One evening, I began to open up to Emily, but I saw confusion in her eyes and in the golden light of the lamp next to her, all I could see was the darkness and so my journey unraveled like a loose string. So, I am now in a constant loop of confinement and reaching out. I hope by writing this passage, that something may change.

Despite the darkness that had enveloped me, I continued to write with fervor, letting my thoughts run wild, my work forever influenced by the haunting beauty of "Flowers in the Attic." I still remain grateful to Virginia Andrews for opening my eyes to the darker, yet profoundly human, aspects of storytelling. Though part of me never wishes I opened up that book, because it let out a web of unweilding horror I didn't even know existed in myself.

Even so, I discovered that true strength lies in embracing both the light and the dark, and in using one's voice to highlight the hidden corners of the human experience.

Yet, as I continue to write, I am ever wary of the shadows that lurk just beyond the edge of the page. Knowing that they are both my greatest muse and my greatest peril.