The Laughing Man

TW: this is a story with an unreliable narrator who is suffering through various illnesses such as personality disorders, schizophrenia, auditory and visual hallucinations, and other mind altering illnesses. There is also brief mention of deep subjects such as emotional trauma, kidnapping, and multiple dead bodies.

Images flash through my head at rapid speeds. A burning casket. Lavender plants. Shades of yellows and blues. A laughing man. Nothing prepares me for those. I lose my balance quickly.

Landing on the ground doesn’t help. The earth is hard and flaky. It hasn’t rained for weeks. Particles of dirt and fragments of dust rise up to fill my nose with every intake of breath. It hurts. The sky is spinning and nothing stops the white and gray clouds from swirling together. It’s nauseating. A storm is coming.

I close my eyes and imagine that I’m surrounded by fields of flowers. Daffodils and roses. Daisies and the occasional pansy and poppy. Trees surround the field making the area almost surreal. It’s too good to be true. Sleep soon blankets me as dreams play like movies. Peaceful slumber until darkness begins to creep through the cracks. Laughter gradually fills the empty spaces. Reality comes crashing down. He’s searching.

Waking up, I rush to stand, the feeling of eyes following me, suffocating me as I survey my surroundings.Nightfall is coming. I’m late. I’m lost. I wandered here trying to escape the visions appearing, clouding my judgment. I strayed from the path. It’s been hours since I fell asleep.

The path home is tricky. The darkness of the night sky and vibrantly glowing moon, hidden by branches, did nothing to guide me through the thick undergrowth covering the trail. Noises filled my ears, causing me to grow wary and turn every few minutes. Crows cawed and insects chirped through the darkness. If I stood still long enough, faint laughter could be heard. He’s looking.

Days pass and everything is quiet. No laughter, no visions. When I came home from my journey in the woods, everything remained the same. No one greeted me. No one asked what happened. No one became worried. I thought everyone was gone for the night, like many nights before. But it was quiet for too long. I decided to check.

All the doors were open except for one. My father was quiet. It was his door that was closed. He’s never quiet. Must be sleeping. I opened the door and there he was. Laying on his back. Dead silent. He was sleeping. He was dead.

There wasn’t a smell and no flies lingered on his body. Everything was still. No one knew. No one heard a thing. The only thing that could be heard was the scarcity of my breath from carrying my father to the backyard. There’s a casket waiting.

Laughing echoes once more. I can’t find its location. With each step the laughter grows. I place him in the open casket. It’s perfect. I don’t close the lid, having it open makes it feel real. It’s not the only one.

Turning, I’m greeted with three more caskets, each with their lids open. The house is gone and the trees have engulfed the area. Something’s wrong. In my state of panic, I run. I can’t focus. Can’t set my mind straight. The more I run, the louder he becomes. He’s getting closer. The laughter, the taunting. I’m surrounded. I’m losing my mind.

He’s everywhere. In my head and in the trees. His laughter follows me no matter how fast I run.. His voice echoes throughout the caverns of my mind, solidifying his place. How did I get here?

Was he always watching? Did he know about the precious moments between me and my sibling? Was he aware of the dark memories that passed through the eyes of the kids who played at the park? Maybe he knew of the intimate moments mother faked with father just to appear happy. Or the tears no one wiped for me when my sister disappeared? Did he know?

Did he know about the countless nights spent crying because no one was there to console the sad child? Did he hear the silent pleads for a new life? One where sisters don’t get hurt and mothers don’t have to hide their tears? Where sons are seen, not ignored and for fathers to listen instead of threaten? Did he know of the visions the little boy saw each night before bed that lead to this moment? Visions that started after his sister was gone? Did he know?

If he did then why did he wait? Why is he here now? Why does he laugh? The trees are consuming me as the fires burn from the inside. What does he find funny about this? How long has he been watching? Watching as bodies were found and corpses were carried. Watching as sisters went missing and parents stopped communicating. Why is he louder? Does he know something I don’t?

The laughing, the ringing, the chanting. Voices join the man whose laughter rang throughout the tops of the canopy. “Look for them. Check the house. He knows all. Look for them. Check the walls. He sees you. Look for them. Check the rooms. He is here.” Repeated lines. “Look for them. Check the house. He knows all.” The voices urge me to run. It’s important. They know.

“Look for them. Check the walls. He sees you.” I become dizzy. The back door is within reach. I can’t grasp the knob. It hurts. He’s watching. Waiting. Seeking. “Look for them. Check the rooms. He is here.” Reality is becoming hard to notice. I see them. My sister waving before being taken. Mother screaming for the man to stop. Father looking horrified. I can’t do anything to help. The voices are distorted. “I’m going insane.” The chanting grows louder as I drunkenly attempt to climb the second story stairs.

“Look for them! Check the house! He knows all!” The hallways stretch for miles. Doors multiply the farther you go. The house has become a labyrinth. Opening each door will take too long. There’s not enough time. I won’t find them. I can’t find them.

“Look for them! Check the walls! He sees you!” The walls! Ripples emerge every time I make contact. Solid turns into liquid. The walls are like flowing rivers guiding me into danger. Eyes appear with each touch. I can’t see. He takes my sight.

“Look for them! Check the rooms! He is here!” I’m yelling, demanding for someone to answer me. “Who are you?! Where is he? Where are you!!” No one answers. The chants become louder still.

“Look for them! Check the house! He knows all!” I’m falling. My vision hasn’t returned. He still has my eyes. More visions. Sounds mostly. Screaming. Crying. Pleading. Laughing. The voices become clearer. Four of them. A daughter, mother, father, son. They become one distorted, demonic voice.

“Look for them! Check the walls! Check the rooms! He sees you! He is here!” I’m plummeting towards an unknown surface.I expect to crash but instead I slow down at the last second. I land. Light floods everything causing me to blink. My eyes returned.

The laughter is back. He’s louder. I’m in a room filled with items I recognize. Three burning caskets. Lavender flowers in stiff hands. Yellow flames engulfing cold, blue bodies. Laughter echoing from the darkest part of the chamber.

I’ve found him. He’s clearer now. The son who was never heard. The boy who cried and dreamed for better lives. “He knows all. He sees you. He is here.” His voice is faint and young. Not much older than 17. Closer. “Check the house. Check the walls. Check the rooms.” I walk forward.

He takes shape. We’re the same height. We start to chant together. ““Look for them. Check the house. He knows all. Look for them. Check the walls. He sees you. Look for them. Check the rooms. He is here.” Realization dawns

“Look for them?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“In the house” He answers, voice small and weak, a shell of his former self. “He knows all.”

Doubt enters my mind. I can’t trust him. He knows something.

“Look for them.” He raises his voice.

“In the walls?” Shivers crawl down my spine.

“I saw you!” What is he saying? “They looked for them! They checked the rooms! You were there!” He’s no longer laughing. This isn’t a joke anymore. He’s angry because of me.

“They looked for them! They checked the house! They know it all! They searched for them! Never checking the walls! He saw you! They couldn’t find them! They checked the rooms! You were there!” He’s in front of me now. Blaming me with tears in his eyes, his voice wavering. He knows the truth.

The flames rise around us, climbing the walls, blocking the exits. Smoke clouds my eyesight and suffocates my thoughts. Laughter is heard once more. This time I’m laughing. I’ve found him. I see him. He did this and now I know. “I know.” I told him. He nods. Hatred evident in his eyes. “I see.” He smiles wickedly. “I’m here.” He laughs. “You know. You saw. You’re here.” There’s no empathy in his voice. He makes an expression I, myself, have only ever made. He knows I know.

The fire starts to burn our body and melt our skin. The fumes become intoxicating as they dance in the space above. The smell of burning flesh and decaying bodies mixed with hints of lavender. The house is burning. I caused this.

As I stare into the lifeless eyes of the man in front of me, I realize. The storm is here. This room is the eye. This man is the typhoon. With the last of my strength I release a soft, feeble laugh. My voice is gone and as I look around the room I see.

The crying and the screams. The looks and the disappearance. The begging and pleading. I am the one who caused it because I am the Laughing Man and the Laughing Man is me.