An unchangeable event

An unchangeable event

A Story by Natalie Beck

A short story of someone that witnesses their own death over and over again.


I am meandering in the debris of autumn; it latches onto my sodden shoes, dragging with it the mud. For some reason I am gasping for breath almost as though I have been running away from something. Looking behind me, the woods cast lurking shadows, uninvitingly. I don't intend on going back in. Whilst observing the place I realise I actually don’t know where I am and no clue as to how I got here.


In an attempt to make sense of it all, I progress towards the nearest street where the streetlamps provide their orange light to fend off the darkness, bringing a sense of safety to ease my worrying. The houses appear the same in the dullness of the night, not one of them brings any memories; not one of these houses is my home. Then again there is no picture of home in my mind just a blank canvas waiting to be filled. Nothing stirs, not even a house cat on the hunt for a mouse, no lights flickering behind closed curtains from watching late night television. The stillness stifles me.

There is a bench just outside the newsagents on the corner so I sit, pondering, trying to remember how I got here. Only blank thoughts return, I realise I can't even recall my own name. I am a stranger to myself. The emptiness of the street bears down on me, choking me, resembling how I feel. Out of desperation I stand up and round the corner, searching for recognition amongst its normality but the houses are identical to the previous street. Only the dead end at the bottom gives away that it is a different one. The cars line the sidewalk, each one a grey mound cluttering the street. A sense of de ja vu sweeps over me, but the reason for it doesn't come to me, I can feel myself getting frustrated.


As I glance the whole way down the street, I have to double look. The house at the end seems to be giving off a faint light, making it stand out from the rest, enticing me. Taking this as a sign, I head towards it, taking big strides to get there quicker. The house gets closer and I begin to doubt if I am actually awake and not asleep somewhere dreaming this all up, that would explain everything but it seems too real. I need answers.

The curtains of the window are open and the kitchen light is on, displaying all its contents. The oak dining table is neatly tucked away, untouched. Cleaned pots are stacked on the drainer. They are dry now and ready to be put away. For some strange reason I find myself trying the window seeing if it is locked, to my surprise it isn't, so I pull it open, creating enough space and lift myself up, swinging the rest of my body in effortlessly and before I know it I am stood on the tiled floor looking back at the spot I was standing on just a moment a go.

I have just broken into somebody's house, but the guilt I should feel doesn't come to me, instead I reassure myself that I should be doing this, that this will bring me answers. The next room I enter is the lounge causing a wave of familiarity to wash over me. I have been here before, I am sure of it. But as I try to convince myself once again no memories push their way forward to prove this. I survey the room trying to absorb all its features and match it up in my head with a past experience, but all that comes to me is that I would decorate my lounge like this. The two sofas are auburn red and match the centre wall that displays a mirror. I slowly walk towards it, standing just out of the way so I don't see my reflection. I am scared of what I will see. Etching forwards the person I see looking back at me is drawn in the face. Her appearance a grey tone that flushes her exposed skin. My finger grazes the reflective surface attempting to wipe away the smudges but nothing happens, I apply more force but the same happens again. I stare vacantly into the reflective glass, willing it to change.

I back away from it, and head towards the door that I believe leads to the stairs, I open it gradually trying to minimise the noise, but every step and every touch seems to echo through the silence like a thunder storm ripping through the skies. I step onto the bottom one and as I peer up I notice that the wall is lined with photo frames displaying the owners’ favourite memories. I step onto the third step and look at the first picture, but what I see causes my heart rate to quicken, my own frozen face is glaring back at me. How is that possible? But even when I ask the question inside my head the answers come creeping in. This is my house. I live here and in the room upstairs I am in bed. The realisation hits me, causing me to hold my breath. My fingers stretch in front of my eyes, the grey complexion there once again but this time I can see the texture of the carpet through my skin. As the realisation sinks in I can feel this body disappearing, crumbling away from existing.

I hurry up the remaining stairs and push open the door to my bedroom. Everything is silent. The darkness creeps into every corner of the room making it difficult for my eyes to adjust but eventually they do and then I see it. My sleeping body half covered with the quilt lies motionless in deep sleep. The more I look at myself the more I feel myself fading away, letting me know that it is nearly time. Then I hear it, the sound of footsteps on the tiled kitchen floor and then the same ones creeping up the stairs following the same route I took. I instinctively draw away into the corner of the room, waiting for their arrival.

Sure enough they enter the room, rope in hand ready to do their damage. A scream erupts from inside me but never sounds. The man looks at me in the bed and smiles causing bile to bubble in the pit of my stomach, then the rope is around my neck causing my eyes to twitch open through shock. Both of my body's lash out then, but no noise comes from either of them, I am trapped to this spot with invisible handcuffs and my body in bed is being pinned down, loosing time and all I can do is watch myself die, watch myself struggle, never to take a breath of air again.

I thrash my remaining essence around, trying to disrupt him, trying to change what is happening but knowing I can't, I have tried before. He cannot see me, and I know that I am padlocked into watching this event over and over again, with no power to alter its course.

I am seeping into the walls, into the brick, unable to do anything but let fate take me. Take me away with this final image until it is scrubbed clean and the whole process begins again. The last bit of life surrenders inside of me and the room is no longer my surroundings.


I am meandering in the debris of autumn.




© 2013 Natalie Beck

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I think its pretty good, sincerely coming from the writer of "LondenBerg by Lord Biron"

Posted 6 Years Ago

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Added on April 18, 2013
Last Updated on April 18, 2013
Tags: death, murder, dark, ghost