Post by Aaron on Oct 4, 2005 0:47:42 GMT -5
The Hypnotist
By James H Oldfield
Recognized
Category: Horror and Thriller
Fiction
Published: July 31, 2003
Views: 442
Rating: Excellent
ABOUT
JAMES H OLDFIELD
James is English. And it shows. Most of his poetry is long, rhyming, over-complex and often pretentious. You've been warned.
Though primarily a poet, he is currently making attempts at story/novel writing and also script writing. At least they don't rhyme.
He studies English and Philosophy at Manchester University but his real passion is for drama, and he is currently attempting to make it as an actor. Attempting being the operative word.
Having now returned from the U.S, he is struggling to adapt to life again in the U.K, everything seeming suddenly smaller, and colder...
Yet he smiles....
The Seal of Quality committee has rewarded him with 2 seals.
Portfolio | Become A Fan
Author Note: I know, I'm a poet, not an author... But as few else were entering, here's a demonstration of why I stick to verse...
Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.
?OK, I want to take you to a happy place. Reach deep into your mind until you find somewhere you feel truly at ease. Now, describe what you see??
?It?s night-time, but it?s not really dark. The moon is almost totally obscured yet there?s a strange light everywhere, it?s beautiful? like? like thousands of fairies are filling the air. In front of me is a temple, made of solid marble and glowing in the moonlight. I feel?calm, the gentleness of the scene runs through my veins, I can feel the light caressing my??
?Good. Now hold that thought. I want you to investigate the area, come to know it. Treat it as your home. Don?t just see it; feel its textures, smell its scents?become a part of the atmosphere. In a second I?m going to count backwards from ten. However, you are not going to wake. With each passing number you will become more a part of the world you see, until finally it is as real as anything you have ever known. No matter what happens to your body, you will be part of this world, and you will be blissfully happy in it. You will still need to eat, to drink, but you will now do these things instinctively, with a part of your brain not known to your general consciousness. Your physical body as it once was is irrelevant to you now, your only body is the one you see within your mind, the one that shares this happiness with you. You have no memory of your past unpleasantness. You will not be aware of the jail you truly live in, only the paradise you perceive in your head. Do you understand all this??
?Yes.?
?Good. Now I?m going to count from ten. Ten??
The tape player hummed gently between each utterance, a peaceful monotone to underscore the scene. Joining in the harmony was the sturdy cluck of a miniature grandfather clock, sitting atop the cassette recorder on an unclothed mahogany tabletop. Its pendulum swung gently back and forth, consistent in all but the direction it chose to go in. All else was silent bar the soft, almost indiscernible breathing of one of the two bodies occupying the room, that of the man. He sat facing both recorder and clock, his eyes gently closed, following the directions of his own recorded voice. A smile had broken across his face, not broad, but content and unmistakably heartfelt. Deep inside, his mind was relaxing in a peace like none it had ever dreamed of.
?Nine??
Only one light was on in the room, a small table-lamp, illuminating most of the area faintly, shining dully on the balding scalp of the hypnotized man, and glimmering sickeningly on the growing pool of blood on the polished floor. This belonged to the second body, that of a woman.
?Eight??
She lay collapsed on her side, eyes closed, but not in the same peace as her husband?s. Her shoulder length hair, dyed blonde, was now largely stained with blood from an impact wound on the back of head.
The tape whirs on?
?Seven??
A deep, satisfied sigh escapes the lips of the dozing man.
?Six??
Suddenly a new sound joins the choir, a light but pained groan from the stricken woman. Stirring gently she tries to move, but fails to raise the desired energy. Instead with slow, painful sleepiness her eyes flit open. Beneath a heavy glaze it can be seen where once they were a bright, beautiful green. The colour now though seems dull, distant, frosted over somehow. Life clings lightly to them, its grip ever slipping?
?Five??
Her mouth quivers. She spies the resting form of her husband, her killer, and a fiery rage burns inside her, imprisoned in helplessness, but fighting fiercely to escape.
?Four??
Ever so slightly, her mouth opens. An almost inaudible whisper battles to articulate itself.
?Burn?in?? Her eyes painfully close once more.
?Three??
With a sudden force seeming impossible to the fallen form, her eyes once more open, this time clear and wild, fury rampant beneath them. Once more her mouth forces itself open, but now with the screaming power of a banshee, singing in the death of its mistress?
??HELL!?
?Two??
Alone and content, he sits amongst the grass, single flares of white light dancing around him, penetrating his skin, filling him with a pleasure he?d never imagined possible. In the distance, the mountains glow as if by their own power, a faint perfect blue embracing each rock, each dip, each sculpted cliff-face. He shuts his eyes for a second, savouring the singing of unseen birds, no more confined to the daytime hours. Then gently they open once more, again surveying his new, perfect home. From beyond the mountain tops though comes a new, brighter glow, like the rapid coming of the dawn, the sun?s fiery brilliance spreading out despite its absence.
But this is not the dawn. From behind the mountains pours a sea of liquid fire, its mere presence scorching everything it touches. In shock the man rises, seeing the relentless waves of searing destruction charging towards him, swallowing his paradise whole, desecrating a world that?s not its own. He runs, inside, towards the temple, blindly fleeing in a plight he knows futile, knowing he faces an unbearable punishment, but unable to remember his crime. He frantically searches his mind, but though he finds recollection of some crime or other, it is as if it has been lifted from his consciousness, leaving only dust and fingerprints on his memory, but not enough for the source to be discerned. Inside the temple he clutches his knees, shaking violently amidst the scorching heat, tears evaporating as soon as they are released on his distraught face.
From between marble pillars he sees that he floats in an ocean of lava, birds now silenced forever, tormented screams of an equally indistinguishable source taking their place.
With every ounce of energy he can muster he joins the cacophony, his mind folding inside his head.
?One.?
By James H Oldfield
Recognized
Category: Horror and Thriller
Fiction
Published: July 31, 2003
Views: 442
Rating: Excellent
ABOUT
JAMES H OLDFIELD
James is English. And it shows. Most of his poetry is long, rhyming, over-complex and often pretentious. You've been warned.
Though primarily a poet, he is currently making attempts at story/novel writing and also script writing. At least they don't rhyme.
He studies English and Philosophy at Manchester University but his real passion is for drama, and he is currently attempting to make it as an actor. Attempting being the operative word.
Having now returned from the U.S, he is struggling to adapt to life again in the U.K, everything seeming suddenly smaller, and colder...
Yet he smiles....
The Seal of Quality committee has rewarded him with 2 seals.
Portfolio | Become A Fan
Author Note: I know, I'm a poet, not an author... But as few else were entering, here's a demonstration of why I stick to verse...
Warning: The author has noted that this contains strong violence.
?OK, I want to take you to a happy place. Reach deep into your mind until you find somewhere you feel truly at ease. Now, describe what you see??
?It?s night-time, but it?s not really dark. The moon is almost totally obscured yet there?s a strange light everywhere, it?s beautiful? like? like thousands of fairies are filling the air. In front of me is a temple, made of solid marble and glowing in the moonlight. I feel?calm, the gentleness of the scene runs through my veins, I can feel the light caressing my??
?Good. Now hold that thought. I want you to investigate the area, come to know it. Treat it as your home. Don?t just see it; feel its textures, smell its scents?become a part of the atmosphere. In a second I?m going to count backwards from ten. However, you are not going to wake. With each passing number you will become more a part of the world you see, until finally it is as real as anything you have ever known. No matter what happens to your body, you will be part of this world, and you will be blissfully happy in it. You will still need to eat, to drink, but you will now do these things instinctively, with a part of your brain not known to your general consciousness. Your physical body as it once was is irrelevant to you now, your only body is the one you see within your mind, the one that shares this happiness with you. You have no memory of your past unpleasantness. You will not be aware of the jail you truly live in, only the paradise you perceive in your head. Do you understand all this??
?Yes.?
?Good. Now I?m going to count from ten. Ten??
The tape player hummed gently between each utterance, a peaceful monotone to underscore the scene. Joining in the harmony was the sturdy cluck of a miniature grandfather clock, sitting atop the cassette recorder on an unclothed mahogany tabletop. Its pendulum swung gently back and forth, consistent in all but the direction it chose to go in. All else was silent bar the soft, almost indiscernible breathing of one of the two bodies occupying the room, that of the man. He sat facing both recorder and clock, his eyes gently closed, following the directions of his own recorded voice. A smile had broken across his face, not broad, but content and unmistakably heartfelt. Deep inside, his mind was relaxing in a peace like none it had ever dreamed of.
?Nine??
Only one light was on in the room, a small table-lamp, illuminating most of the area faintly, shining dully on the balding scalp of the hypnotized man, and glimmering sickeningly on the growing pool of blood on the polished floor. This belonged to the second body, that of a woman.
?Eight??
She lay collapsed on her side, eyes closed, but not in the same peace as her husband?s. Her shoulder length hair, dyed blonde, was now largely stained with blood from an impact wound on the back of head.
The tape whirs on?
?Seven??
A deep, satisfied sigh escapes the lips of the dozing man.
?Six??
Suddenly a new sound joins the choir, a light but pained groan from the stricken woman. Stirring gently she tries to move, but fails to raise the desired energy. Instead with slow, painful sleepiness her eyes flit open. Beneath a heavy glaze it can be seen where once they were a bright, beautiful green. The colour now though seems dull, distant, frosted over somehow. Life clings lightly to them, its grip ever slipping?
?Five??
Her mouth quivers. She spies the resting form of her husband, her killer, and a fiery rage burns inside her, imprisoned in helplessness, but fighting fiercely to escape.
?Four??
Ever so slightly, her mouth opens. An almost inaudible whisper battles to articulate itself.
?Burn?in?? Her eyes painfully close once more.
?Three??
With a sudden force seeming impossible to the fallen form, her eyes once more open, this time clear and wild, fury rampant beneath them. Once more her mouth forces itself open, but now with the screaming power of a banshee, singing in the death of its mistress?
??HELL!?
?Two??
Alone and content, he sits amongst the grass, single flares of white light dancing around him, penetrating his skin, filling him with a pleasure he?d never imagined possible. In the distance, the mountains glow as if by their own power, a faint perfect blue embracing each rock, each dip, each sculpted cliff-face. He shuts his eyes for a second, savouring the singing of unseen birds, no more confined to the daytime hours. Then gently they open once more, again surveying his new, perfect home. From beyond the mountain tops though comes a new, brighter glow, like the rapid coming of the dawn, the sun?s fiery brilliance spreading out despite its absence.
But this is not the dawn. From behind the mountains pours a sea of liquid fire, its mere presence scorching everything it touches. In shock the man rises, seeing the relentless waves of searing destruction charging towards him, swallowing his paradise whole, desecrating a world that?s not its own. He runs, inside, towards the temple, blindly fleeing in a plight he knows futile, knowing he faces an unbearable punishment, but unable to remember his crime. He frantically searches his mind, but though he finds recollection of some crime or other, it is as if it has been lifted from his consciousness, leaving only dust and fingerprints on his memory, but not enough for the source to be discerned. Inside the temple he clutches his knees, shaking violently amidst the scorching heat, tears evaporating as soon as they are released on his distraught face.
From between marble pillars he sees that he floats in an ocean of lava, birds now silenced forever, tormented screams of an equally indistinguishable source taking their place.
With every ounce of energy he can muster he joins the cacophony, his mind folding inside his head.
?One.?