By Rory Bugden
A low echo rumbled off street corners and high skyscrapers. Vibrations swept through the city, crawling up floors and settling above the horizon. On the streets people stirred and huddled together to ward off the morning air. Workers squinted in the dense fog descending over the city. In another building in the concrete labyrinth and in one of the 350 identical apartments, an obnoxious screech causes a woman to lurch forwards.
I gripped tightly onto my ears and thrust my eyes shut. My head hammered and my body twinged with each movement. I couldn't remember why everything hurt or what happened last night. I tried to picture the calmness of rolling waves reaching onto a sea shore and a soft sea breeze passing through an isolated beach, like my therapist told me too when I was a child. A jarring burst of sunlight reaching into my mind dispersed my serene vision and brought me back to the grumbling creature outside. My eyes snapped to the window, finding the source of light. The black hemp sheet blocking the light had peeled itself down from the ceiling and was laying in a deformed mound on the floor. I bolted to the window, my whole life exposed by one large square to every apartment window, indistinguishable from mine, across the street. I tried to focus on my breathing and go through my surroundings individually.
Below were organised and even streets. I could count how many blocks to the hospital or police station. Lines of tents bordered the streets creating a criss-cross of blue and grey. The distance was blurred with hazy white and the occasional blast of smoke. Movement began below as those on the streets began their day. I smiled as I saw a young woman greet her neighbour, an old man in a nearby identical blue tent. It reminded me of how it used to feel when I was with my family. I calmed down as I became invested in the lives of the hundreds of people below me. I was protected and I could still find some enjoyment in human connection without being a part of it.
I could see a young man below. He was possibly about 30 and would probably appear handsome to most onlookers. He had eyes that reminded me of my dad’s before everything was taken away. His hair and clothes were styled impeccably. If it wasn’t for his face that betrayed his stiff exterior, he would have been terrifying. I saw him talking to a woman, slightly younger than him. She dressed just as well but her eyes appeared full of sorrow. The young man turned away from the woman and tilted his head to the sky. I tried to figure out what he was looking at and was paralysed. His eyes were locked on mine. I tried to look away, but the look in his eyes terrified me.
I made a terrible mistake. I can’t let anyone see me. What if he comes and finds me? How can I explain my actions if I can’t even talk to him? Previous memories of me frozen in fear and trembling cause me to take action. I press myself against the cold wall adjacent to the oversized window. I think I can hear footsteps. Is someone yelling my name down in the street below?
Once I had control of my breathing I repositioned the makeshift curtain. Like an eclipse, darkness fell around me. While daylight meant I was exposed to others, darkness meant I was left alone with my own thoughts. Without light the apartment became an abyss masked in shadows. The walls stretched infinitely skyward. Where the walls and floor met became unclear. Objects became obscure and things outside, unknown. Flecks of light squeezed through gaps in the blind, rebounding off the reflective surface off the bench. Shadows and light battled to create twisted images, making my heart skip. I could hear my heart beating as if it were outside my body. The silence, filled with a deafening thumping and then.
Ring. Ring.
Ring. Ring.
I hold my breath. No-one should be calling. Is it that man from before? How did he find me? The rings continue. I try to remain still, the corner of the bench making an indent in my hand, my legs shaking and my body quivering. There is a beep and a voice fills the silence.
“Sasha. Where are you? I have been looking for you. Why did you ignore me? I saw you standing there and I will find you.”
“Stay away from me!” I yell as I back away from the phone. Something pulls on my leg and I fall over. The floor feels cold and damp on my back. I tug on my leg but something has a hold on it. With every tug I can hear this scraping sound coming towards me. I pull my leg towards me in a violent movement, feeling a tense resistance. There is a sudden screech and my leg becomes weightless. Something tall and hard topples onto me.
When I wake up, my head is throbbing and I feel a weight on top of me. I hear a soft thudding coming closer. Is it real or can I actually hear the pounding getting louder? The sound is booming now. I can hear it right outside my door. A sudden banging causes me to lift my head up and bang it on whatever metal-like object is on top of me. It gets louder.
“This is real. It must be the man from before. How did he find me?” I bring myself back to reality. I have to keep control of myself. Who knows what he wants from me? I need to hide. Underneath the couch. No, that is too obvious. In the wardrobe. Laundry Basket. Washing machine. Kitchen cupboard. I shriek as another loud bang breaks my mental scramble.
“I heard you. Open up right now or I’ll find my own way in.” The man appears both sad and angry. I do not understand what could make him think this way.
I try to move. My right leg and body are pressed to the ground. I touch the object on me. It is smooth and cold like the rest of my apartment. I realise I am shivering and wish I could move to warm myself up. I can feel goosebumps but my forehead is sweating.
“Sasha let us in. We just want to help you. Your parents wouldn’t want you to live like this. We love you and want to bring you home. You don’t have to live in fear anymore.”
This time it was a woman’s voice. Why would there be a woman here? She sounded caring but also extremely sad. Like the woman this morning. They must be together. Are they coming to take me away? Do they want to lock me up? Are they using the pain I have for my parents to manipulate me?
“How dare you talk about my parents. You’re trying to trick me into thinking that you’re on my side. I am not leaving,” I whisper at the door knowing they don’t hear me. I do not have the courage to fight with them. Talking about my parents is a sensitive topic and these people must have done some research.
“She’s not coming,” I heard whispered by the woman. I can hear her crying. Is this her job? Am I going to get her fired?
“I don’t care if she doesn’t want to come out. I will find a way. I need to make sure that she is okay.”
I flash to my father before I lost him. Strong and determined, willing to do everything to protect his family. This man is not my family. I don’t know why he cares if I’m okay. Maybe he feels bad. Or maybe this is his job and it is another tactic to get me to come out? Why would a stranger actually want to check up on me?
I hear footsteps fade away and wait for them to return. My head is still aching and my body is sore. I must hide myself but I am not strong enough. If they find me laying here, they could easily take me away. I cannot face them, I cannot go outside and I cannot let someone get inside my head. I cannot have another shrink make me relive that day. I cannot relive my parents dying in front of me. Having to explain what happened to my family. To the police. To the court. To my therapist. To my foster family who could never replace my real one. I fall asleep, my mind racing in a labyrinth of my past.
In the hallway brother and sister, Mary and Tom Shefield, make their way back to Sasha’s door. Tom has the building key’s in one hand and is digging his nails into his other.
“What are you going to do?” Mary asked Tom while she played with her hair. “We can’t just drag her home against her will.”
“Of course I wouldn’t do that. I would love to bring her home but we need to make sure she is okay first. She is just so damn stubborn.”
“Sometimes I don’t think she knows who we are. After mum and dad died she was gone. I miss them too but I just want her back.”
Tom took a large step towards Sasha’s door but took a moment before sliding in the key. He turns on the nearest lightswitch.
“What happened? This place is a mess.” She took a step inside and saw Sasha. Mary rushed over and pulled the lamp off Sasha, who remained motionless on the floor. “Is she okay?”
Tom joined her side and confirmed it was only a bad head bump and probably some bruising on her body.
“We should get her cleaned up.”
Objects were knocked over all over the apartment. A spilt drink had created a large puddle, drenched Sasha’s clothes and messed up her hair. Her leg was still caught in a mess of lamp and tv cables. It took Mary and Tom two hours to get the whole place cleaned up and Sasha to bed.
“What should we do now?” She looked up at Tom. She always looked up to him for answers.
“Nothing”
“What?”
“She probably will not remember this in the morning and we cannot bring her home without her knowing. She needs to want to be with us and get help. We need to try again tomorrow.”
Mary really didn’t want to leave her sister laying there. She knows that they could help her but Sasha would put up too much of a fight. Mary and Tom left the apartment knowing that the only way they could get their sister back was if they kept trying. They would come back each day if they had to and they would not stop. Their older sister was always there for them and now they would be there for her.
The gothic genre uses social anxieties to educate and entertain audiences. This concept allows audiences to relate to characters and get a message from the text applicable to their own lives. The thematic topic I explored in my text was how loss can lead to madness. I wanted to share the importance of getting help with mental health struggles and how when we are at our lowest things can seem worse than they actually are. I wanted to educate readers on this topic by giving them an entertaining story that makes them think about the issue. Loss and madness are typically used in the gothic genre but I wanted to take a modern perspective on them.
I incorporated the traditional thematic topics of loss, madness and isolation into my short story. This allowed me to get inside my character's head and explore their emotional thoughts. By isolating and twisting my protagonist's sense of reality I was able to use the gothic idea of the unknown. My character created a twisted perception of the world and I was able to limit the perspective so the audience was not aware of what was really happening, “There is a sudden screech and my leg becomes weightless. Something tall and hard topples onto me.” These techniques along with the traditional literary devices of imagery, personification and foreshadowing enabled me to build suspense and intrigue. I used gothic elements in the setting to add to the suspense such as darkness, the cold and fog.
By doing this I could get the reader absorbed into my story so they could take my message away.
I manipulated gothic conventions by having an untraditional setting. The modern environment was used to make it more relatable for present audiences so they could connect current anxieties with the setting. My main character's apartment was particularly plain, but I used the unknown outside to create fear. I thought this was related to modern society because most of us are more comfortable in our homes when we are alone. I manipulated both light and darkness as they each had their own fears associated with them. The effect of using light as a tool helped to exaggerate the main character's mental state as they were even afraid of what they could see. I also ignored the usual conventions of the grotesque and supernatural as I wanted the text to feel modern and I felt that these were associated with previous time periods.
A Rose for Emily and “The Raven” influenced the way I wrote my story. I was inspired by the way A Rose for Emily used a non-linear structure and made readers piece together the story. As my story was really short I believed a complicated structure would not be useful so I created a loop. Readers slowly figured out the character's backstory and made judgements on what was real. I used foreshadowing and hints throughout, “He had eyes that reminded me of my dad’s before everything was taken away.” Similar to William Faulkner’s text when he mentions “the smell” (Faulkner, 1930, p.3), which foreshadows Homer Barron’s murder. Both texts have used this technique to build suspense and intrigue as readers try and figure out what is going on. The spiral of madness and the techniques used by Edgar Allan Poe to communicate it inspired me in my own text. I tried to implement metaphors, personification and repetition as seen in “The Raven”. Poe manipulates the setting to create a visual representation of the character’s emotions, “silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain”, (Poe, 1845, line 13). I created a city representing uncertainty that played on my character’s fears, “Vibrations passed through the city, crawling up floors and settling above the horizon.” Personification makes the city feel alive and like in Poe’s work, readers can see how the characters are feeling in their environment. Faulkner and Poe inspired the structure of my story and the literary devices I used.
I was influenced by Victorian gothic and the modern period the text was written in. Victorian England was crowded, cold and industrialised. Today, like in Victorian England, technology replaces people. In my story the streets are crowded and filled with poverty as people have lost their jobs as technology developed. Instead of dark damp streets my setting reflects the concrete cities of today. I have still implemented the cold, fog and darkness seen traditionally in novels set in these times. The effect of the setting and poverty is that it demonstrates a melancholy and isolating atmosphere. I have created this society along with my character's loss to push her life inside. Today people are more fearful of outside dangers and have the ability to stay home for long periods of time. I was influenced by this new lifestyle that growed during the pandemic and the consequences of it. The purpose of the genre is to explore social anxieties of the time. I think many people are worried about the mental health concerns of increasing isolation and I think this also can be compared to the different mental health issues in Victorian England.
Faulkner, W. (1930). A Rose for Emily. The Forum.
Poe, E. (1845). The Raven. New York Evening Mirror.