For Critique: Parasocial

I took a vacation to Korea in May 2023 and it was amazing! I went as part of a TrovaTrip package with a content creator I admire and had one of the greatest travel experiences of my whole life.

We were a group of around 14 whose only connection was that we all enjoyed the same content. I was an outsider, in that the content revolved mostly around fanfiction and I have never fallen in love with that type of media. But it was suggested that one of us write a horror story inspired by content creation.

I've been struggling with it ever since.

Sitting at just over 2,000 words, this story has already undergone several rewrites and revisions, including one complete overhaul (a tough decision to throw everything away and start afresh) but I'm stuck.

Much like my other story "Crossroads" I know where the story is going, I know how it has to end, but I'm at a loss as to how I get there.

The unnamed POV character is slowly losing his mind as he tries to solve the disappearance of his favourite creator, convinced that something supernatural is responsible. He's right, of course. And the conclusion will be his finding a lonely reddit post from years ago that rambles about exactly the circumstances he's investigating.

The story will end very soon after he responds by saying "I've seen it too."

I know I'm close. So very close. But I'm stuck on how to transition from where the story is, to that finale and would value and esteem any help that the Vocal community is able to give me.

-0-

Story Begins.

Smiling into the camera, she talked about something new on twitter. There was something about her, a tiredness or an anxiety that I could not put my finger on. Maybe I was projecting. But none of that mattered, her words were so much empty space now, a time capsule of entertainment. A frozen moment.

And I was interested in something else.

Ignoring a notification, one of my group chats discussing the string of disappearances, I froze the image on screen and zoomed in on a blur of motion in the background.

Rewind, play. Stop, adjust, rewind, play. Stop, adjust, rewind, play.

There was something there, I had seen it once or twice before but never added two and two together. Maybe it could have been a different video? I opened a new tab and called up the next one in line. A hotel room, beige walls, white sheets, a window into the bathroom set into the back wall above head height. I knew the room, mine had been a copy of it on that very trip what felt like an age before.

My mind wandered as the video played, I wasn’t watching it, not anymore. Another frozen moment, a picture of a time gone by. Her voice faded from my perception, background noise that I could not turn off in case somewhere in it there was a clue. I wondered about the filming and the set up, had she brought a more impressive camera? What about lights? I didn’t know enough about how it all worked, but assumed she must have, and what with the massive suitcases, it only made sense really.

Memory started to take over from the task. Sunlit streets and raucous laughter. A ghost of a smile crawled across my face, mind filled to bursting with bright images of happier times. At the sudden memory of a beloved and dirty inside joke, I reached for my phone but… then reality came crashing down and the smiling face on the screen swam back into focus.

She laughed at something, reacting to art she had found online.

Nothing helpful would come from this one. I reached out to move on to the next legacy piece on the list but froze, eyes locked on the back left corner just behind the pillar. I could have sworn I had seen something, just for the barest moment. A frame? What framerate did she use? Could I even tell the difference between them?

The pillar refused to show me anything new. It kept its secrets, I could almost hear it taunting me. Bad sign if my brain starts to think that something inanimate in a video filmed ages ago could have any intent at blocking me. Rubbing my eyes hard enough to make little grey flecks dance across my vision, I slurped down some Redbull and paused the video. Tracing along the red progress bar at the bottom of the screen until I thought maybe I had found the right spot and…

Play, stop, rewind, zoom in, play. Stop, adjust, rewind, play. Stop, adjust, rewind, play.

I didn’t smile when it saw it. The long, thin, black arm creeping out from behind that pillar. Its murky outline, only visible through the zoom distortion because of its stark nature against the whiteish beige walls. She had had a friend with her on that trip… they’d shared that room… not for the first time I wished for TV’s version of “enhance”, squinted and tilted my head.

Fooling myself. That’s what it was. False hope that maybe, just maybe this was her friend playing some kind of prank, inserting herself into the video. I desperately wanted it not to be true, now that I had the first evidence, but there it was. Too long, too thin. A darkness that almost seemed to suck light into itself.

I marked the video title and timestamp on a notepad beside me and moved on. I knew that, now that I had found it once, it would be easier to find again. Of course, I had to be careful, if I exposed myself to too much of the thing, who knew what might happen.

Since it only made sense that the next video in the archive would show the creature again, I cued it up and watched carefully. Over and over again, finally slowing it down to the point that I moved to mute the audio because the artificial distortion was painful. But just as I reached for my mouse, I froze, hearing something new in the unpleasant white noise.

Frowning, I rewound the video and tried again. The same speed, but volume up. Again there it was, just behind the mess that was her voice at that speed. A sound… a voice? Something discernable in the maelstrom of feedback and distorted words. I tried to watch the whole screen at once as I replayed the section with the sound over and over… and over. Waiting, trying to find some evidence of… it.

Fatigue clawed at the corners of my mind, trying to unravel me. More redbull, that would fix it. I slurped some down, barely even aware of the action, the taste forgotten as soon as felt. The caffeine drove back the need for rest, but not as far for as strongly as it used to; slowly I knew I was losing the battle against sleep but…

Mania drove me, forcing me onward with sharp spurs to my sides. I could not sleep even if I had wanted to. Not since that first viewing, that first time when the image had stuck in my mind. Haunting my dreams with questions and lurking around shadowed corners.

A new notation, and on to the next video.

Rinse and repeat. The same process. Watch and rewatch, listen and listen again. Time after time.

Hours passed and my list of incidents grew steadily longer. My back ached from sitting hunched in my chair, my eyes burned as the sun peaked over the horizon, forearms screamed in protest as I unclenched my hands at long last.

Beside me on the table, beside the empty cans and discarded wrappers, the list seemed to smile at me. It tempted me to continue, telling me that there was still more. That I needed to keep going. Dreading the pain from the action, I raised my hand to grab the mouse but just as I flexed my fingers, another voice spoke out. Calm and reasonable, I could not put a name to it. “Go to bed,” it told me.

It was waiting for me in my dreams.

It drifted behind the heads of the nameless and faceless people I spoke to. Its long, thin, arm inched out, almost slow enough to be invisible, from behind pillars or bookshelves. Images blew by in a flash, people and faces and places that I know or had seen, but always it was there. Lurking in the shadows.

What woke me up, gasping, I’ll never fully remember. The curse of dreams. But I had been talking to a girl with long, dark hair. In the dream I had known her, we were friends. But then she turned, shifted so that her head cast a shadow against her hair, and I saw it. It was smiling at me, I was certain, strands of hair twisting into it too long, too thin arms as it reached across her face towards her mouth.

Some images stick with us forever. A favoured day dream as a child, the sun breaking through the clouds in Paris, a scene out of a nightmare. That image, that frozen moment of the monster reaching out to steal the breath of this nameless, faceless girl, has haunted me ever since that first dream of it.

Knowing that more sleep was impossible, I all but fell into my desk chair. Staring at the screen, I finally switched it on simply to avoid looking at my own tired, defeated reflection in the black monitor face. Work blurred together; meaningless meetings, pointless spreadsheets, people who’s bland smiles drilled straight to the center of a steadily growing headache.

Did they not know what I had seen? How could they live their lives without knowing what was out there… how could I have?

In the middle of a meeting about quarterly reports, my hands started shaking. I begged leave, said something vague about not feeling well, and left before their empty good wishes could leave their lips. Desperate for something to hold onto, I dropped my head into my hands and gripped my hair, pulling until the pain brought me halfway back to my senses.

My mind was full of images, half-noticed and ignored shadows behind the heads of vloggers and streamers. The vacant, distracted looks of people who’s smiles suddenly rang hollow as an open cave. They all knew, on some level, they could feel it hanging over their shoulder, waiting for its chance to reach out and…

And what?

Hands freezing in mid-tremble, I raised my head and stared at my reflection in the lifeless computer screen. The space behind me was empty… of course it was, no one knew or cared who I was… there was nothing I could do to… to what? What did it want?

Grunting with the effort, feeling the weight of fatigue pulling at my hands, I heaved myself to my feet and stumbled into the kitchen. Food, I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten anything more substantial than a cliff bar. Could the human body survive on something that managed to taste like wet chalk?

Bare shelves shone out of the fridge at me when I opened it. Clean, clear, sparkling, empty. There was nothing, not even expired milk.

I slumped into a chair and pulled my phone out with shaking hands. It was a terrible decision, really. I could just bite the bullet and leave my apartment, drive to the store and – but my fingers had already ordered Shanghai noodles. The damage was done. I could worry about financial responsibility when I got answers… when I could sleep.

Of their own volition, my hands opened a messaging app and I read through the past three days worth of group chats without really seeing them. People asked a few times if I was alright, how I was holding up, all the polite nothings that they always ask. But I did not answer them. I could not, when I tried to type a response my mind went suddenly and studiedly blank.

Some of them, well, one in particular, was talking about the disappearances. One in particular. They speculated, worried, and tried to come up with answers. All of the levity was gone. I don’t remember what exactly they said, but they were wrong. I knew that in my heart… no in my very soul. But what could I do? How could I possibly tell them what I knew. What would they think… what would they do?

With affected force of intention, I clicked the side button and put my phone to sleep.

A shriek tore its way out of my throat and I spun, letting the phone clatter to the floor. I gripped the ladderback of the chair, gasping, my heart thundering in my ears.

Nothing stood behind me. But I could have sworn, just behind, reaching out a long thin hand, hovering just over my shoulder. It was so close! How could it simply be… gone? I lurched out of my seat and nearly tore the fridge door off its hinges. But it was as empty. Just the same as before.

Shaking my head, I picked up my phone and swore. The screen cracked when I dropped it. Though, if I held it just so… just as I had been holding it before, then that crack waited just over my right shoulder. A spider web of fracture lines springing from one spot, the spot. I looked closer, hoping I would see nothing. Hoping I would.

Of course nothing showed. Only my own eye reflected back at me, broken into a dozen shards by the shattered glass. I slumped back into my chair, the sudden rush of adrenaline fleeing my system and leaving me hollowed out. Empty and weightless. As though I might float away.

Maybe I just needed sleep.

I barely remember eating the food I ordered when it arrived. Tasteless nutrients. My mind trapped in an endless loop of her videos. The ones where I had seen it, lurking in the shadows.

Draft ends.

-0-

So you see, or rather so I hope you see, it's nearly ready. Maybe another 1,500 or so words. One solid writing session if I'm in fine form that day. But I'm stuck and have been stuck at this one spot for weeks.

No sentence I write works exactly how I want it to. None of the words I add feel like they fit.

This is driving me up the wall, almost mad at times.

Looking forward to any comments you might have for me :)

Lots of love,

Alex

Complete story here:

*Content advisory: This is a horror story designed to be as scary as I could make it. Reader discretion is advised.

I hope you enjoy :)