Jump Rope
by rainxface

The main character of this story originally had schizophrenia, but looking back on the symptoms of different disorders, I realized he’s actually had psychosis. These two are easily confused. But in schizo-phrenia, the patient does not go into an alternate universe, whereas psychosis patients often mix up their realities with their fantasies.

And as a warning, as I was writing this, I would occasionally receive unpleasant nightmares. Do not read with a weak mind right before sleep.

I clutched my heart. Quickly, I recalled my day: I woke up, ate breakfast, got dressed, and went to work. Nothing out of the norm. And yet, everything felt wrong now. My shirt that I was sure was yellow was now purplish; my black shoes changed to red; somewhere behind me, I heard someone tsking at me; and if I weren’t in so much pain, I’d bite that person’s head off.

And then it was over. The pain was gone, my outfit was the right colors, and no one was tsking behind me. I let go of my chest. Quickly checking for any witnesses of my outburst – to my relief there were none – I walked out to the general men’s department. As I reorganized the racks of clothing, I could easily feel my agateophobia starting to rest in the front of my mind.

Fear of insanity – that’s what most call it. Was it possible for me to go insane? That I was just imagining the tsking, the changing clothes, and the pain? Yes. Isn’t it possible for anyone to be driven to insanity by their own freaked out mind? Also yes. So I had basically everything to fear.

Randall, my boss, was the first to consult me.

“Are you alright, Charlie?” He had asked not too late after my return to the department. I was sweating vigorously and was out of breath.

“Totally fine,” I replied, rubbing my eyes to try and stay awake in his presence.

“Are you positive? Do you need to go home and lay down for a bit?”

“No. I’m fine here.” I resisted the urge to yawn.

“Okay, back to the floor, Charlie.” Randall pat my shoulder and turned away. I turned to the floor and dizzily found where I had left off.

“Charlie…” I turned to face who said my name.

But there was no one. Just the clothes piled one next to the other on the metal racks. I shuddered, shaking off the creepy feeling before it was too well-known.

“Charlie…” it hissed again. This time, I noticed that it sounded like a small child. Whether a boy or a girl, I could not tell.

I dug through the racks, checking for any little punk trying to scare me. But every time I moved the clothes, no such child was found.

“Charlie...come and find me. I want to play a game.” I spun all the way around. The store was as clear as any clothing shop on a Tuesday morning could be. As it hissed my name once more, I swore vulgarly under my breath. I pulled at my hair and looked at the clock.

Two more hours…you can do this, Charlie, I told myself sheepishly. For some odd reason, this made me even more uncomfortable and break into a cool sweat. The eerie feeling of someone watching the back of me set uneasy movements to my stomach did not help

“Charlie? Why did you stop looking for me?” I gasped and my breath refused to return to natural pattern.

“Who the heck are you? Why do you want to play with me?” I asked through clenched teeth. My lips formed a straight line, and my eyes closed. I vaguely felt my hands curl into tight fists. I didn’t notice the other employee walking up to me.

“Are you okay, man?” It was Charlotte. Her voice was thick and deep, but not unpleasantly so. I snapped my eyes open, meeting her green eyes level. As she waited for my reply, she played with her short brown hair.

“Yeah. Actually…no. No, I’m not okay. Could you find someone to fill in for me? I’m sure Robert would.” Without another word, I sulked away, putting away my nametag and keys in the back room. I could hear Charlotte talking to Robert on the phone in the room over. Walking out the back door, I quickly found my beat-up old car.

I was back out, swiftly checking my rearview mirror. What I saw almost made me crap myself.

“Charlie? Why are we leaving the store so soon? We had two more hours of play in there.” The voice was unison to the little boy’s in my backseat moving lips. But that wasn’t the most frightening part.

The boy was no older than nine, most likely, though the scars and bruises trailing across his pale body tried to mature his age. He was dressed in night clothes, but blood stains took over most of them. His sandy hair was also full and matted with the crimson liquid.

“Charlie? What are you staring at? Do I look funny?”

I hadn’t even noticed I was staring. I removed my eyes from his clothes to his eyes. I almost want to scream at the sight; black sockets with red all around them were in place of his would-be eyes.

I quickly turned around, facing out the front windshield. My breath became sharp, the cold sweat returning. I clutched the steering wheel fiercely with all my strength.

“Charlie?”

I didn’t turn around.

“Char–”

“Go away!” I growled. When I turned around, the child was gone, no trace of him ever coming by.

Disbelief, I rubbed my eyes many times. Still the boy thing did not return.

I sighed and turned to back out again.

“Charlie, why don’t you like me?”

The boy was squeezed between the front of my car and the back of the building. I swore again and stepped on the gas to leave it behind.

I found pleasure in watching Happy Days. Everything in my life was zoned out except for the buzzing screen. I must have stayed watching the show for a long time because the first time I checked my clock, it read 6:31 pm. My stomach roared loudly. I sighed and walked over to the refrigerator.

“Probably going to be mold everywhere,” I grumbled, swinging open the creaky door.

“Sorry, Charlie. There’s not edible food in here today.” I shrieked horrendously as the massacred boy appeared in the cold box. And then he vanished. Like nothing had happened.

Then I noticed something moving, in the very back corner of my fridge. It was white fuzz. It grew and grew fast. I watched, stunned as all the food, containers, and everything else was slowly swallowed by the gross fur. Finally, it registered in my mind to close the door to stop the fuzz from growing outside of my fridge.

I walked away to rest my head in my hands.

“Are you okay, Charlie?”

“Oh my, gosh! Who are you? What do you want from me?” I screamed. I tore away my hands to face the boy. Only this time, the boy wasn’t there. Instead, in his spot was a girl, perhaps a twin, just as equally bloody. Her eyes, too, were the deep empty black with surroundings of red.

“I’m not here to harm you, Charlie,” the girl spoke calmly, impassively.

“We’re here to play with you.” The little boy from before appeared next to her. The two standing side by side brought out their similarities that much more. Their eyeless socket placement, their bloody ears, their hair color, their height. Twins, no doubt anymore.

“What do you want to play?” I finally gave in, my heart still racing, though. At the serenity of my voice, the children smiled. Rotting baby teeth.

“Let’s play jump rope!” squealed the girl. The boy, just as enthusiastic as her, agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “We’ll have to play out back, alright?” Mischievous grins covered their lips. Daringly, I didn’t ask what they were up to.

We walked to the sliding door to the backyard. I opened the door for them to walk out before me. What lay behind the door excited the kids. Lava spat everywhere and small ledges of land to walk on were haphazardly placed. The children appeared overjoyed; I was completely lost on how such a thing could happen.

I closed the door and opened it again.

Still the results stayed as were.

“Silly Charlie,” the girl snickered. “This is your backyard. That area right there is where we’ll jump rope.” I stared at the petite sliver of land that she had pointed to. It looked almost impossible to reach. Alas, the boy started walking on the small ledge. Half-way across, he yelled to me that it was easy and to start walking. I gulped and started across.

It wasn’t as easy for me. Every couple of steps, I’d lose my footing and I’d almost fall straight into the boiling magma. Luckily, the girl caught me every time I almost fell.

“How’re we supposed to play if we don’t have any rope?” We were at the slightly larger land mass. It wasn’t as big as I’d prefer it to be, but it was better than the dreaded ledge.

“Oh, but there is, Charlie,” said the girl.

“You just have to wait a few minutes,” the boy finished.

And surely within five minutes, a tan rope, thick and perfectly unused, materialized on the large, yet still too small, ledge. The kids grabbed either ends of the rope and stood across from each other, me in the middle of the two.

Suddenly, the rope began to swing, side to side, tapping on my ankle, 1…2…3. Slowly, it circled over my head. I jumped as it came around.

“Wow, I haven’t done this in the longest time,” I said, catching onto the even rhythm. The twins failed to hold back their laughs well. “Hey, I’m doing good, aren’t I?”

I spoke too soon.

I was perfectly fine with the original rhythm, but the twins were not. Gradually, the rotations turned faster, trickier. I barely kept pace with the rope.

I did want to stop, but if I did, I didn’t know whether they’d let me go, make me continue, completely scare me, or kill me. I really didn’t want to find out. I kept jumping the rope. And still, it got faster.

I was doing fine, so far.

And the rope was still gaining speed.

“Pretty soon you might trip,” the boy taunted.

“Or run out of energy,” the girl chimed in.

Pretty soon I might punch you two in the face.

But the girl was right. I was getting tired and breathless. I didn’t say anything, though; to tell them I was running out of energy was like surrendering while winning the battle.

The next circle I almost tripped on the rope, sending a round of giggles through the kids. My arm flailed, but I quickly regained my balance.

“Told you so,” the boy smirked.

“How much longer must I go for?” I asked, trying to hide my breathlessness as I jumped again.

“Just until you fail.”

“And then what happens?” I almost didn’t want to know.

“Many things. Many unpleasant things.” I almost tripped again, sending the twins into a round of laughter. I swore under my breath to them.

And then the next time around, I did trip. My chin scraped the rocky ground, allowing me the feeling of freshly exposed blood to register in my mind. Pain raced through my body as the rest of it fell to the ground. I felt my palms crash against the rocks; they were sure to be a bit scraped.

“Now you get to know.” The twins picked me up and dragged me away from the jump rope. A new, dank room began to appear before me. The mist, sticky as I was already, became the glue between the rocks and my skin.

“What are we going to play now?” I asked, straining my voice from quivering. The twins started chaining my hands to ropes against the wall. I was half lying on the ground, half sitting up. My arms were far above my head. Both of them wore grim smiles.

“We’re going to play the best game in the world,” said the girl. She tilted her head to the side and still her smile bore on. She finished tying her side of the rope to the wall and stood in front of me. Her arms were behind her back and she rocked back and forth on the heels and balls of her feet. “Is everything ready?”

Her twin nodded.

Together, they walked briskly back to my sides. The boy took out a small jump rope from his sleeve, keeping one end to himself and handing the other side to his sister.

“Don’t worry; it won’t hurt for long.”

Reports from the local police enforcement have yet to release any further information regarding the death of Charlie Maxwell a little over a week ago. Although, they have confirmed it was a suicide committed in Maxwell’s bedroom with a child’s jumping rope. The motivation behind it is unknown.

Charlie Maxwell lived a normal life: a good job, no debt to pay, constant communication with his parents, and a nice home. The last person to see Maxwell before his passing was friend employee Charlotte Kang. “He was really sweaty and out of it,” Kang recalls from her last talk with him. “He just left work, asked me to call someone to cover for him, and zoomed away in his car.”

“I called him everyday, talking to him about how things were going. He never had anything horrible happen to him. He was ecstatic the day he earned his job and bought his house. I can’t imagine him not telling me anything,” cries his mother, Mrs. Maxwell. “I just don’t understand it.”

Further information will be released later this week.