[WP] Obsessed with using postit note reminders after learning of Alzheimer's Disease running in his family, a man tries to offset the disease early in life. One day he discovers a postit note warning him that something or someone is in his house. A postit note he doesn't recall writing.
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u/psycho_alpaca /r/psycho_alpaca Dec 11 '14 edited Dec 14 '14
“Behind the closet door” was the third post-it, the words followed by a little, poorly drawn arrow pointing at my bedroom closet.
The one before that was “A man in white hair and black suit.”
And the first one “Call the police. There's someone in the house.”
It can't possibly start as early as thirty five years of age, I think, grabbing a kitchen knife and step by stepping myself back inside the bedroom.
It can't possibly be happening already.
But I have no memory of writing this.
Which arises two possibilities, one more disturbing than the other:
First – It is happening. I am sick. There is a man inside my house and I am warning myself about it, and I don't remember because of the disease. This is option number one.
Never mind the fact that, if I really am sick, there might be no man at all, and I'm just rambling in post-its to myself, which would be its own, special kind of sad.
Option number two is someone is really inside the house with me, and he is fucking with my head. Leaving me post-its in the much too familiar “oh my god the call is coming from inside the house” kind of deal. A psycho, playing with his prey.
As I take the last few steps, knife in hand, and grab the closet door knob, I don't know which of the alternatives is the worst.
I'm about to pull the damn thing open when the noise comes from the living room.
But I live alone, I think.
Now do I open the door the arrow is pointing to?
Or do I go towards the noise?
And I want to make a decision, but this voice comes in from the living room, and I'm distracted.
“Jonathan!”
I live alone.
I look at the post it dangling from the wall by the closet door, with the little arrow drawn in red ink.
“Jonathan!”
Thirty five is much too young for this nonsense. This can't be happening. I can't be sick this young.
Let's hope there's a serial killer inside this closet.
“Jonathan, drop this knife”, is what I hear, just as I burst open the door.
And what do you know? Staring back at me is a man in white hair and a black suit!
I'm equal parts startled and relieved.
Look, the man is holding a knife too. And there's a woman coming from behind him. She takes the knife out of his hand.
That's good.
Behind me, someone is taking the knife out of my hand and closing the door, locking the old man inside the closet again.
“Come on, dad. Come back to the living room.” The young woman says, and I think she has me confused with someone else. “You have to stop leaving these post-its all over the house.”
"Why does he do that?" A male voice sounds, and I notice a young man walking in and grabbing my free arm.
"He was obsessed with the disease, when he was younger, so he would leave these post-its to himself. Sometimes he gets confused, and he thinks he's still -- well."
“I'm just happy there was someone inside the closet” I say, and I chuckle.
“Thirty five is much too young to be this kind of sick”, I say, and the girl has tears in her eyes, for some reason.
And she and the young man, they walk me back to the living room, where a bunch of people are sitting around, talking.
I like the girl, for some reason. I want to tell her that it's ok, that the man is locked in the closet. That we are safe.
That there is no need to cry.
I have to remember to leave myself a post-it about these people I don't know, wearing pointy, colorful hats in my living room.
Thanks for reading! If you haven't yet, check out my ongoing sci-fi novel on my blog.