Don't Remember

I stare at the screen of my laptop, the radiating light hitting my eyes harder now that I’ve been sitting here working on a video for more than 2 hours straight. My fingers hover over the keypad, knowing exactly which keys to press by how many times I’ve done the same kind of edits and shortcuts time and time again. The multitude of sticky notes pasted on my wall didn’t help speed up the process, even with all the memos that I wrote to remind myself so I wouldn’t take this long to finish up a video. With eyes glued to the screen, I search for the soda can that I remember putting nearby as my right-hand clicks away at the screen, dragging and trimming clips; all those repetitive clicks that I do daily to make the video more entertaining, so to speak, for people to enjoy and watch longer.

After a few seconds, I couldn’t feel where the soda can was supposed to be, so I paused to peek at my desk, and the number of random items scattered did not give me motivation, not even the slightest. A styrofoam cup I recycled into a pen holder stands in the middle of the table surrounded by crumpled paper, rubber bands, and envelops. I say recycled, but more like too-lazy-to-organize-my-things, so I grab anything I can to show what my lethargic-self could call "organized." I saw the drink all the way by the corner of the table, behind a jungle of electronic wires that I have yet, but might never sort out. I open the can then a soft sizzle whispered, must have been left out too long that it lost the refreshing pop I hear in commercials.

I review the sticky-note-plastered wall to read details I should remember about the video I’m making. It takes a few seconds for my vision to adjust in the dimly lit room, so far from the bright screen I’ve been staring at for a while.

I turn to my left to review the sticky-note-plastered wall with the details for the video I’m making. Turning back to the screen, it took me a few seconds for my vision to readjust in the dimly lit room; so far from the bright screen, I’ve been staring at for a while.

Be sure to place a cold open clip of entering the haunted house before the intro. Double check for typos!

eerie music suits the story telling part. :D

A ton of notes scattered all over the wall that if I were to read every one of them, it’d take me twice as long to make a video, but it’d be a lot better; quality over quantity isn’t something I can afford to do as I have a tight schedule. A month isn’t even enough for me to travel to some haunted place all the way to Kreftlon and endure the 3-hour train ride, but if that’s what I have to do to pump out the content that people love to watch so much, then ‘just endure the little complaints in your head’ is what I’d always tell myself. But amongst all those memos, one of them stood out to me. The note was placed in the very middle of the wall, with a space between this particular one and the others.

Is the supernatural real?

Written on what seemed like a paper ripped out from a metal spring notebook and fastened on with a thumbtack, it stuck out like a sore thumb. A constant reminder of what I’m working on, the search for whether or not the superstitious sayings are just sayings.

It’s a vague question that I try to answer in every video; spoiler: I haven’t. Yet the people devour the mysteries I explain in every video, whether the case is conclusive or not. I presented an unexplained death that happened six decades ago and the only speculations that remain up until now are rumors about the paranormal, that’s why people back in the day decided to close up this event, with a ghost. I can say with confidence that I’m a skeptic until proven wrong. I still believe that these haunted places and these ghostly experiences are just trickery of the mind. I let out a deep sigh, finally getting some rest after that unhealthy dose of slouching. You’d think I’d get used to doing these long strenuous hours of poor posture and eye fatigue, but I never do and I don’t think I’ll be getting used to it any time soon.

I turn to check the time on my phone, 9:47 pm. Time for dinner and just like always, I didn’t prepare anything to eat. I grabbed my jacket and wore it over my baggy wrinkled shirt with the sweatpants that I wear when I don’t feel like being presentable, or just not caring how I look.

I went out, walked the quiet streets of Barlon, the lights flickering in the stores closing up as I walk past them, people walking home and walking to work fill the boulevard with chatter and liveliness amid the calm air. The plethora of fairy lights that entwined every lamp post helped make the atmosphere feel more enchanting than creepy, which is ironic given what I do. I should be used to the creepiness, but it’s not my cup of tea to see a dimly lit street at the dead of night. As I walked, I took off my jacket when I started to sweat. It’s hotter tonight that I expected it to be. I stop in my tracks as I near the cafe that’s just two blocks away from my house, anticipating the cool air that will hit me once I open the door. Going here is one of the many things I do to eat; as it might be the closest thing to a home cook meal.

Arcanus abyan.

It’s a weird name for a cafe I admit. I spend most of my time responding to random strangers online and I, for sure, have seen weirder names like magical_fetus or peepee_cosplay. Goodness, who knows what they had in mind when they put those names on the internet for the world to see, but to each their own. As soon as I open the door, I call the attention of a large dog at the corner of the cafe. It stood up very slowly and sat in front of me. I enjoy the company of dogs but this mutt is frighteningly huge, he’s as big as a wolf. He came close and started to sniff me out, my whole body went stiff, eyes shut, “Please don’t bite me,” I chanted in my mind.