This is my attempt of writing a crazy, bizarre and suspenseful story. I will be writing this as a fun thing - I don't care if you think it's a terrible story, it's being written for fun. So if it IS bad, that's because I'm doing this for my own amusement and seeing where my imagination leads me. Let's get started.

Chapter One

It wouldn’t be the same, Sylvester thought to him, writing an email to his counselor. Sylvester was prone to many weird experiences. Many of which were tense and deep, many of them having little need or worth.
In addition to all of those issues combined, Sylvester is schizophrenic, and has a difficult time telling whether or not what he sees is the truth or not.
That’s one thing that always interested Sylvester, the truth. Throughout his whole life, he’d been lied to and manipulated. He’s recently turned twenty-three and has had enough. He made an appointment with a counselor that evening, a person named Mr. Isaac West, a well renowned therapist.
Sylvester was unsure if he should meet with him, after all. Sylvester didn’t understand exactly why he was debating this several minutes before going into his first meeting, but hey – what the hell, he thought.
He quickly saw Isaac West approach him, to which he stood up and shook his hand.
“Nice to finally meet you, Sylvester,” He said.
“Yeah… nice to meet you too,” He replied.
West made a ‘follow me’ hand motion, and led Sylvester to a room isolated from the lobby they were just in. The room they entered had a maroon carpet, with cyan-like walls, with various posters and pictures about. There was even a bookshelf and a desk with a couple of chairs.
Sylvester took a seat and crossed his legs, and watched as West took a seat.
“So Sylvester,” he began, pouring a cup of coffee. “It’s come to my attention through our talks you’re going through a bit of a rough patch?”
Sylvester nodded, quickly responding with: “Absolutely,”
“Why? What’s gotten you so…. Ruffled these last few years?”
Sylvester bit his lips, being careful of how to word this. He had to think about it a little bit before he decided what to say.
“Sylvester?” He asked.
“I’m thinking.”
“How about you tell me about the day it all started to happen?”
Sylvester started to nod. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”
“Have at it, then,” He said.
Sylvester let out a sigh, and positioned himself in the chair. He was preparing his thoughts. He blinked and let in a breath. The story was about to begin. It was a long, crazy tale.
It isn’t every day I hadn’t thought of my condition, being schizophrenic. I had numerous experiences where I had to truly think and see if this was reality or not. Sometimes, it was as though my condition was so bad that it helped me become crazy.
The first realization came October 3rd. I was hanging out with my friend Chester, Ernest and Christopher. We were a tight group of friends. One of our usual activities included meeting every weekend at my house, playing on my Wii U. We were avid Smash Bros. players.
This night, was different than others. Chester brought his girlfriend Tina and Christopher brought his boyfriend, Chuck. I was the odd one in the group. They didn’t know I was schizophrenic, and that I had an interesting childhood. I am… very interested into science you could say – reading too. A book that absolutely fascinates me was Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. If you hadn’t read it, you’re missing out on a damn good book. The creation of Victor Frankenstein’s creature was a definite highlight of the story. It was dragged out a bit, with lengthy wordings, similar to how most of my tale will go.
The idea of creating a creature was inspiring to me. I would never actually go through with it though. I had little knowledge of the human body and how to piece things together, so that’d be out of question.
Anyway, we’re all playing Smash Bros, a game that we worship to the heavens. We each go to individual websites and post news about it. We four are the greatest Smash Bros players in our state, the state of Louisiana – at least I think it was Louisiana.
It wasn’t until the night had ceased, that things got to get bizarre. Everyone stayed over; however Ernest was the only person who had left.
It was the middle of the night, and it was dark. His room was pitch black. I knew that Chester and Tina weren’t there, they probably wanted to go off somewhere else. I had an uncomfortable stirring feeling in my stomach that night. Something was bound to happen. I felt incredibly exhausted, although I don’t exactly recall why. We just played Smash Bros, and we didn’t do anything super athletic that would make me feel exhausted.
There was a scream. I hopped out of bed, and went to my cupboard that was beside my bed, pulling out my berretta. I ran out of my room and heard muttering, like someone was freaking out. It was in my living room. I ran in and looked at my floor. Chester’s body was awkwardly twisted, and he kept twitching. Tina on the other hand was nowhere to be seen, say for a couple of her hairs.
I looked up from the floor and saw a cloaked figure suddenly standing in front of me. I pointed my berretta at him.
“Who are you? And what did you do to Chester and Tina?” I shouted.
He shrugged, and whirled his own weapon – a magnum in his hand.
“WHAT. DID. YOU. DO.” I repeated myself.
“Eh… let’s just say Tina won’t be waking up anytime soon.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Simple…. Check the bathroom.” He said.
I couldn’t leave though. Chester’s body was awkwardly bent, and I couldn’t go anywhere. Then I heard a bang. Not like a gunshot bang, but rather a door being open. Ernest was there with a double barrel.
“Sylvester, go to the bathroom. I’ve got things here.” He said.
I nodded a thanks, and the man looked at me funny. I left the room and went to the bathroom, and I saw Tina in the bathtub. Her body seemingly fine – but she was definitely out of it. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I quickly grabbed my phone and dialed 9-1-1, letting the police know a person is at my house, and my friend is in a bath tub, unconscious.
Upon entering my room, I woke up Christopher and Chuck, telling them to escape through the backyard window, debriefing them of what’s happening.
They soon left and rushed back to the living room, my gun drawn again. However it was empty, say for Chester’s body. There were several signs of break in that were shown, I quickly realized. But the biggest issue is this – Ernest and the cloaked man were gone.
All that was there when the police arrived was a note, written in blood. It said…
“You’re next…”