Who am I?

Rachel stumbled through the door, slurring words of annoyance and distaste. Her small apartment was tidy, and she fell onto her couch, laughing. With bleary eyes, she observed the room, its cleanliness, but also its shadows. They seemed to sliver, and creep toward her, and she shrunk into the couch with fear. After the shadows returned to their original shapes, Rachel blamed it on her imagination, and went back to staring around her apartment. She lived here with her three-year husband, Timothy, and their bedroom was just through the hall toward the left of the couch. Rachel grumbled, and wished she was back at the club, partying it up with her girls.

Rachel awoke with a start, hearing someone jingling the lock on her door. She sat up slowly, her heart accelerating. She went over to the door, as quietly as possible, and peered through the peep-hole. She stifled a scream, and fell, a dull thump following. What she saw, was nothing short of what nightmares consisted of. It was a cloud of horror, and within it swam horrors unimaginable except in the darkest recesses of the human mind. She scrambled back, her arms propelling her quickly into the bedroom, where she squatted, and locked the door. She curled up in front of it, breathing rapidly and trying to block the sound of the thing scratching its claws along the door. Rachel put her hands to her ears; rocking back and forth and trying desperately to make it all go away. What felt like days, (But really it was only two hours, thirty-seven minutes, and nineteen seconds.), Rachel heard footsteps outside the door.
"Rachel? Are you okay?" Someone's light, luring voice asked from the other side of the door. Rachel's expression became one of a cornered wolf. She stood unsteadily, hissing at the pain of her cramped legs. She went to the door,
"Go away! You can't come in!" She shouted, balling up her fists.
"Rachel? Rachel, what happened? It's Timothy. Come on, open up!" Timothy said, jiggling the door handle and putting his shoulder against the door to try and force it open.
"NO! Stay back! Don't come in!" Rachel shouted, once again digging the heels of her hands into her temples, trying twice as desperately to quiet the rallying voices echoing in her head. Tears began to spill down her rosy cheeks, and she scrabbled at her eyes, scratching the skin surrounding them. She went to the cupboard after Timothy knocked harder, vibrating the whole door frame. She held the small handgun to her chest, cradling it like a mother would a new born child. She clicked off the safety, feeling the power of the gun start to take control. She realized she held something in her hands that she had never held before.
The decision of life and death.
She was the card dealer this time, and things weren't looking good for Timothy.

Timothy had fallen silent, deciding this was some stupid game that Rachel was playing on him. He had moved away from the door so his shadow didn't cast under the doorway. Rachel calmed down, but still held the gun to her chest, for it was her safety. She opened the door a crack, and pressed her face into the crack, silencing her breathing. She screamed when the door was flung open, gouging her cheek, and sending her sprawling to the floor. Timothy advanced through the door, smiling, and laughing. His smile faded for a split second when he saw the gun in Rachel's hand, and then he was falling. His last collective, and understandable words sent such a shock to Rachel's mind, she began screaming.
"H-honey. What have you done?"

The neighbors heard the gunfire, and the screeching. They rushed over, through the unlocked door, and skidded to a halt when they saw a man sprawled in the bedroom doorway, with a bloody shirt, and open, lifeless eyes. The neighbors gathered consisted of an eighty-four year old man, a pregnant woman, and an elderly grandmother. They heard loud heaving coming from the bedroom. The elderly man stepped up, having been a veteran of the Vietnam War; he was used to stepping onto dangerous paths, especially when said danger held a gun. He saw a pitiful sight.

A young, beautiful woman was dry heaving, having already emptied the contents of her stomach onto the beige rug beneath her. Tears were dripping off her nose in a porcelain river. Her mouth was stretched wide open; much like her eyes, and her lush brown hair was stuck to her scalp, making her head appear small. The old man saw a handgun on the floor next to her, and he very slowly lurched for it, and snatched it up. Rachel ignored him; she was dealing with such horrible emotions she felt like tearing her heart out to make them stop. Voices were roaring in her head, shouting things that she couldn't even understand. She screamed, her eyes watering as the pain grew, and finally, she fainted.
Rachel awoke to bright lights shining in her eyes, and she realized that there were deep authority voices drifting to her buzzing ears. She reached up to rub her eyes, but her wrist was caught in an iron grip, and forced back down to her sides. Gradually, panic began to tighten Rachel's chest, and she felt her breathing and heart speed up dramatically. The voices ahead of her grew angrier, and Rachel felt a sudden feeling of weightlessness. She closed her eyes, and focused on her breathing, she didn't want to pass out again. But the first question she wanted to know was what was going on? She remembered laying back shots with Beck and Jess, and then stumbling home.
'That's it! I must have passed out on the couch, and Timothy went and got so worried. Oh, he's a doll...' She thought, and smiled. She would explain everything to the nice people, and then she would be out of the hospital in no time. She suddenly had a fierce need to know what time it was. She had made secret reservations for her and Timothy, for it was their anniversary. She opened her dry, foul tasting mouth.
"Sir? Sir? What time is it?" She croaked, and fell silent when her throat felt like she was swallowing nails. It was as if she had been screaming…
Rachel once again awoke to shining lights, but the weightlessness had gone away, replaced by a feeling of heaviness. She tried to lift her arms, but found that they were cuffed behind her, and she struggled.
"Woah there, Girly. No need to go on and struggle, I don't wanna have to be rough now. Just calm down, breathe slowly, and everything'll turn out right." A soft, country accent said close to Rachel's left ear. Rachel's eyes bugged out when she saw the shadow in front of her, and the man was leading her straight to it! She started screeching, clawing with her hands to try and get away. She screeched louder when the thing smiled, and stretched out a hand.
at is she doing!?"
"I think she's having another episode!"
"Sedate her, sedate her!"
"Oh god, make her stop! She's clawing at her wrists!"
Rachel struggled even more, starting to try and kick. When she turned her head to look at the man, she saw the… Things eyes, right next to hers. She closed her mouth, staring at the thing moving like that of an amoeba. Within the darkness visions, and sounds emitted from it. The most horrible, bone-jarring, blood-curdling screaming started from it, and its bottomless mouth opened widely, and Rachel saw Timothy in its depths, reaching for her.
"Hooooney~ Come here, Hoooooney~ don't you want to love me again? It's our anniversary! Remember Rachel!? OUR ANNIVERSARY! DON'T YOU WANT TO LOOOOOOVE ME AGAIN!?!?!" Timothy's voice grew deeper, darker, and soon, he climbed out of the Things mouth. He stood, blood running down his shirt. "HOOOONEY! DON'T YOU LOVE ME!!?? I LOVE YOU! REMEMBER!?Schnoof!!" Timothy recited something they would say each other in high school when they were too shy to say 'I love you.'
Rachel screamed, shoving the Timothy away, and started running. She couldn't run very fast, and she tripped numerous times because of the binds on her hands.
t her!
"Don't let her escape!"
"You idiots! Go! GO!"
"How did she get off the stretcher!?"
Rachel looked around, confused. After the last voice had shouted at her, everything had gone away. Now, she was simply floating in a white, fluffy matter. She smiled, and batted at the matter as it floated past her. She stretched, her lips curving into a luxurious smile. This… This is what she wanted to be in forever! At the thought, she flexed her muscles, and tried to take a step forward.

Rachel. Do you remember why you're here?" A doctor, in one of those annoying white suits asked, peering at her over the top of his glasses.
"No. You guys don't believe me! I would never have killed Timothy! I TOLD YOU! It was that… That THING! You guys can see it, but you guys won't tell me, because you WANT me to believe I'm crazy! But, HA! I know who I am, and I am most definitely not CRAZY!" Rachel's voice cracked every time she talked, but she wasn't going to show weakness. They were trying to make her show weakness, trying to make her believe that she was crazy! But she would never be crazy. They were all against her! Every single one of them! All those white coats, and their little clipboards. They had cameras implanted in her skin, watching her every movement! And then, when that Thing had killed Timothy, they made it look like she had done it! She growled at the doctor, scratching the soft table in front of her. Her hands were chained to the cushiony chair, making it impossible to stretch her hands anywhere beyond the short table edge in front of her. The doctor frowned, cautious with her words, and her movements.
"Rachel. You can't believe that. You're getting worse; the medications seem to be failing. If you can't get better, we're going to have to give-. Work on it, but if you don't help us, we can't do anything. Don't you understand that?"
"All I understand is that you're trying to tell me I'm crazy! But I'm not. No, you'll never get me. You may be able to convince everyone else, but not me! No! I KNOW I'm not crazy~" She said, and smiled widely at the doctor. The doctor shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and flashed back a pinched grin. Rachel's eyes were still scratched, and her face had grown thinner, while her eyes had started possessing a crazy light in them.
"Rachel. You must STOP this nonsense. It is in your mind! You need to get it through your head, so you can start recovering."
"You know what I say doctor? If I really am crazy, then insanity knows how to party. And I love parties." She grinned, baring her teeth in an almost animal like gesture.

Rachel awoke to her couch, and she sat up, holding her head. She looked around, yawned, and stood up shakily. She went to the bedroom, and lay down on the bed. Rachel stared around, seeming to recognize the place. How was it familiar? She looked at the floor, and was shocked to see something spewing from the floorboards. The heavy scent of rust flooded the room, and Rachel gagged slightly, her eyes rolling around wildly, trying to find the source of the smell. The liquid that was spewing from the floor was congealing into jelly, and Rachel watched in horror as bones began to grow, and form a skeleton underneath the gelatin like substance. Next, red muscles began to lash out across the skeleton, making it appear to be pulsing as blue veins started to pump blood through the body. Bright pink skin began layering itself on, turning darker as the third layer settled.
What stood in front of her now was a faceless woman, with gray hair sprouting off the top of her head. A face slowly filled in, wrinkles, blind eyes, small nose, crooked mouth, and finally, a large scar running down the left side of her face. Rachel screeched, backing against the headboard and clawing at her face. The woman, her mother, stepped forward, her body making sick noises each time she took even the slightest breath. Rachel scratched at her eyes, and screamed loudly. She didn't want this, oh how god knew she didn't want this.

Her mother stopped at the foot of the bed, smiling her toothless smile, and tried to talk.
"Ohhh. Honey, how are you deeear? Still running around with other men? I thought so," her mother hissed, some of the words coming out deformed as her tongue kept twisting. Her mother's knees gave out with a snap, and now Rachel could see only her bright dull eyes staring through her over the top of the blankets. Rachel scrambled over the blankets, gripping the pillow to her chest like a child would a stuffed animal. She bolted for the door, a set expression of dread, and determination masking the true terror in her face. Her mother made a grab for her with long nailed fingers, but Rachel dodged around them, and got to the door, before the Thing was there, breathing the scent of chaos into her face. Rachel stumbled back, and landed on the couch, and felt an instant wetness well up on the parts of her body where she had landed. She reached down quickly to see what this liquid could be, and screamed when her hand came back to her sight crimson coloured. She tried to get up, but the couch had turned to a thousand encircling arms, and she found herself stuck. She struggle, for the thing was getting closer, and closer, and CLOSER.

Suddenly, something in Rachel snapped, and she began to fight with everything she could muster, everything she could use. She got off the couch, and ran right for the thing, her feet acting on their own. She leapt towards its general throat area, and stuck her hands around the sticky liquid. The Thing screeched, and Rachel felt a dull calm float over her body. Hoping that this nightmare was ending, she embraced it, and found out too late what this particular calmness meant.
She was floating again…
This time though, she didn't wake up.