by Sarah V.
Prompt: Unlike regular movies, when this film is watched, it transports the viewer...
|Unlike regular movies, when this film is watched, it transports the viewer to a different dimension. It's a place where most would be frightened. The environment is pitch black and flat. There is no sky, just a vast void. The floor beneath you is like glass, a mirror, but had no reflection.
You are not alone, though.
There are slender, tall, and ghostly white creatures here. They have long limbs that stretch out like spider legs and have these dark as night round eyes. One of them pulled their nonexistent lips back to reveal a shredded, chilling smile. Another follows, along with another and four more. These creatures surround you, watching intently. You can only stare paralyzed with mouth gaping. You sit rigidly as they tower and inched closer. You want to speak but have no voice.
A creature bends low, creaking and groaning to stare you in the eye.
"Hello," they started, their voice is low like a whisper yet hollow.
You try to speak but couldn't formulate a response.
"They're frightened," another spoke.
You stare briefly before chalking up the courage to speak steadily and confidently.
The creatures shredded lips pull back farther, a shrill grating sounds from the darkness of their maw.
"You should be," a third insists as they stooped low.
"Why?" You question unnerved yet intrigued by them.
"We are not what we seem," it answers.
"I don't follow. What are you? Where exactly am I?"
Another grins widely, hunkering. "This is The Other World."
"And we are like you."
You frown, glaring dubiously. "No, you're not."
"You're skeptical of our likeness."
"Do not doubt our similarities, child."
"It's kind of hard not too, considering I am nothing like any of you. I'm not ghoulishly white or have dark circles for eyes. I don't even have those long arms and legs of yours."
One of the ghostly-white figures growls impatiently.
"We were a lot like you before we became what we are now," it argued.
"Okay, then. How?"
It paused with an empty glare.
"The tape... it's cursed."
You blink, once, twice then features slacked and frowns.
The creature of which stooped low earlier sighed heavily.
"There is a film of which transports the viewer to another dimension, child. We were human like you and stumbled upon the tape without knowing the consequences," he explained.
You're brows knit close, and lips skewed. "Consequences? If that's so, then tell me your name."
Their smiles suddenly vanish, returning to their blank and nonexistent mouths.
"I was once named Damian," the stooped creature replies.
"Once you become like us, you no longer have a name. We are simply known as Alternates."
Your brows rose, and eyes widened. "A-Alternates?" You stutter in awe.
"Yes," the creature once named Damian replies sadly.
"Can you not escape?"
The creatures around you stiffened, yet snarled.
"Idiot, child! We cannot leave!"
"Sure, you can."
"You must understand, youngling. Once we became what we are, there is no escaping our hell." Damian spoke urgently.
"Oh, I'm sorry," you murmur, suddenly feeling sympathetic towards the humanoid-like creatures.
You sit there briefly, wondering, and you weren't afraid to speak your mind.
"If this is real, and I can escape before I turn into one of you. Could I destroy the tape to prevent others from?"
"NO! No, you must not destroy the tape either. Doing so will release us from this dark hell. However, we will bring carnage in our wake. We're malicious alternative monsters in the human world."
This bit of news is startling. You tremble from the thought of one entering your world and wreck havoc. You're not even sure what the creatures could possibly do. As you think about it even more, what would happen if you were caught in this realm?
"You must leave, kid," a fourth creature urged gravely.
"It's apparent you watched the film. You must leave."
You audibly gulp, "W-why?"
They grew silent, watching you still. After a long unbearable moment, one speaks.
"You're in danger, young one."
You pause, observing them. "What do you mean? What sort of danger?"
They all turn away from you to a rectangle shape floating in the darkness. Against the black is a slow scroll of small white text. The film you have chosen to watch has ended. You only started watching it several moments ago. How is that possible? You stare dumbfounded yet terrified. What does this mean for you?
You return your gaze on the being confused and growing fearful. "What-what is that?"
"Your TV screen. That is where you came, correct?"
"Um, I," you start only to stop short.
You feel something creeping up your arms. Honestly, it hurts terribly. The pain is a burning, prickling feeling like getting a tattoo with a hot poker. Your fingers grow cold and numb despite the unbearable prickling heat. You glance down to investigate the now increasingly painful feeling. Your eyes widen, and mouth hung open. You stare at your hands as they transition into the chilling ghostly white color and not the fleshy pink. Your fingers have extended into these long, sharp knife-like spindles. You breathe raggedly, and lips tremble as you continued to stare. You can feel your legs beginning to feel the same sensation. You dared not to glance down at them, you will only scream in complete terror.
What- what's happening to me? What's going on? You question yourself, tears brimming your eyes.
One of the ghoulish creatures creeps closer. They tower over your hunched form, watching you begin to change.
"It's happening to another," they speak gravely.
Damian inches himself towards you, coming super close to your frightened face.
"Are you frightened now?" He questions.
You couldn't answer. You can't seem to grasp what is happening before your eyes.
"Your time is limited."
You turn away from your white arms, staring into his darkened gaze. He stares at you despite them lacking actual eyes, Damian's shredded grin gone. All you see is a blank white face with webbed black circles for eyes. A chill runs down your spine.
"Run," he instructs gravelly.
Sensing impending danger, you whirl around in your spot. You sprint towards the screen, tears streaming down your face now, which burned your skin. Your legs buckle underneath you, collapsing to the ground. Even after falling, you return to your feet with a struggle. Your limbs have grown longer with each passing second. Instead of running on two legs, you hunch and run on your hands as well, sprinting like a cheetah.
"Run, child!" One of the creatures yells out, watching you.
"You must return before the credits stop!" Another shouts.
They watched as you struggled to reach the television screen, fearful you won't make it.
"The kid won't make it," an unnamed Alternate comments.
"They will. They must try."
You stumble forward, trying your best to stay upright. The long limps hindered you instead of benefiting. You're not a track runner, nor are you an athlete. You are an average Joe, or Jane, with ordinary friends. Thinking of them made you remember how happy you are in life. You have loving parents who would do anything to ensure happiness and safety for you. You have great friends who are like your second family. You found the ideal job with extraordinary pay and the potential of becoming VP. You even have the perfect life partner who is your soulmate and best friend. You have the life you've always desired. Your ideal world gave you the motivation to run harder. You run as fast as you could, and it seems you're going to make it. You see, the credits moving slow, almost to the last bit. You grin widely, nearing the screen.
Your smile vanished in an instant when the screen flicked into a hairline beam.
Your partner turned the television off.
You collide into the screen, your spindly fingers splay against the glass. Hyperventilating, you stare helplessly at your reflection as the burning, prickling sensation rockets up your body if you were ignited on fire. A blood-curdling scream escapes your lips. Your shout echoes in the vastness of space. The pale white color replaces your fair rosy skin. Your hair grays then falls from your skull, exposing the cranium like a magic trick. Your eyes receded and webbed, transiting from soulful eyes to emptiness. Your mouth even peels and shreds like the others. What came out of your mouth would cause the devil to recoil. Your voice is shrill and grating.
You are one of them now. A figure who can only be seen if watched from outside the screen.
You can only hope no one else will find the film.
What have I done?
Outside the TV screen, the case the movie was in, sat on the coffee table. It's nothing but a black cover with a white typewriter font, "Other World."