Hunter lives a “Normal Life,” but below the surface exist different paradigms.
As long as he and those closest to him can remember, he has always had a habit
of performing certain routines or rituals for little things.
He was diagnosed with OCD at age eight.
Working through therapy, he was able to overcome the more intrusive impulses.
Eventually, as he neared adulthood, his tics became less apparent.
Morning Routines:
BEEP!
Hunter quickly hits the off button—one, two, three times—
Rising out of bed, he walks to the light switch and flips it—on, off, on—
before rushing to the bathroom so as not to be late for work.
Arriving at the bathroom door, Hunter—opens, closes, opens—
the door. In the mirror, his reflection convulses,
unseen in the dark.
He flicks the light switch—on, off, on—
To him, his tics are inherent.
Grasping the doorknob, he—closes, opens, closes—
the door before urinating, after which he flushes—one, two, three—times,
then grabs the shower handle—on, off, on—
He waits for it to reach the ideal warmth.
He undresses and steps into the perfectly lukewarm mist.
An exact three minutes and he’s clean; he turns the shower—off, on, off—
and steps out. His left hand grabs the neatly draped towel from the hanger
and he dries off before taking his folded outfit from the shelf
with his clothes neatly arranged for the week.
With his left hand, he grabs his toothbrush from the sink.
His right hand squeezes toothpaste onto his brush; he turns the faucet—on, off, on—
It takes him exactly two minutes to brush his teeth.
He turns the water—off, on, off—
and uses his left hand to grab the comb from the medicine cabinet.
He grooms his hair for precisely thirty seconds
until it’s exactly the style he prefers.
He—opens, closes, opens—
the bathroom door and heads to the kitchen.
In the mirror, his reflection is unmoving with a grin upon its face.
Monday morning means cereal for breakfast; he grabs the box and pours a bowl,
filling it exactly halfway.
He then—opens, closes, opens—
the fridge and grabs the milk,
pouring until it reaches the top of the cereal before putting the milk away.
He—closes, opens, closes—
the fridge and sits at the table and eats.
Five minutes and he’s done;
he walks to the kitchen sink and turns the water—on, off, on—
and washes and rinses his dishes, then turns the water—off, on, off—
before proceeding to the front door
where he puts on his shoes and grabs his wallet and keys.
He—opens, closes, opens—
the front door and steps through,
then turns around and—closes, opens, closes—
the door and—locks, unlocks, locks—the door,
before making his way to work.
Work:
Anxiety sets in as he punches into work.
“You can only clock in once,” he tells himself to overcome his urge.
He sits at his desk and logs into his workstation before starting his calls.
After each call, he takes the phone and—puts it down, picks it up, and puts it down—
Hunter loops the ritual until 2:00 PM, when he clocks out for lunch.
Hunter sits in the break room about to eat his ham-and-cheese sandwich,
his usual Monday lunch, when his boss enters.
He asks Hunter, “How are you today?”
to which Hunter replies, “Good.”
His boss tells him, “Your sales have far exceeded company expectations!”
Hunter smiles and nods.
His boss then asks, “Would you be willing to work a little later?”
Hunter tells his boss, “Of course, no problem.”
“Thank you, Hunter. Keep up the extraordinary work!!!” his boss says before leaving.
Hunter places his sandwich down and gets up;
in his mind, he frets about the departure from his routines and schedule.
He steps into the bathroom to use a breathing exercise to ease his thoughts,
then turns the sink—on, off, on—
and splashes water on his face.
He turns the sink—off—…
The door opens suddenly as a co-worker walks in;
Hunter quickly grabs a paper towel to dry his face
and returns to his desk to finish his shift.
It’s 8:00 at night when he clocks out and goes home.
Nighttime Rituals:
Hunter arrives home and pulls his apartment key out
before—unlocking, locking, unlocking—
his front door and—opening, closing, opening—
it. He then steps inside and—closes, opens, closes—
the door and finally—locks, unlocks—…
TICK-PING.
His key suddenly snaps.
Hunter silently curses and slides the chain lock into place;
he would have to make a note to call his landlord and replace the key in the morning.
On a normal Monday evening, he’s home by 5:30 PM.
He would be eating dinner, relaxing for a few hours
before brushing his teeth, changing into pajamas,
and going to bed.
Tonight he is home at nearly 9:00 PM.
Hunter feels physically and mentally exhausted.
He walks over to his couch and slumps down onto it.
CRASH!!!
Hunter suddenly sits up, alarmed by the startlingly loud noise.
Looking at his phone, he sees that it’s nearly midnight.
He rises from the couch as his anxiety spikes
from the rapid series of changes to his routines.
He walks slowly to the bathroom to see what caused the abrupt clang.
He—opens, closes, opens—
the bathroom door, then turns the light—on, off, on—
The shelf with his neatly folded outfits is toppled over,
his laundry now in complete disarray on the ground.
He curses at himself for believing he somehow caused the accident.
Bending down, he starts picking everything up and refolding it
while his reflection grins.
Satisfied with the shelf and laundry being back in order,
Hunter turns the light—off, on—…
“Did I just see something moving in the mirror?” he asks himself.
“No, I’m just tired and mentally worn out.”—off—
Hunter exits the bathroom and—closes—…
The light turns—on, off, on—
Hunter is nervous; his anxiety is already on edge.
He hesitates before grabbing the doorknob and slowly—opening—…
The door is forcibly swung open, his grip on the knob lost.
Hunter stands in the doorway as the light turns…off.
Standing shrouded in darkness, Hunter starts having an anxiety attack.
“Turn the light on, Hunter! Just reach in and turn the light on,”
he chants in his mind, trying to calm himself.
“Just take deep breaths”—one, two, three—…
Stretching his arm into the darkness, he reaches blindly for the switch.
An unseen force pulls Hunter into the shadows.
BOOM!!!
The door violently—closes—…
Hunter screams, lost in darkness…
A Typical Tuesday Morning:
BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!
Hunter lazily hits the snooze button.
“I’ll sleep for a little longer,” he tells himself before rolling over and snoozing.
Bzzzzz, bzzzzz… Hunter grabs his vibrating phone and answers, “Hello.”
His boss replies, “Is everything okay?”
Hunter is nearly two hours late, which is a first for him.
Hunter tells his boss, “I’m feeling under the weather and won’t be in today.”
Slowly rising from bed, he lets out a big yawn
before turning the light on and opening his door to go to the bathroom.
He walks right into the bathroom, the door left open, the light left on,
passing the shelf by the sink with his clothes messily draped over it.
He glances at his unkempt self in the mirror and laughs
as his reflection silently screams and bangs on the glass
—one, two, three—times…
This intriguing story kept my attention all the way to the end. I always attempt to place myself in the main characters shoes, and from that perspective I did indeed feel the discomfort you hoped to portray. Hunter’s repetitive habits set the stage perfectly and gives the reader an inside view of OCD. At the end you give us an interesting little morsel of curiosity that leaves us with thrilling questions. Is Hunter Schizophrenic too? Was there a ghost or other entity in his mirror, waiting for the right moment? Most importantly, are you going to write a follow up? Riveting and well written.
Clay