-This story is written in response to the creepy pasta book club and inspired by the book. “Them, adventures with extremists”
“Am not crazy” my patient liked to remind me. That meeting would mark the last of the peace and balance my mind possessed. I am Doctor Nathan North, my job was to examine a man named John Bonsaint. Mr. Bonsaint is charged with murder, circumstances of which were described as gruesome to me. I was not to judge John’s innocence but merely if he was mentally fit for trial. Mr. Bonsaint had a long record of paranoia and delusions that range anywhere from men in black suits too Lizard men secretly infiltrating the highest levels of the government.
We spoke in length, however at the time I saw little value in his opinions. He told me he was framed, that he know too much. One cloudy evening he was found by the police in his apartment with the still warm blood of his girlfriend on his hands. Despite my warnings to John that am not a Lawyer or Judge, he rambled on about the affair anyway. “She was already bleeding out when I awoke from a nap. I was trying to help her! But the door, it was unlocked, I always lock the Door!” The Media had already judged John guilty. Uncovering many of Mr. Bonsaint’s online activities. Posting anti government rants and debating the existence of chemtrails were all common. However the most damning of his posts however came just days before the murder.
“My girlfriend…we been dating for a year and a half now. But I don’t know her, I’ve never met her family. She evades questions about her childhood. I thought I loved her….but she always seems to be watching me. Am starting to think…she might be one of them.”
Despite all the delusion and paranoia, I still find John fit for court. He was in no way dangerous, not as restrained as he was. Nor did he seem as if he would hurt himself. He know what was going on, and wished to fight his case in court. He even told me he hoped the judge would allow the media so he can “air all their dirty secrets” once he got his chance on the stand. After bidding him goodbye I happened to notice a man in a black suit signing some kind of paperwork. I couldn’t help but shake my head.
Such was the last of my involvement in the Bonsaint case. The trial date was set, however despite Johns wishes the media’s cameras would have to stay outside. I started to notice things John opened something in me. The way people pretended not to stare at me on the train home, a car with tinted windows I did not recognize sat parked across the street from my house. Even people I passed on the street started to seem suspect to me. I dismissed it all as paranoia at first, but my eyes had been opened and I could not close them again.
I could hear helicopters as I tried to sleep. Every night, they pass over my house. The unmistakable sound of spinning rotors waking me from sleep. Try as I might, I could not spot the copters in the darkness. Were they flying without lights? Spying on my little corner of the city? Or were they spying on me? I tried to question my wife on how she could sleep though such noise, but she refused to acknowledge hearing anything. She had been acting strange ever since the Bonsaint case, and I started to look at her differently.
Researching online I found that I was not alone in my experiences. Others have heard the helicopters and some have even seen them. They called them Black helicopters, the more I researched the more I found others who opened my eyes. I was being watched, perhaps Bonsaint really did know something, so now they are watching me. I made sure to unplug my webcam but still felt eyes on me at all times. Every now and again i see my wife peering into the room, trying to see what I was doing. She has been so odd as of late. I tried to recall how much I know her.
I only have been married to Linda for a year now, and dating for a year before that. Two years, not all that much time in the grand scheme of things. I Had already been a psychologist working for the state. I could feel her eyes on me, watching me always. Who was she? She had been sent to spy on me. I felt used, my life a lie. I was a puppet for someone high on the food chain. How long had they been using me? Influencing me? Using me to deem who is crazy and who is not?
I confronted my “wife.” She denied everything as you would suspect. She quickly made a phone call to someone. Her bosses? My memory of that night stops there. I awoke strapped to a bed. The men in suits watching my every move. I could see the smile on his face when he said I killed her. They set me up, the bastards framed me just like Bonsaint. The men in suites, and Black Helicopters. They control everything, we are all puppets to them. Who lives and who dies, who is crazy and who is not, are all in their control. Before they send me to court they will sit me in front of a nice man with a note pad. As I have done so many times before. I know just what to say to him. “Am not crazy”