Laughter

Laughter knocks the air out of your lungs and fills the space with these cackling sounds, lovely, lovely sounds. Sometimes something makes them laugh so hard their human body breaks in half and convulses. Laughter makes them loose control of themselves. Isn't it the best way to make their human minds scream?

Isn't laughter great?

Statement by Victor Gatle regarding uncontrollable laughter and stalking. The date of the original statement is unknown, presumably the beginning of the two thousandth, August. Statement recorded by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. ... It's all started, I would say, rather suddenly. I came home, as usual, wanted to make myself some coffee, accidentally knocked over the cup and poured boiling water on my hand. And then it came... laughter. Strange laughter. I don't know how else to describe it other than it was like a sitcom laugh. Of course I freaked out and started looking over my apartment. Then again, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing! Zero! None. It pissed me off, to be honest. Of course, I can’t say I have the most patient nature, but you have to understand, I felt like I was going crazy. This sound. Sounds. They only stopped when I went out for work or walk or whatever. But then... I don't know why it happened to me. Why that that guy started stalking me and not else one, why... I probably should've mentioned it right away. So, let's say, one day, probably a couple of days after it all started, I was sitting in a coffee shop, I often went there, especially after what started happening, on Cranbrook Road, and there was that one weird guy that came to me. He asked me about something, probably about buses' routes, but I swear on my life, I can’t remember more precisely. I-I can clearly see his face, red hair, but damn, as soon as he opens his mouth, it’s like... static. But thinking about it now, I feel stupid, I didn’t notice anything out of ordinary, really. I mean, even from the first glance he’s kind of offbeat, but, you know, there are a lot of people and they are all different. Besides, what to take from American? Of course, he may not be American, but he certainly wasn't English. He had... Quite a strange accent, a way of drawing out and softening some words. And he also laughed. Too much for it to be considered appropriate. Or, I don’t know, maybe he was just telling jokes? In short, I should have straight away realised that there was something wrong with that man! Anyway, after meeting him, my laugh problem got worse. I started hearing it everywhere, as if someone was following me with a record player. And before making this statement, it was just eating me up from the inside. Because, well, people I know would think I'm crazy! No, of course you might as well, but you... probably heard worse. Maybe not the laugh ones, but... God damn it, how much bullshit is actually going on in this world?! What I mean is, I'm not mad. I'm sure of this now, after he came to me personally. It was an ordinary day, most likely after lunch time. I... At that time I took a short sick-leave from work, and I didn’t leave the apartment for several days. There was enough food, so I could afford it. The doorbell rang. A few times, long enough to get on my nerves so I had to stand up and open it. And there he stood on the threshold, the same man from the cafe. He looked at me and smiled. Although I'm not sure, it seemed like he was always smiling. He... I know for sure, he greeted me, because after that he added something about the etiquette and told me that, you see, I wasn't quite... polite nor friendly. This freak said I wasn’t quite polite or friendly because I didn’t say hello back or smiled. And then I... I was washed over a feeling, so disgusting, I couldn't even move, I felt completely helpless and... In any case... That individual visited me. Asked about my health. Why I stuck in my apartment instead of working. I told him to screw off and closed the door. And, even though I'm certain I didn't hear any sound, rustling, footsteps, none, when I looked through the peephole, he was no longer there. It made me feel even worse though. Too many thoughts. Too many questions, feelings. I didn't know what to do. Couldn't sleep for couple of days after that. Even the fact that the laughter died down didn't really calm me down, it seemed like... something terrible was just starting. I taped up the windows. Propped up the doors. And sat locked up there, all alone, not moving. I don't know how long it took before I was finally able to force myself to go eat. Then, I... Apparently, I passed out, because I remember waking up, sitting at the table, there was a dirty plate next to me, everything seemed right and... Then I saw him. He leaned over me, stood too motionless, too quiet, like a damned statue. And he looked differently. Still had that wide smile but, fuck, when I say wide, I mean it, fucking ear to ear, as if the skin on his cheeks was cut off, exposing his gums and skull, saliva flowed down his chin, dripping onto the table, God, I almost vomited - and hopping eyes. And by hopping I mean that they could easily hop from a normal place on the sides of the nose, where a normal person should have eyes, into his palms or up on his forehead. Or I wouldn't be surprised if they did in any case. He squinted, his voice still sounds like static in my head. Still, I remember exactly what he said then: "You're wasting your time and entertaining potential." And it sounded so damn sincere from his mouth that I just stared at him for a few seconds. Before grabbing the knife from the table and... And nothing. There was no one. That fucking bastard disappeared from my apartment and there was nothing that could say that anyone but me was here. And after that... I decided to come here. I think... I know that I will die, at least, if I continue to sit here and do nothing. I don't... I just want someone to know the reason why I'm leaving. You know, I had these jingly metallic trinkets, no idea how they are called, hanging on ropes in my balcony. He... he likes them, you know? When he comes they ring. Sometimes he pokes them himself and cackles when they ring. Fucking psycho. I'm saying this so you'll know: if you start hearing laughter while alone, it’s better to stock up on a couple. They can distract. But... I hope yall never actually need them. ... Statement ends. I can understand now why it was thrown into the back box like some kind of garbage. This story sounds more like paranoid delusion, which it most likely is. It was difficult to confirm any of the given facts: in statement there were given no personal information other than the name or address of the cafe. I'm tend to think that Gatle was somehow able to leave before anyone asked him to fix this mess. Or, perhaps no one cared, judging from the present mess of archieves. Still, as it turned out, Gatel actually took sick-leave for two weeks and at first even was sending article drafts by e-mail, which is surprising giving his level of speech. However, it doesn't matter now. Viktor Gatle died, I believe, shortly after he made the statement. He was hit by a bus.

[Multi-voiced laughter]