What should I have for dinner?
The wind is loud today.
I lounge on a neutral-toned couch and absentmindedly watch the storm through a glass door at the rear of my one-room apartment. The overcast sky colors my room with an array of desaturated shades. I twirl a strand of long, dark hair around my index finger, frowning at the collection of split ends. I’m in desperate need of a trim. A girl needs to keep up her appearance, or so they say. I return my attention to the outdoors.
Tree branches bend at unnatural angles, and I can’t help but imagine the flailing twigs as human body parts—dismembered arms dancing in the wind, a human neck pulled taut by an unseen force, one moment away from tearing…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I turn my head idly, eyes unfocused. The front door is located behind me. I sigh. That’s one downside to living on the first floor, I’m always the initial stop for door-to-door advertisers. For a moment, I consider pretending I’m not home. However, as the wind gives a mighty roar, I decide to humor the poor fellow. Working in a storm shows dedication. I respect that.
I walk to the front of my apartment in about three seconds and open the door, not bothering to paint a fake smile on my face. To my dismay, my lack of formalities goes unnoticed. No one is there. I crane my neck out the entryway, looking left, then right. Nothing. I shrug and close the door. Perhaps, I imagined it.
I turn around, contemplating what I should make for dinner, when I notice it—a towering figure standing outside, just beyond the glass door. It is clothed in black from head to toe, resembling a physical manifestation of a shadow. Its arms point downwards, and the spaces between its arms, legs, and fingers are all splayed in 45 degree angles. It is completely motionless, which is impressive considering the aggressive winds. I cock my head in curiosity.
“Interesting,” I note aloud.
I remain still for a moment and then sprint towards the dark figure. I smile wickedly, trying to gauge its reaction. It remains frozen.
“Interesting,” I repeat.
Up close, I can now see that the figure is not alive. It’s a mannequin with sandbags securing its feet. As if on cue, I hear my front door open. Oops, I forgot to lock it.
I turn around nonchalantly, just in time to see a serious-eyed man charging towards me. He has a knife at my throat in seconds.
“You’re dead, bit—,” he chokes on his last word. The syllables dribble from his mouth like the blood now pouring from his chest. His eyes grow round as he notices the knife protruding from his body, my hand securely on the hilt. I always keep a concealed weapon up my sleeve.
“Nice try, honey,” I purr in a sugar-coated tone, effortlessly disarming him, “I’ll give you some points for creativity though. Loved the theatrics! The mannequin was a nice touch.”
Disbelief and terror highlight his gaping features until I twist the knife deeper. Then, death finally collects the light in his eyes. I push the heavy body to the floor in mild annoyance. Another perfectly good sweater marred by bloodstains. I meticulously clean my knife’s blade and roll up my left sleeve. Grinning, I carve a diagonal dash across four healed tick marks on my upper arm.
“Guess that makes…” I pause, counting the groupings of five, “Twenty. I wonder who’s going to show up next.”
They have been trying to kill me for years now. I don’t mind though. It’s fun, like a game.
I sigh and collapse on the couch once more, observing the tortured trees shuddering behind the ever-watching mannequin. I guess I’ll have to move again.
I shift my attention to my hands and analyze the deep red hue, warmth, iron-tinged aroma, and stickiness of the man’s blood. My eyes widen in realization, and I gasp, straightening my back.
“That’s it. I’ll have spaghetti for dinner!”
Cogs in the Demon Machine
So I just had a terrifying yet potentially revelatory nightmare.
Idk how to describe it. It was all very creepy. So, it was winter. But it wasn't how winters are out in the woods or the fields or anything, with everything being peaceful and friendly and full of life, the cold stirring up your energy and the ice bringing forth wonder. Nah, I love nature-winter, just as I love nature-summer and nature-spring and nature-fall.
But no this was city-winter. It was sharp and unforgiving and tinted dark with air pollution. The buildings were gray, the air was gray, the streetlights towered and cars sped by, leaving thick trails of smoke. Candy wrappers and cigarettes littered the ground and the sidewalk was frozen hard under your shoes. It was the kind of day unhoused people dreaded. The kind of day I would have had to suffer through wearing torn shoes and a too-thin coat while waiting outside at the bus stop. It was the kind of day where you really feel the effects of capitalism, in all it's uncaring nightmare glory, beating down on you.
I had just walked out of my school and towards the crowded bus stop at the end of the street. On my way, I met these two girls. They were very pretty but there was something off-putting about them. Something dangerous. They were handing everyone free money. Three dollars, in the form of a loony and a toony. They told me it was for a birthday, which was kind of weird but okay. I put the money in my pocket, beside my bus ticket, intending to give it to someone who needed it.
I joined the crowd that was waiting for the bus. There were many people waiting anxiously for the bus to arrive. They were just as cold as I was, in pain in the frigid weather. This part of the dream actually doesn't make sense in real life since other people waiting for the bus tend to have much better and more wether-resistant clothes than me. So they tend to not be cold in the ten-fifteen minutes at most that we have to wait. But for some goddamn reason today everyone was wearing shitty clothes made more for the autumn than the winter. Anyways, it gets worse.
I was waiting for the Number 6 bus. As I usually am. So were a lot of other people. As they usually are. But the first bus sped by us. The second bus was not in service. The third bus was on route to go to all the wrong places. We kept waiting and waiting and more buses passed us by. It was starting to get dark. We were cold. We were desperate. We could see the worry in each others' eyes. We waited and waited until finally a bus came by. It was more of a van than a bus really. Small. But it it could take some of us. We all lined up, chasing the bus as it came to a stop, crowding around the edge of the sidewalk. We tried to all cram in there as much as we could. But the bus driver - a fat man with dark greying hair and amused eyes - sped away after only accepting two of us.
I was on the bus. I felt really bad that it had left my comrades behind. It wasn't fair. But there was an energy of fear in the bus, sharp and sticky and cloying. Hidden by the uncharacteristicallly plush seats and the merry mood of the driver. I look around. The other people in the bus had anxiety in their eyes. But while talking to them they assured me that the bus would take us to our destinations.
The bus driver was jovial, in good spirits, and assured us he would take us where we wanted to go. For a while we drove by, familiar buildings passing by as we went down the well-known road. But then the familiar buildings became unfamiliar ones, increasingly unfamiliar ones as we twisted and turned through the streets. I was so lost. I had no idea where we were or where to get off. Eventually the driver took us to the arena district - which was the most posh entertainment district in the city, filled with very expensive clubs and bars and restaurants and casinos and stuff I didn't even know. He made us get off of the bus into the cold, harsh, bitter and unforgiving morning outside.
His appearance had changed. He became tall and slender. The colour of his skin, hair, nails, everything, was the same colour as the winter outside. His dark eyes were full of cruelty, full of a raging, ferocious, corrupted hunger. Not the hunger of not having food, no. Not the hunger of actually being hungry. This was the hunger of wanting more, more, always more. Of never being satisfied. His nails were just a bit to sharp, just a bit too pointed, almost not human. His eyes were just a bit too dark, the colour a bit too indecipherable, and they were hungry, hungry, hungry. They were powerful. And they were raging. Inside him, you could tell, was a bottomless pit. One you could fill and fill and fill and fill and it would still be deep, and dark, and bottomless. His face was set in a cruel, severe expression. He didn't look human. Not really. But almost. You could believe that he was human, if you only glanced over him. Not if you looked at him for a while though. If you focused on him, you could tell. That he wasn't human. He was a black hole given human form.
He told us that we needed to work for him now. We needed to work to make him money. He told us that he must make money and we owe it to him to work. After all, he had so generously driven us. Never mind that he didn't even drive us where we wanted to go, I thought but didn't dare say out loud. None of us dared speak. We were all terrified of him. We were all acutely aware of the terrible and all-encompassing power he held over us. And we were all aware of the terrible and destructive rage he would fly into if we didn't do as he said. We were all aware that we were stuck. And that he had powers we did not know. Even if there were no walls, no fences, no chains binding us. Even if we could technically make a run for it. We couldn't. He would kill us. We knew that money was what he hungered for. Money was what he used to fill the ever-continuing, ever-reaching, ever-growing abyss inside him. We knew that he had a dark and twisted desire, a cold and cruel desire for money, money, more money. Consuming like some sort of demon. Which we was. No, he was worse. Demons weren't real. There was nothing not real about him.
He said that we had to do the jobs he told us to do. It was freezing and we were cold, cold, cold. But we were terrified. He told us that we had to do repairs and other maintenance around the arena district. We had to repair the tall, shining, artfully architected buildings that people spent their Friday evenings and weekends at. We had to keep the district up and running. Keep it pretty and beautiful as it shone full of metal and stone and glass. We had to serve him. And line his pockets. Nobody could see us. Nobody could hear us scream. Not unless we got away from him.
He put us to work immediately. We had to scale the large, spiralling buildings without any protective equipment. We had to work up there perching on the ridges and folds
... I'm too terrified to write any more. I don't know what about this dream scared me so much but I am so fucking terrified and I need to take a moment before I go on ...
I think I should describe the district. Most of the buildings were really new-age. They had walls and roofs that curved and folded and bent over themselves and twisted and spiralled and rolled like hills. It was all very artistic. It was all very materialistic. It was all very decadent and opulent. There were tall buildings that stretched up into the sky and wide buildings that sprawled out across multiple blocks, connected by twisting, glittering interior bridges. There were glittering and polished windows. Often the windows were from floor to ceiling. Often the windows took up the space of the entire wall. Often the walls were made of glittering metal. A very popular way to gild walls was with folded, overlapping panels of shiny silverish metal. There were also many buildings built with the straight edges and straight walls of the slightly older building style. They were all very tall, very straight, very imperious, as they stretched up towards the cloud-swamped, softly glowing sky. They were very clean. They had large windows, the bottom floors always being made of looming floor-to ceiling windows that were clear as crystal. They had many ledges and ridges. Like I said before all the metal was shining silvery-grey, sometimes more silver and sometimes more grey. But always so very clean. Sometimes it was reflecting like a mirror.
Sometimes it was had such a certain lustre that it almost glowed. Sometimes it almost had a sickly yellow tint. Sometimes it had a blue tint. Sometimes it even managed to have a pink tint. The stone, on the other hand, used in buildings, was imperious gray, jet black, shimmery brown, blood red, rich maroon, light creme, or even sometimes granite. Everything was so opulent. Everything was so rich. Everything was so oppressive.
The atmosphere was oppressive and heavy and it was dark and twisted. The surroundings held no life in them. Not any of the spark of life and kindness that lit up the kinder parts of the world. The air was polluted, polluted, oh so polluted. Everything was heavy and pressing. The world, the world around us was uncaring, apathetic, twisted, dangerous, and cruel. It was almost suffocating. An air of danger, hung thick all around. An air of terror, of unholiness, of corruption pressing and swirling in the weight of the air all around. It was claustrophobic despite - no because of - the grand scale of everything.
We couldn't take in the "beauty" of it. We couldn't notice any of the grandeur. It mattered not to us but rather passed by beyond our reach.
We were too busy being tired, sick, aching, scared, and cold in our hearts and in our bodies and in our minds. We were too busy being caught up in work, work, work. We were too busy pushing ourselves forward in the repetitive, agonizing, mind-numbing labour we were forced to do. We were too busy freezing and ignoring how we were freezing. We were too busy feeling our life force drain from us. We were too busy being tired, body and soul, and ignoring the tiredness in order to make him more and more and more money. We were too busy trying to ignore how our arms and legs and everything ached. We were too busy pushing ourselves to do dangerous work and feeling how it felt to not know if you were going to die or not. We were too busy not having anything. We were too busy being exploited. We were too busy slowly dying. We were too busy feeling pain and fear and death. Death hung over us ever-present.
He sent us up buildings, to scale walls and stand on ledges and balance on folds and whatnot, shining and cleaning and repairing without any safety equipment. We had no nets or harnesses or anything to protect us from falling. We had no helmets or any other protective gear. We had no warm clothes to protect us from the majority of the winter's chill. We had to work, work, work at a brutal, frantic pace, pressing our hands and bodies onto the cold of the stone and metal and glass.
I remember being up high, on top of the curve of a folded, new-age wall. Straddling the curving slope on either side. I had a bucket of cold, soapy water that was making my hands burn but I had to clean the building. All the while making sure I didn't fall off and die. I remember hating it so much and feeling myself die. But I was trapped in a crystal of his corrupted making. I couldn't do anything.
The people entertaining themselves and going about their day in all the bars and restaurants paid no attention to us, to our misery. They couldn't see us and even if they could they wouldn't care. They had cushy, intellectual day jobs that paid well, that they did in the safety of an office, that they pretended to hate so they could justify their lavish spending habits. Meanwhile the monster was getting richer and richer. And still he wasn't satisfied. He was never satisfied.
Every time we finished a job we had to come to him. He sat ruler-straight, imperious, and ever hungry. And we were aching and tired and we just wanted to rest. But he didn't care. He gave us no rest. He just gave us another job. And we had to go do it. We had no rest. No time to sooth our bleeding souls. No time to find some peace and calm. We only had the constant demand of filling his ever-expanding emptiness with coins that were as poisoned and tainted as he was.
We didn't want to but we were scared of him, so scared of him, so scared about what he would do to us, what he could do to us. He was unholy, and his unholiness extended out to all the world around us, choking us, poisoning us, feeding off of us. But he was all-powerful. His corruption was everywhere. His spirit reached out in all directions like electric wire, watching us, keeping us in line.
I wanted to escape, to go somewhere I could call home. We all did.
I was picking up trash from the stone courtyard of a great library/movie theatre when I figured out. I was between the slanted walls of two cold, looming glass pyramids. Despite the fact that the public sidewalks were littered with trash, the grounds of private property had to be kept clean. It almost felt protected though, between those sloping walls that provided the illusion of privacy. I realized what he was. I realized what he was doing to us. I had felt my life force draining out of me bit by bit but I had never paid attention to it. I had never known why. But now I knew. I felt it. He was drinking us. He was draining our life force and turning it into corrupted money for him to consume. He was slowly killing us and soon we would be dead. I knew I had to escape. I knew we had to escape. But how? We had no power.
He made us gather around. He told us that if any of us gave him six dollars he would let that person go. But none of us had that kind of money. At most we had three dollars from the girls on the street corner but many of us didn't even have that. I saw his offer clearly for what it was, a ploy to make himself seem good and reasonable while keeping us trapped in servitude anyways. He wanted to seem like he wasn't interested in oppressing us, only in making money. But I knew how he was draining our life force for money. I knew how draining us and oppressing us was inextricably tied to his ability to make money.
I had to think of a plan.
One time I was working near the very edges of where he was keeping us trapped. I was separated from him by two walls made of rough stone. They were also granting me the illusion of privacy. On the ground I saw some coins. A toony and two loonies as well as a few quarters and nickels. I was shot through with amazement and hope.
But upon closer inspection I saw that the money had the unmistakable quality of being tinged with the type of corruption that can only come from him. The money was unmistakably his. And this was a trap. Of course it was, it was too good to be true. Just a bit more than the money I needed to get free, and then some. He wanted me to pocket his change, to bring the money to him asking to be let go. And then he would accuse me of stealing and he would utterly destroy me. He would scrape the flesh off my bones and tear into my throat and drink my blood and bite into my bones and leave nothing left. Maybe he knew I was onto him. And he wanted to consume the last bit of me that he could. But still. I had to get free. I had to get free. I had to get free.
I pocketed the larger coins, too cautious to waste my time picking up the handful of smaller ones. He could come at any second. I did not intend to give him the money. But I knew that in this world, money was hard to come by and people could use it to keep themselves alive. I intended to give the money, along with the other money I already had, to someone who actually needed it. I don't know what happened after that. Maybe the rebellious act of stealing had given me the power I needed to break out of the spell for just a little bit. But I just started running as fast as my legs could carry me. I ran and I ran and I ran through the forcefield that had been keeping us in.
I knew I ignited his anger. I felt it the moment that I was free from the force field. So I kept running. My legs were sore and aching but they felt invigorated. My lungs were sore as I fought for every bit of oxygen I could get. I kept running and running until I reached my home.
For some reason my home was my science teacher's house. Like, my science teacher from real life. I'll tell you about her or else this part won't make sense. In the "real" world, the world outside the dream, where you and me and everybody lives out their waking lives, this woman was my science teacher and now she teaches other people.
I'm not going to tell you what year she taught me because on the off chance that she ends up reading this it would be incredibly awkward for her to know that she saved me from a capitalism demon in a dream that I had. Anyways, she really likes nature and really cares about the environment and taught me a lot of what I know about climate activism and stuff. She's also really nice to all her students and she's a communist.
Anyways in the dream she was all of that and she was also my mother.
In the dream I ran to her. And she felt bright and new and green like nature-spring. I told her everything that had happened. She told me that she knew what kind of creature he was. She had travelled the world and heard many stories of what exists beyond the physical reality. He was a Capitalist, a terrifying and dangerous creature that had an everlasting hunger for money and grew fat from harvesting the life force of humanity. She told me she didn't know how to get rid of him but that I must try, and I had her support.
I was scared. But I was also full of determination. I knew I had to end him. I had to end him immediately. I knew that I had a high chance of failing. A high chance of dying. A high chance of getting enslaved again and having my life force drained out of me. I did not care. I knew I also had a chance of killing him.
I marched up to him. He looked at me with his terrifying, dark eyes, and he snarled. I told him that if he wanted money he could come get the money. I held a toony up. He opened his mouth and rushed at me. But I jammed the coin into the roof of his mouth, making him bleed. He howled in pain as I jammed another coin into the roof of his mouth and two into the floor of his mouth, under his tongue. He howled in pain as he bled to death. And then finally, he was gone. Dissolved and carried away by the wind. Into nothingness. My friends were free! They were safe! They could go home and rest and live their lives as free people. They smiled and cheered.
But I still had the coins that I stole from him, which carried his corrupted essence. I was unsure of what to do with them. It was then that I realized. He might be gone but there were so many other creatures that were just like him. That were on the prowl. That were gaining power and draining their own victims and making the world what it was. We lived in hell.
I startled awake. Out of the dream. Into real life. I was so overwhelmingly scared. I tried really hard to forget about the dream, to stop thinking about it, to put it behind me. But I could remember his sharp teeth and his empty, abyssal eyes and his hard, uncaring expression. I felt his power all around me. And my heart thudded in my chest. He was coming to get me. He was coming to get me. He was coming to get me. But then I realized. That words have power. If I could explain to the world what happened, if I could explain what he was, what he did. If people knew about him. If more people knew. Then he would have less power. Then he would be foiled. I needed to fight him in real life, just as I had in the dream.
It's true that I woke up terrified but I woke up safe. I woke up in a house that was mine despite not being the home I wished was mine. I woke up secure. So many people don't. So many children wake up separated from their families all alone in dark rooms on hard floors. They're all alone. They're young. They're small. They're uncared for and unloved by all that surround them. They have no one they could call and no-one that would hear them if they did call. They have only their fear. Only their grief. Only their aloneness. They have no-one and they have to be quiet and not wake anyone. They can't even cry. They can't even scream. They have no-one to comfort them. No-one to help them. No-one that sees them as a person. No-one that sees them as a child. No-one who holds them and strokes their hair and tells them it will be alright. They just have to lie there silently, flooded with fear, silently trembling as they drown in their terror and grief. Young and already a victim of the system's destructiveness, of the cruelty of the people who benefit from it.
And I know because I've met children like that. I've turned my nose up at them. I've stayed silent to their injustice. You don't know what happens in places that aren't the West. You don't know what gets hidden and swept under the rug and never talked about and never taken seriously even if it is. We divide the world up into meet little categories that can easily be sorted. Put strangers in neat little boxes. Think that we can learn everything important about their whole lives from just a glance. We justify our wealth however we can.
Not my horror movie...
I woke up, it was still dark outside. I just went back to sleep. I woke up again, still dark. I slept. I woke up, still dark. Hmm, what time is it? I thought. I pulled out my phone to check, 2:00pm! What the..? My train of thought was interrupted by a curling scream outside, I looked out the window and saw a woman no older than 40. Her face held blood and something wasn't right about her eyes. They were black.What the actual fu-. I immediately go downstairs and lock my front door, and all the windows, and start staring at the people surrounding the screaming lady. I turn away from the window for only a second then I hear a stampede outside. Everyone is running back inside away from the lady who is still standing hurling her arms to the sky. The world turns to reddish black, under the unidentified lights in the sky. The TV flashes to the new station and It sounds urgent, the lady is practically yelling at the camera. And i get distracted by the new reporter to notice the monsters falling from the lights in the sky.
“Everyone must stay inside!” someone screams. The power cuts off. The adrenaline hits me and I'm shaking. The world is deep red now and I look outside to see a black fleshy tube sucking the life out of people. The old lady out front is now lifeless on the ground all pale and skinny. I look around with horror on my face and see more and more dead people on the streets. I witness monsters and demon looking creatures crawling on all-fours and taking the souls of the dead. They break into unlocked houses, they kill them one by one, house by house. I dash downstairs and barrake the front door with my couch and arm chairs. The door slams as they try to get in, their hand prints, covered in blood, stained my windows. All of the sudden i see glass shards flying. And the monsters inside my house. I run into a closet and hide. I turn the lock, and curl into a ball and then i hear the monsters in my house move around and search for me. Their killing call sounds like a loud purr and a low deep growl. They're hunting me.
They are hard of hearing and i make sounds with them having no reaction. I saw their ruthless killing if they could actually hear properly i’d be dead. Their is a car outside. I can hear it, and so can the monsters. I hear them all rush out the shattered window. I slowly open the closet door, making sure they are all out of my house. The people are trying to escape but even the people on a plane cant. Smoke covers the buildings with a plane in the middle. I want to believe that there are other people that are alive, that my family is alive, but the phone is still ringing. No answer. I peek outside and wish for a single person to be alive. I wish. I wish. I wish. Nothing. I grab all of my food and go into my basement. Taking all of the scrape wood to close the door and windows. I silently wait. I wait. I wait. I wait. I wait. I hear screams. Again and again and again. My power is still off so I check my phone. The new is off and i check the international channels. One in Asia, Europe, and Australia. There all under attack just like LA. Monsters have officially taken over. Were doomed.
My house is being searched again by the monsters, their stomps getting closer to me. It seems their sense of smell is better then their hearing because they find me in an instant. And all too soon their taking my body into the air and sucking the life out of me like all the others, I see my body on the ground frail and lifeless. How could i be so foolish to think I’d be the one to live in this horror movie?
Attention To Tea
Nobody tells you how to go about, 'seeing through it all.' Nobody around me seems to see it the same way I, and maybe we, see it. Nobody could help if they wanted to.
"Can you be more specific?" She looks at me with that look.
I don't know how to respond. Maybe we.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was speaking. I meant to be thinking to myself."
"On every point, honey. I'm just trying to understand." She still has that look, and the bridge between us splinters from more constant communication of not understanding.
"I'm just - I'm lost on where exactly you're lost,"
I can tell by the look on her face, it's spread to me. The bug, that bleeding, smearing bug of unintentional ignorance.
"I went voluntarily to the doctor because I knew I needed help, and I brought my relevant medical history. That was not considered because I - I don't know. They kept implying it was because of my disorganized speech, but my medicine manages my disorganized speech. Do you see why that would be scary to me?"
Please, please, please, please, please, don't misunderstand.
"I... I understand your feelings are valid, I just still don't understand why you choose to be so negative and mistrusting. Why would the doctors be out to get you?" She puts the question to me so gently, and yet it hurts so bad. Oh, honey. You strike me with the sharp end of the blade.
I'll try again.
"I'm not saying anybody is out to get me, I don't think I'm relevant socially enough for that. That's - that's not what I mean, that - no, I mean, I just am floored they didn't know how to, or couldn't, support me at the mental hospital. That's where anybody goes to get extreme help and support, right?"
"Well, yes," she sighs. Straightening up how she always does to show she needs me to consider what she says next, my honey strikes me yet again with the sharp end of her verbal blade. "I'm going to ask you a question because I'm still just so lost, and I think you're lost, too. Doctors have gone to years and years of medical school, doctors are always trying to improve and nobody wants to be liable, especially on hot button issues." Meeting my gaze straight, she delivers the final blow.
"Have you considered if they're right? I'm not saying they are..." And off we go to the beginning.
I physically feel my ears ring before I hear it. Imagine, the love of your life. Or, who you thought was. To titter between two equally abysmally stigmatized labels, within my own forcibly labeled body, daily, debating if you are a person beneath the words and the more you use, the less people understand.
Stress can induce disordered speech, too. So can mood disorders. So can settings, or substances.
I remember where I've felt this feeling before. Very few times has it ever broken through to my heart - this time, it was guided as if an expert sharpshooter had lined up the shot.
True fear.
"Fear can produce disordered speech," I say with tears in my eyes. I don't know when my eyes noticed my petition papers had been slightly mussed with, but they did. I know that is the heart of the issue. "Please," I may not be able to read a room, but I can read text from a distance. Years of bad vision without glasses refined this talent of mine.
Report if Suspected Danger to Self or Symptoms Resurface
"I just - I don't get you right now. It's like how people treat gay people. You know how that manifests, right? So... think like that. Why didn't I just get my regular medicine...? Why was that ignored?" I'm pleading. I can't deny I didn't ask to be monitored like this.
"I'm so sorry, honey," She's crying. I know I've lost. Oh, I don't want to go - don't - how many strikes against me? Is this the third time, or fourth? She wouldn't strike me with a proverbial blade like this on purpose, right? "But the papers ended up in the back seat of the car, right? So, did you really bring them in? Hallucinations on everyday tasks and activities are common, did you read up on it for yourself?"
"Yes - listen, if I imagined it, how come someone else can verify they saw me drop the papers off?"
"But can they verify they were the right papers?" She knows that's a point I can't ignore.
Why can't I be supported... outside of the hospital? Why does everybody want me sent back once I start to feel real...? Who plans to pay for this? How can I work to pay off my own bills, if I'm held against my will in yet another place that's going to stick me with both needles and worse, more bills?
"I don't have the means to help you as much as you need, I'm sorry, honey, I try, and try, and try - I just... I don't understand you, or what you want,"
How? When? Did I say that out loud?
How does she not get it?
Monsoon
Oftentimes the gutter would throw up its contents, in a great tidal wave, by the front door of the house, forcing the already-damp earth to swallow more than it could hold – too much, always too much.
At the edge of the woods behind the farmhouse, young trees lost their anchor points to the mud. So they fell, in a dull, wet noise, barely noticeable through the drumming song of raindrops.
Still rain was a good thing. During monsoons, while the whole family holed up together upstairs at the first sign of a flood, the amount of noise a dozen people could make acted like a shield. Whatever happened there, under the rain, had nothing to do with them.
Everything, from ruined fields to unearthed carcasses, was the doing of the old pagan gods who once ruled those lands. Mortally offended ever since the peasants had turned their backs on their traditions, those eternal beings rose from the earth, bringing corpses and secrets with them, cursing the traitors. Rumour had it that whoever set foot outside while it rained would be devoured whole by the gods themselves.
Gerbille had been living with that story burrowed at the back of her mind for years now. Her fear should have dwindled with time, but it had only shed its skin along with the girl. As a child she feared mud-monsters crawling from under her bed, yellowed teeth at her throat. Now she feared she'd see nothing at all, would only feel the pain when it happened. After all it was pitch dark in the attic where the whole family slept, and sometimes, at night, the rain stopped falling.
Those rare moments of utter silence were the soil from which the legitimacy of her childhood terrors sprouted. She was fifteen, old enough to work the fields, sell her wool at the marketplace without supervision. Fifteen and yet there she was, lying on her straw mattress, letting the black ink of night pool over her wide-open eyes.
That same darkness blanketed the entire house, separating it from the outside world perfectly. Behind the windowless walls there was no howling wind, no creaking roof. The sound of rain had accompanied her for so long by that point, that it took Gerbille a moment before she noticed its absence.
Behind that lack was something else. First she believed someone was walking of dead leaves, but the crunch was too loud for a few leaves. Then the sound changed: now she could have sworn someone was eating soup downstairs.
"Anyone else hearing this?"
To her left, the rustling of beddings put a lid on the soup slurping noise.
"Who's eating at such an hour?" Whispered Souris as she got out of bed.
"Don't go!" Gerbille tried to grab onto her cousin's sleeve, but she couldn't see a thing and her hand only found air. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"I'll be careful going down the stairs. Stay here."
Souris's footfalls grew fainter, and before long the creaking of the stairs reached Gerbille's ears. The slurping noise went on, uninterrupted. Punctuated with Souris's slow descent and a new sound, sharp cracking, it seemed to be taking form the more Gerbille listened to it. She imagined its long hands, nails curved like talons that could easily pierce her shoulders. The sound would have teeth too, the same yellowed teeth she had so feared when she was younger.
If she stayed put, lying there with her blanket her only shield, the noise would come for her. It would push itself all the way up the stairs using its spindly arms. Then it would open the door, slowly, and Gerbille would know the exact second the nameless horror crawled inside the room. Its gurgling, its loud inhales, its ancient bones ground nearly to dust – all of this would draw closer, slowly, inexorably. At last, fear itself at the foot of her bed, Gerbille would understand what it had been slurping with such enthusiasm – but it would be too late: she would lose her eyes, lose her tongue; that vile beast, that carrion of forgotten god, would bring Gerbille's frail figners to its mouth, one by one. Its lukewarm tongue would wrap all the way around, until the very last knuckle, and its acidic saliva would turn flesh into soup. Gluttonous, the sound would suck until nothing was left but her bones, clean and smooth. Then it would break those too, snap them between its molars, holding her firmly by the arm. She wouldn't be able to cry out, to move; thus held by the undistilled purity of the hells, the only thing a peasant girl could do was pray.
Downstairs, something fell heavily. Gerbille sat up with a start, drenched in sweat. There was no way she could stay put.
"Souris?" Nothing. "'Ris? Who was eating?"
No one answered. She got up on trembling legs, staggered to the door like a young fawn. From the landing she could see a faint light coming from the kitchen, waiting, inviting. Gerbille answered its call.
A small candle flame danced without a care in the world, sitting on the large dining table, reflected by the puddles darkening the floor. Souris laid on the floor, eyes and mouth wide open. A towel was tied around her arm, probably to slow down the flow of blood rushing out of it and into a bucket. Her hand rested on top of a slice of bread on the table, next to a knife smeared with butter.
Gerbille didn't have her mouth fully open yet when a hand wrapped around the lower half of her face. A tall, ice-cold body pressed against her back, then an arm wound around her waist, keeping her still.
"Be good," her father whispered in her ear. His breath made her stomach turn. "Go back to bed, before the rain calls for me again."
He freed her slowly, ready to silence her again should he need to. But terror locked her jaw shut, then walked with her feet. Twice she stumbled, but her father didn't make a move. Near the stairs, the round door leading down to the cellar was cranked open. The stone steps had disappeared under the water. Gerbille stared at it, that lightless unknown, for a second. Just long enough, really, to hear it again, that familiar, damnable sound, the tapping fingers soon to turn into a deafening beating drum.
"It's raining."
Slowly, she turned around. Behind her, her father had tensed. His eyes were dead, the colour of milk. The shadows on his hands toyed with his raised veins, the length of his nails. In the cellar, something laughed, the sound of an emptying well. Gerbille closed her eyes, and jumped.
The Eyes of My Love
I catch his eye from across the room of our 11th grade English class. Butterflies emerge in my stomach making me wonder if it's anxiety or the beginning of a crush. For the next few weeks our eyes find each other everywhere: the hallway, the lunchroom, class.
I'm sitting in the lunchroom, pretending to listen to my friend rant about her relationship problems. All I can think about is how if I was with him, we would never have those problems. Suddenly my friend stops talking and looks behind me with concealed annoyance. I turn around, feeling the large presence behind me. Butterflies ram into my stomach lining as I look into his eyes.
He lets out a beautiful breathy laugh and asks for my number. I eagerly put it into his phone with shaking hands. I can feel him staring at me with his dark brown eyes. His face has a smile with an emotion I can't quite place. Originally, I believed it held something sinister, but that thought was quickly shooed away as I look into the eyes of the man of my dreams.
Eighteen months pass and things are amazing! My friends try to make me break up with him. They say that he is possessive and aggressive, but they don't know what I know. He's just misunderstood. He comes from a broken and negligent family. it's not his fault that everyone thinks he's weird. Although everyone has their quirks. He's so beautiful that I can overlook them. For one, I'm not allowed near his house. One time I dropped him off after a party because he was in no condition to walk home, and he lashed out at me. He even apologized. It's not his fault though! He's already told me a million times that I'm not allowed near his house and I didn't listen.
I still don't know why my friends freaked out when they saw the bruises. I told them the truth and everything! I told them it was my fault, and they were still mad at the love of my life! From that day on I decided that I don't need to associate myself with people who don't support me and the one I love.
Now it's just Jack and I, and I couldn't be happier. After five years of dating, we get married! It's one of the happiest days of my life! We finally move in with each other. I convinced him to let us move into the house I was never allowed to see. I have no clue why because it was kept very nice. The lawn was mowed, and the gardens were tended to. The inside was even better. It was a beautiful two-story open floor plan. I loved everything about it! The only thing that was bad about the house was the souls that scream in the basement.
Jack held painful eye contact as he told me on the first night in our house together. He told me that this house is the house of a murderer and people would be killed in the basement years ago. He assured me that nothing would hurt me, as long as a I stayed out of the basement. I vowed to him to never even look in the direction of the basement and we laughed it off.
The screams became a source of comfort for me. The nights when there were no screams, I was unable to fall asleep. I know it sounds weird, but it helps to know that someone is there when I go to sleep alone every night. It was something to get used to when Jack started sleeping in the same bed as me and the screaming stopped.
Years pass and we have a beautiful baby girl. Jane, named after my great grandmother who was unidentified in a rollercoaster crash. Her cries were a comfort to me ever since the screaming down below ceased. Maybe that's why I was so concerned when the cries of our baby began to get increasing more muffled and towards the direction of the basement. I slowly got up from bed, heart pounding and breathing rapidly. This was the only time in my life that I feared what my husband may do.
I am not dumb. I know why he didn't sleep in the same bed as me and I know that ghosts aren't real. I know what he did in that basement, and I figured out why I was never allowed over his house when we were younger. I know that my husband was talking about himself when he was referring to that murderer. I just didn't care. I love him too much to let that small thing come in the way of our love. I draw the line when it comes to my baby girl.
For the first time, I defy my husband. I open the door of our basement and the crying ceases with a gurgle. My heart leaps into my throat as I descend the stairs and see the horrible scene in front of me. I look into the eyes of the love of my life and see the same expression that he had when we first met. His sinister gaze meets mine. My eyes travel to the form in his arms. My baby girl's eyes glazed over staring at nothing. A painstaking rage flows through me as I slowly take my baby out of his arms.
I weep once she in lying lifelessly in my grasp. I look into his eyes, and I can't ignore his actions, not this time. I let him kill all of those people because I loved him, but not my daughter. She will never get to grow up and become her own person. The only memory that is left of her is her lifeless body.
The man of my dreams, the murderer I overlooked, my abuser who I loved enough to ignore his fatal flaws, is the killer of our daughter. Somehow, someway, I blink, and my sweet baby is no longer in my hands. She is replaced by the eyes of my husband. One in each hand. I gaze to the floor of the damp basement and see my eyeless husband lying next to our daughter.
The vicious murders didn't matter to me, I never thought he would've killed our daughter too.
Pins and Screws and Eyes of Needles — Oh, My!
Under general anesthesia, the urologist pressed Peter Harper's testicles along his inguinal canals until they reached the final bottlenecks of swollen inguinal rings.
“It's easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter Heaven,” he said under his breath. Peter Harper was indeed very rich.
“What?” asked the anesthesiologist.
“Eye of the needle,” he repeated, pressing gloved thumbs on each bulge. He forced Harper's gonads, squeezing them forward until wringing them through, bruised, into their familiar resting places.
“Those are surely gonna be sore for a while,” the urologist said, transferring care to the orthopedic surgeon who prepared plaster of Paris to immobilize Harper's pelvic ring. He hoped the six separate fractures and disarticulated femur head would heal with the help of a dozen titanium pins and screws.
No one had informed them just how Harper had sustained these injuries, by now requiring six units of blood. Car accident vs being impaled by falling onto something were the leading guesses.
After the orthopedic surgeon shaped the plaster girdle, strategically windowed for bodily functions, ice packs were placed to reduce the swelling of his genitals protruding through the cutaway holes.
The urologist implanted the suprapubic catheter to rest his bladder until his penile urethra could pass anything more viscous than gas. Using the other access hole, the colon and rectal surgeon, having finished the colostomy, next identified the traumatic rectal-bladder fistula via proctoscope, sealing it with an endoscopic procto-ring.
After the suctioning saliva and other comatose secretions had been done, the nurse in the recovery room had time to wonder. Car accident?
Peter Harper attempted to speak.
“What?” his nurse asked. “You’re out of surgery and doing fine.” Harper spoke again. Once again she couldn’t understand. “Try again, Mr. Harper. Cough.” He coughed and groaned from the pain.
“Who was that woman?” he finally rasped.
“What woman?” the nurse asked. “Cough again.” He coughed again. He groaned again.
“That woman,” he repeated. “I have to find out who she is.” He coughed yet again. “She was fucking fantastic.”
"Easy there, lover-boy. You might unscrew your screws."
"That's really funny, he sputtered, then drifted off.
Our Baby Girl
I knew he was the one I wanted to marry again and again and again when we were dating. He volunteered to do the dishes after Thanksgiving at his parents' house. He refused to let my mom pay him for house sitting. He holds his baby niece and wrestles his young nephews with all the tenderness of a father. I wanted that for our kids, too.
We got married in June. It was beautiful. We shared our first kiss as a married couple before a pink Montanna sun setting over the big blue mountains. There wasn't a luckier girl in the world.
We had an awkward wedding night where we both sheepishly admitted that we'd get better over time. And we did. Four months into our marriage, I drove to the dollar store and snagged a pink box from the shelf. I could feel my face turning red; I'd never bought a test before. I made sure I handed the item to the cashier with my left hand, so she'd see my ring.
In our apartment, my hands shook so badly, I dropped the first test in the toilet. I hadn't told my husband I suspected anything. I knew he'd be excited, though. Every time we made love, he'd tell me he hoped this one conceived a child. I wasn't disappointed.
When I showed him the faint pink line on the strip, he spun me in a circle. He even teared up when the doctor confirmed the pregnancy. It was perfect.
Six months into the pregnancy, I caught him texting another woman. I only read a few messages over his shoulder before he caught me. But they seemed pretty cut and dried: She couldn't wait to have sex with him again. In October. When he was going on a trip.
Of course, I cried; bawled my eyes out, more appropriately. My husband's first words however at my frame-wracking sobs were, "calm down. Think of the baby." Of course, he was right, I didn't want to lose her. But of all the things to say, why those words?
The truth, or some version of it, tumbled out. He told me that she was someone from high school. He'd done nothing but message her. As for having sex again, he said they hadn't had sex since high school.
Of course, I was angry. Maybe I should have left right there. Instead, I demanded he block her number. I'd forgive him if it really was just a moment of weakness.
"Done." He'd said. I watched him block the number in front of me.
I was too afraid to tell my mom or my friends. They'd overreact. They didn't know him like I did. It was a mistake.
We drifted after that. I still didn't want to speak to him, and he didn't really try to engage with me, either. At some point, he stopped joining me in bed at night. I held out hope, though, that the baby might change everything. Maybe she could fix our relationship.
I was with my mom and my brother when I went into labor. My mom called my husband, but he didn't pick up. She tried to call from my phone, but he didn't answer. So, she sent him a message: Your wife is going into labor.
I gave birth to a healthy girl early the next morning. My husband never came. Rather than my husband holding my knee as I pushed, it was a young nurse. Rather than my husband getting me ice chips and a cool towel, it was some young volunteer. I held our new child alone in the hospital for two days and he never came.
My brother confirmed that he wasn't at our house, so I let my parents take me to their house. It felt wrong laying in my childhood bed holding a screaming little girl and wondering where my husband had gone. I wish I'd never found out.
The day I was pushing a human child from my body, he was filing for divorce and full custody of our baby girl. Three days postpartum, and I had a legal battle on my hands for the infant wailing on my chest.
My father called his lawyer friends for advice. My mom called everyone she knew to pray that I'd get to keep my baby. Generally, the Montanna courts favor women. So, despite having no income, I won full custody of my baby. He got the house, but I'd never be able to keep it alone. I moved back into my parents' house.
The secret got out of how the whole mess transpired. The woman he'd cheated with, had never been a fling. When they found out she was infertile, they launched a plan for him to have a child with someone else and gain full custody in court. He'd spent our marriage financially isolating me and doing whatever he could to set me up to fail. If it weren't for my parents, he would have won.
My baby is almost two years old now. Mercifully, she looks just like me. I still see her father on occasion at the grocery store or in passing at the park. The restraining order keeps him far, but not far enough. He watches from a distance. He's tried to bring the custody battle back to the courts, but his case was thrown out.
My curly haired beauty hasn't asked about her father yet. She hasn't connected that her uncle and I have a dad, or that all her playmates have daddies. I'm not sure what I'll tell her. Until then, I'll keep looking for that shadow that lurks 100 yards away.
The Confession
"This is Investigator Lance Flair with the Perdition Georgia Police Department. I am interviewing Mr. Johnathan Reid Austin in connection with several bodies recovered from the East Perdition Woods. The time now is eight o'clock on March seventh twenty twenty-four. Mr. Austin, before we begin I want you to read this piece of paper here, it's your Miranda Rights, after you have read these rights I'll need you to sign at the bottom stating that you understand and wish to speak to me today ok? I know it will be a little difficult with your hands and all but please sign as legibly as you can."
(I took a few minutes to read the paperwork, even though I was treated pretty quickly at the hospital, my hand felt dead through the gauze. I used my middle finger and thumb to grip the pen. The resulting scribble looked nothing like my signature but fuck it. I placed the pen down on the desk.)
"I'm ready."
"Ok, well we'll start at the beginning, walk me through that night."
Investigator Flair eased the digital recorder closer to me. A lump formed in my throat. My mouth felt unusually dry even though I'd been drinking water since I was placed in this room.
"Uh well, it was around eleven pm or so on March fifth, I remember it was the fifth because it was Friday and my relief came in late. I turned the keys over to him and got into my car. I usually park in the front of the office but for some reason or another, I parked in the back that day. When I got into my car, I didn't really notice at first but now that I think about it, I didn't have to unlock it. I should've seen that as a sign."
(Flair looked at me, his stoic expression was unwavering. I continued.)
"S-so I start my car then I hear a rustling in the backseat, before I could look back, some kind of cloth was shoved over my head! I felt the driver's side door open and I was dragged out. I remember being on the ground and then feeling something hard hit me on the side of the head. When I woke up, I was in a room but I didn't know where. I heard footsteps and whispers all around me. It felt like I was covered up for hours but I really couldn't give you an exact time. All I knew was that my head was throbbing and I was scared shitless! After a while, the sheet or cloth or whatever was pulled off of my head and I'm staring at three figures wearing red robes. Each one had a mask on, one was a smiley face, the other a frown, and the third was a straight face ya know? Like one of those emoji faces with a straight line for a mouth?"
(He nodded.)
"The Smiley face one told me that they had a task for me. He, I mean, I'm not sure if it was male or female, they all had garbled and distorted voices like some kind of voice-over type thing. The Frowney took over and said that I was to kill seven people. The straight said that these people want to commit suicide but they don't dare to do it themselves. The three of them would finish each other's sentences with Smiley saying something kinda positive, Frowney telling me the dark aspect of whatever that was, and Straight providing the basic facts."
Investigator Flair wrote a note on his pad. "Did they tell you why they chose you or was this random?"
"Oh no! They made it clear that my selection was intentional! Smiley said they were on a mission to make people appreciate life. Frowney said the ones who don't should and would be eradicated. Straight told me that they had watched me for months and wanted to determine whether I cherished my life or not. See, I tried to harm myself a few times in the past, I was unsuccessful each time though."
"Yeah, I've read about the attempts. Three times right?"
(I thought there was some kind of violation with the investigator having that information but I was in no position to play lawyer at the moment.)
"Yes, well...no. It was five times maybe six? On one occasion I tried to shoot myself but the gun jammed. Nobody was home for that one so it went unreported. On the other occasions, either a friend or someone was around and got there in enough time to save me. They spoke about that too."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, Straight said they knew about my suicide attempts. ALL of them! He said that the three of them were unsure if I really wanted to kill myself or if I did so for the attention because like I said, there was always someone there to take care of me when I tried. Frowney told me plainly that they didn't like me 'riding the fence' with my life and wanted to put my death wish to the test."
"I understand, let's switch the focus a second. I understand that they had you in some type of room. Could you describe it?"
"Not really, I mean, It seemed like a basement or dungeon. Concrete walls and concrete floors. There was a toilet to the right of me and a standing shower next to that. There was a single light dangling above my head, however the rest of the room was lit with candles. I could see figures behind the three who spoke to me, they had masks on too."
"None of the other people spoke to you?"
"Not at the time no. They just stood there watching me. Straight told me that the seven people behind them were my targets. He stated that I had till dawn to complete my mission or I would pay with my own life. Frowney said that for every hour that passed without a life being taken, I would lose a finger. As you can see." I raised my hands. Pain shot through my arms like bullets.
"I tried reasoning with them, tried to convince them that I wouldn't take another person's life. My problems were my problems, other people shouldn't have to suffer because of me. Straight told me that my problems WERE other people's problems. Each time a friend or family member had to take me to the hospital or watch over me throughout the night I was affecting their lives as well. I never thought about it like that until he said it."
"Ok, continue with the night, after all your protests; you still did what you did. What changed?"
"Straight backed away from me and handed a pair of shears to one of the figures in the shadows. That's when Smiley and Frowney held me down in the chair! I-I knew some bad shit was going to happen but....my finger!?"
"The unknown figure cut your finger off?"
"Fuckin' right they did! Frowney said it was to prove that this was no prank. I needed to end these lives or they would make due on their promise. I was angry, no; I was pissed! I never felt that kinda pain before! You don't know what it does to your mind! The blood, the pain, and the sight of your pinky finger cut at the knuckle lying on the floor! That's when the 'game' began."
"So this unknown figure cuts off your finger, I understand that but how did you get free?"
"I said that's when the game began right!? That's what I meant! Smiley, Frowney, and Straight exited through a sliding door that I hadn't noticed before along with six of the other figures. The asshole that cut my finger stayed. He cut the ties off of my wrists himself and placed the shears in my hand. He drew a knife from the inside of this robe and motioned for me to stand up. No lie sir, I knew what was about to happen and still fought with myself about taking another life, missing finger and all; but the guy came at me as soon as I got to my feet!"
"How did you know the person was male?"
"Well, like I said, the guy came at me and swung at my face, he knicked my cheek right here. I took a swing at him with the shears just to keep him away from me but it didn't work, he kept coming. I kept backing and he kept coming. I knew he wouldn't stop until I was dead or he was. I tried reasoning with him by saying that this was all senseless and we could leave here together. He only said three words, 'Only one leaves.' After that, he lunged at me! I just closed my eyes and arched the shears downward."
"And you killed him?"
"You knew I had no choice, the man came at me, and I swung blindly. When I opened my eyes the shears were buried in the side of his head, just above the left temple. He let out no sound. It was just a cracking wet thud. He stood there for a second or two, stumbled forward, and collapsed onto his face. I turned him over and pulled the blades out. A little blood shot out onto my face as you can see. I pulled the mask off and confirmed it was a man."
"James Shreeveport."
"Who?"
"James Shreveport, he's the only person matching the description of those wounds. His family reported him missing a week ago. Like you, he's attempted suicide a few times. His family said he joined some sort of religious cult a few days before his disappearance.
"Oh, well, I didn't know him. After he was dead; Smiley's voice came over a loudspeaker congratulating me on my first "Victory of Life". A door opened across the room from the chair I was held hostage in. I could feel the cold night air and hear leaves bristling. I saw that the door led outdoors."
"So you left?"
"Fuck yeah, I did! Did you think I would stay there with lunatics and get killed? I ran like my life depended on it, armed with the knife I took from that Shreveport guy. The shears were too heavy; when I got outside though I couldn't tell one direction from the next. I was surrounded by woods. I just picked a direction and continued to run. After about a mile or two going God knows where I entered a clearing. I could see the moon clearly in the sky along with the Little Dipper, ya know? The constellation? So I knew I was running south because I could see that I was running away from it through the clearing. I wasn't sure, but I think Smiley's voice boomed through a speaker somewhere. I think the whole place was rigged with sound equipment. No matter where I ran, I could hear their words and instructions clearly.
He congratulated me once again on my survival and reminded me that the game was still on. The kills still needed to be completed. I didn't know at the time where any of the other figured people were. I knew that those assholes were serious so I had to play."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I was going to find them and do what I had to do! The first guy showed me that he was committed to this bullshit so why not me? I was bleeding from my finger, tired, scared, and with the night air; I was freezing."
"So how did you survive the night? How did you find the rest?"
"Well, the second person came to me just like the first. I was in the clearing resting behind a tree and nursing my finger. I packed it with some mud and stuff to at least stop the blood flow. I don't know anything about first aid but I knew I wanted to keep as much of MY blood inside of MY body as I could. Well, while I was there; I heard footsteps in the distance. I got quiet and kept my body low, when the person walked close enough, I jumped out and started to swing! I heard a shriek and something hit me hard in the ribs. That was when I noticed this person had a bat."
"A baseball bat?"
"Yeah, but this bat was studded with small nails but the pointed parts weren't sticking out. It was more like the nails were just driven in and only the flat part of the nails were exposed. Either way, it hurt like hell!"
"This person was robbed as well?"
"Yeah, all of them still wore the robes. After the initial hit, I went to the ground, I knew the studded ends broke the skin but I also knew that this person wasn't gonna just let me kill them. They waited for me to stand and took another swing at me. I tried to block it with my arm but they hit me almost in the same spot. I heard a CRACK and found it hard to breathe. I swung at them again with the knife but I could never get in range. With every jab or lunge, they would just move out of the way and hit me! The whole thing reminded me of a boxing match where this one fighter didn't have the arm's length of his opponent. The guy was getting his ass kicked until he faked a dive."
"Faked a dive? Explain."
"He pretended to go down, he stumbled a bit after getting hit hard in the jaw. The other fighter thought it was gonna be a knockout and dropped his guard. The short-armed boxer staggered close enough to his opponent to land two quick jabs and a strong right! The combo knocked his opponent out cold. I decided to do the same! During one attack the figure hit me square in the spine! For a second, my body really did give out, I thought I was going down! I fell to my knees and started breathing harder than I really needed to. The figure stood over me and raised the bat above their head. Then she spoke."
"She?"
"Yeah, she. She said, "On a bent knee for me again Johnny?" Mr. Flair, I never knew what a person meant when they say 'their blood ran cold' but mine did. I KNEW that voice. I gripped the knife tight and jumped right at her. Two jabs and a strong right. She screamed and fell back against a tree with the knife sticking out of the side of her mouth. I snatched the mask off without giving a thought to the knife. There she sat...Jazmine."
"Jazmine Rhodes. I believe you two had a history."
"We had a lot of history. We were together for seven years. We did everything together! Clubs, parties, whatever! We just had fun. I proposed to her a few days before her birthday."
"I guess she refused?"
"Yeah, like I said, we did everything together. I was big into pills back then and she never touched a drug before meeting me. You can say I was the reason she got hooked. The parties just seemed better then! The colors were brighter the music made more sense, I mean; everything is enhanced when you're rollin'. When I proposed to her we were sitting in my living room. I brought out this ring I had bought from a pawn shop a few weeks prior and was nervous as all hell. I worked up the nerve and dropped to one knee out of the blue on her.
She had already become a full-on addict during those days. Our relationship had gotten rocky and she flat-out said that I was toxic and she needed to be surrounded with clean people to get her life back on track. She left me there with a stupid look on her face. She didn't return my calls or texts. I went by places she used to hang out and spoke to mutual friends with no luck. One person told me a few months later that she moved away but didn't know where...all this time later and there she was in front of me."
"Did she say anything or justify why she attacked you?"
"We sat there for a while. Thin, sporadic squirts of blood shot from her cheek. Through the blood filling her mouth, she told me that she blamed me for her addiction. She told me that her friends and family separated themselves from her...she was alone. So I guess she did whatever with whoever to earn money. One night, she realized she had nothing and decided to end it. She took all the pills she had saved and lay in her bathroom waiting for death. Three figures drug her from wherever hole she was living in and brought her to the same place they brought me. The three figures gave her the same ultimatum they gave me. She agreed to the terms and lived through her "session." I also noticed she wasn't missing any fingers. Jazmine told me that she suggested my name for an upcoming "session" because I needed to learn if I valued my life or not and that she was proud of me. She smiled, let out a small "I love you" and that was it. Jazmine was dead. I-I'm sorry...can I?"
"Yeah, I'll step out a moment and get you some tissue. Meanwhile, you sit tight and compose yourself. We have a lot more to discuss."
"Yeah, I understand."
"This is Investigator Flair ending the interview briefly with Johnathan Austin Reid at ten twenty on March seventh, twenty twenty-four."
(As Investigator Flair left the room, the vision of Jazmine sitting in front of that tree spun around my mind like a looped movie reel. What have I done to her? Her once beautiful face was withered and thin from years of drug abuse. I remembered kneeling down in front of her telling her I loved her too and kissing her softly on parched cracked lips. Tears oozed down my face in slow streams. I may have survived the night, but at what cost? Flair entered the room again, a box of tissue a bottle of water, and a small bag of off-brand chips in his hands. He sat them in front of me. After adjusting his notepad and taking his seat, he turned on the recorder again.)
"This is Investigator Flair with the Perdition, Georgia Police Department. This is a continuation of case number twenty-four, zero, zero zero, twenty-five. The time now is ten thirty-two on March seventh twenty twenty-four. Mr. Johnathan Austin Reid, are you ready to continue sir?"
"Yeah, sure."
"Alright, so I understand that Jazmine had died due to her injuries. I know that must've been very difficult to go through and you have my sincerest condolences."
"Thank you. It's still tough, I mean this whole thing happened just a few days ago."
"Yes sir, I know. Did you do anything with her body?"
"No, I left her there. I still had a deadline so I couldn't waste too much time. I knew whoever I came into contact with next would have the advantage. I was losing blood from my hand and the beating I took from Jaz with the bat..."
"Ok, you left her there. Did you stay in that general area?"
"No, I picked another direction and started walking. I couldn't run, my ribs and back were killing me. I placed the knife in my waistband and took Jazmine's bat. After about a half hour or so I came across a pretty shitty-looking shack. Of course, I approached the place slowly. Even though I was cold I still knew people wanted me dead. As I approached the front door I heard two voices inside. Initially, I couldn't hear what they spoke about so I inched around until I found some semblance of a window and remained quiet. There were two men inside. One said to the other 'Oh shit! He took out the chick!" They both seemed shocked I guess. I heard a short 'CHIRP' sound followed by another voice. The voice of Frowney. He told the guys that even though five followers remained, they needn't rest on the assurance that I would be killed by someone else. He stopped for a second then said; "You two have a guest outside."
My heart dropped to my feet then! I didn't have a plan but I knew at that moment the deck was stacked against me. There were cameras or something keeping track of me. Those fuckin' people could find me any time they wanted meanwhile I had to search blindly in a forest for them! After Frowney signed off and wished them luck, I ran toward the front door and waited with my back against the wall. I gripped the bat so tight that I could see the veins in my hands. As soon as the door opened one of them came out shouting. I swung in an upward arch like my life depended on it...fuck. I guess my life depends on it at that moment. I hit that man...hard. I heard a loud 'crunch' sound followed by a slight gurgling. I tried to pull the bat back to ready myself for the next guy but the bat was embedded so deep into the first guy's face I couldn't pull it out! He fell backward pulling me inside with him as I struggled to free the bat. Guy number two came straight at me with no hesitation. He was a big fuckin' guy, sir. I didn't see his weapons until he picked me up and struck me in the chest."
"He....lifted you?"
"Like I weighed nothin'! He lifted me and hit me square in the chest. The air left my body and I felt like I flew back two or three feet! I was barely able to catch my breath before he was back on me. I tried to go for the bat but it was still lodged in the first guy's face. A strong punch landed against my chin that rocked the fuck outta me. See this gap between my teeth here? I had a tooth there! That asshole knocked it out! My vision got blurry and I felt like I was going to be out cold with another solid hit like that. I figured I would use the same technique I used against
Jazmine.
I lunged at him using the knife I kept, striking him two times in the stomach then tried to go to the face. Do you believe he blocked the knife with his hand?! He didn't catch the blade, he let the blade embed itself into his palm when he blocked it from going into his face! I damn near shit myself! I stood back and just watched as he pulled it from his hand; that's when I noticed the knucks. It was no wonder why his punches felt like bricks, he had brass knuckles on. He threw the knife on the ground and approached me...no, it was more like he stalked me. I eased back and he pushed forward. I swear that bastard enjoyed the moment. Once he backed me into a corner he swung hard, a straight right but thank God I ducked in enough time, or else you would be recovering my body along with the others. His fist went straight through the wall of the shack and for a moment he was stuck. I took that instant to make a get the knife.
Once I picked it up, I made a mad dash for the guy and jumped on his back. I think I stabbed him at least six or seven times in the back before he flung me off and got his arm free. I tried to run passed him to the door of the shack, I was nearly there before I felt a hard jerk. He had a fistful of my shirt collar and pulled me back in. He spun me with ease and struck me again two times in my ribs then another one across the face. There was a crunch in my cheek, I saw stars and the scene around me started to go dark. I thought; 'this is it, this is how I die."
"It seems like he had you done for. What happened?"
"He left me alone. At least for a moment. He went to the shack's entrance. I couldn't quite see him for a second or two but I heard a squishing, sucking sound like the sound of a plunger unclogging a drain. He came back in with my bat in hand. His buddy's flesh drooped off the nail studs, dripping congealing blood onto the floor as he approached me. I tried to stand but stumbled back down. The room was spinning around me. He placed the studded end of the bat under my chin and lifted my head to meet his gaze. All I saw was the fabric of the mask at first. He removed the mask with his free hand.
"He revealed himself to you with no provocation?"
"That's right, the dude was Hispanic. He had a really thick beard and mustache I hadn't noticed that he didn't speak the entire time he was beating the shit outta me. Probably because his mouth was sewn shut! I don't know if he did it himself or someone did it but they were shut tight with what looked like fishing wire. He lifted the bat high and brought it down on my thigh. I never screamed in my life as loudly as I did then. When he lifted the bat again, my flesh joined the chunks of meat that were already on it. He brought it down again and again! Each time I was on the verge of passing out, he would inflict a new injury which would bring me out of it. I didn't know what to do really. The knife was too far out of reach, he was using the bat on me and I couldn't see the knucks but I assumed he put them in his pocket. All I could think of was the bat. He swung down the last time and I just.....grabbed it!
The studs sunk into my palms, unexpectedly; when he pulled back, his strength was enough to get me standing upright. I wrapped my good leg around his and pushed forward. We both fell back and as expected, the pain shot through every part of me. Blood gushed from my legs making the floor of the shack slick. The bat came free of his grip and skittered toward the knife. I was able to grab the bat hilt and lift it above my head. I planned on giving that motherfucker every ounce of strength I had left. A sharp feeling in my leg seemed to lock me up! He had grabbed my thigh...hard. As hard as it was, I fought through the searing pain and brought the bat down. He let out a muffled sound when I struck. I could see a visible dent in his forehead when I brought the bat up again. He was fucked up for sure but not dead, stunned at that point really. I stood as best as I could and from my upright position, I brought the bat down on him again, this time across the throat, cracking what I assumed to be his windpipe. I watched him gurgle and grasp his throat. Since he had his mouth wired shut, he couldn't open it to allow for any excess air. I made sure he had none.
I searched his pockets and as expected, the knuckles were there. I put one on my good hand and straddled him. I still remember the look on his face when I, looming over him came into his focus. I slammed my reinforced fist into his nose, shattering it on impact. I did it again and again for every strike on my leg he gave me. Fuck it, I kept going until I was exhausted. I didn't bother looking at what was left of him. In the back of my mind, I knew I was still on a time crunch. I tore a strip off of his shirt and wrapped my leg. I got the bat, my knife, and now a set of brass knuckles added to my little arsenal. I hobbled out of the shack and left the two bodies there."
(Inv. Flair leaned back in his seat and surveyed my face. My injuries were legit, he knew that, but for some reason, I felt he didn't believe my story. Without encouragement from him, I continued.)
"S-so I walked er, attempted to walk as best as I could through the woods. The unseen intercoms made an audible pop in the distance. Smiley's voice boomed from the speakers congratulating me on another victory. After that Straight took over and announced that all other 'players' could find me in the northwest section of the compound! As I said, this whole thing was set for whoever participating to fail! I was supposed to be finding them, but I'm the one being hunted! I could hear leaves crunching at multiple distances, some were close and some were further away. One thing I knew was that my location was their goal. I couldn't run and if I returned to the shack I may have been able to take on one of them but there would've been no way of escape. As best as I could I tried to conceal myself in the surrounding woodline and wait for my next attacker.
It didn't take long for someone to come around. The figure approached the shack carefully, I mean, rightfully so. As far as they knew I had killed four people. I saw the person enter and I suppose they searched the place in case I was still inside. A few minutes later they reemerged. They reached into their pocket and pulled out a flashlight. I tried to ease away and put some distance between me and the woodline but it was no good. Like I said, with the injuries and all; I bled everywhere and they knew that. They simply put the light on my blood trail and walked straight toward me. As I backed away leaves and branches crunched beneath my feet. I cursed a bit to myself, knowing I had just given away my location. Seconds later something flew passed my face and struck a tree, embedding itself. Naturally, I tried to run and as I turned another object struck me on my right shoulder blade here...see? I fell forward turning just enough so that I could land on my side. I could feel the blood running across my back. I managed to pull out the object with more effort than I should have expended. It was a hatchet.
Using a nearby tree, I pulled myself upright. I lost a lot of blood Sir and to be honest, I was losing hope of making it through the night. The figure stalked me as I tried to flee. Clutching my shoulder, I glanced back to see the guy wrench another hatchet free from a tree. That must've been what flew passed my face earlier. I could hear him laughing. Laughing! Their goal was to make me 'appreciate' life right? Then why actually try to kill me?! None of that night made sense...It still doesn't. My legs felt like rubber but I still tried to get the fuck outta away. I could hear the leaves crumpling faster and faster. The guy was running toward me! He caught up to me with ease pushing me from behind onto the ground face first. A twig jabbed me in the eye making me for a minute or two. He leaned down, grabbed my injured shoulder, and turned me over. This guy didn't wait to make a grand reveal, he took his mask off immediately. It was fuckin' Charlie!
"Charlie Brock right? You're former coworker?"
"One in the fuckin' same! My relief from earlier that night. He laid everything out for me. See, he knew about my suicidal thoughts also and on some occasions, he served as a listening ear for whenever I was going through something. He tells me that he was with this group of "life changers" a little bit after Jazmine joined. He said that through regular chit-chat he found out that Jazmine and I dated plus all of the things I put her through, which pissed him off. The reason he was late to relieve me that night was due to he making plans with the group. He was one of the ones that snatched me out of my car that night!
At that moment, he pinned me to the ground. I couldn't resist much. My body hurt everywhere and I was losing every ounce of fight I had in me. Charlie told me that although he knew the rules of this game, he didn't give a shit because he hated me for ruining Jazmine's life. He forced my right arm down, knowing that I couldn't move it much because of my shoulder. I remember exactly what he said then, like a song tune that you heard once but for some reason your brain can't forget it.
He said, "You owe us three Johnny!"
"What did you owe?"
"Fingers. I had to kill one person per hour. How was I supposed to keep track of their times of death? So he did it! Right there with my hand pinned down, he cut three fingers off my right hand. That's how I ended up like this. I cried out in pain, I told him I was sorry, I pleaded with him to let me go, but I saw nothing but hatred looking back at me. He placed my bloodied fingers into his shirt pocket.
"Proof." He said.
"I don't know if you would call it survival instinct or what but while he did that, I was
able to put my left hand in my pocket."
"I'm guessing that's where you placed the knucks right?"
"Yes sir! I clutched them tight and went right across his damn jaw! Dazed, he began to fall to one side of me, I rolled over on top of him and started hammering down punches. Each punch I landed, blood shot from my hands and his face. I wanted to beat his face into mush like the last guy but I was getting weaker by the second and he knew it.
I don't know how long the other people were there. I just knew that one minute I was beating Charlie with every bit of strength I got, to be being grappled by a completely different person. I was lifted and shoved against a tree. I tried fighting but got a punch to the ribs for my effort. Before I blacked out, I saw a figure helping Charlie up. Three figures stood in front of me...all laughing."
"They didn't kill you then? It seemed like the perfect opportunity. You were there, unconscious and one hundred percent defenseless."
"That's the point I'm making. These people weren't trying to make me appreciate life. That was a ruse. I think they were just a bunch of sick assholes that enjoyed bringing others pain. They woke me up God knows how much longer afterward. I was propped up against a tree with a hatchet to my throat. When everything came into focus, I saw that the others had already removed their masks. Charlie had me up against the three with the blade at my neck. Standing in front of him was a stocky muscular guy, I suppose he was the one that took me off of Charlie; and some chick. I didn't recognize them."
"So, why did Charlie and his associates let you live? Did they say?"
"Well, Charlie was vocal. He wanted to kill me but the female said they had to "abide by the rules of the game." I didn't bother asking about the rules set for them. All I knew was that if I lived, they had to die."
"So what did you do?"
"Charlie was always a hothead. Couldn't keep his temper under control for shit, plus he hated being told what to do. Once he started talking back to the female his guard dropped and he turned and to face her. As soon as he turned back to face me I headbutted him. I tried to put my whole head through his face! When he staggered back clutching his nose, I saw that the chick was carrying a damn crossbow. A crossbow!? I remember thinking to myself (who the fuck do these people think they are?) I saw her raise the weapon I grabbed Charlie and pulled him toward me. She fired an arrow that went through Charlie's back, out his chest, and lodged itself in the left side of my chest.
At this point, I don't know if my body suffered through so much pain that I was in a temporary shock or what, but, for a few moments I felt nothing. My mind kinda went into autopilot.
Using Charlie as a shield or battering ram, I pushed him into the stocky guy. I took one of his hatchets and launched it at the female while she tried to reload and caught her on the cheek. She stumbled back a bit but was able to maintain her focus. She fired another arrow but struck a tree. I had to close the distance on her, if not I was fucked. I snatched the arrow from the tree, got to her as quickly as I could, and jammed it as far as I could in her eye. She let out a scream as we fell to the ground together. Within seconds the stocky guy was on me, he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me off of the woman but I held on to that arrow. I swung back quite a few times to get him off me, stabbing him in the upper thighs in the process. The moment I broke free I spun to face him, grabbed him by the neck, pulled him close, and shoved the arrow up from the bottom of his chin to the roof of his skull. He gurgled a bit and staggered awkwardly before collapsing on top of Charlie. My body had reached its limit and I passed out. Next thing I know I'm in a hospital bed with you looking down at me."
"Yes, we got word of an individual with multiple injuries, and unformed police came to the hospital to do an Injured Person's Report. However, due to the extent of your injuries, it's clear that there was more to you than a slip-and-fall kind of thing. I gotta admit, that is one hell of a story Mr. Austin."
"Look, I know it sounds insane and it is! I mean look at me! Nobody would want to do this to themselves right?"
"I agree with you there, no sane person would want to do what's been done to you. Anyway, what's going to happen now is we're going to turn you over to Dr. Foley. You remember him right? Yeah? Well, he's going to monitor you for a few days, traumatic events like these can do horrors to the mind. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I understand. Will I be charged with anything?"
"It's still an ongoing investigation and I can't say just yet. Just talk to the doctor and I'll be in touch."
"Ok, uh, thank you Mr. Flair...for listening at least. Bye."
"This is Investigator Lance Flair ending the interview with Mr. Johnathan Reid Austin at midnight on March eighth, twenty twenty-four."
EPILOGUE:
(The recorder continues. The interview door opens, closes, and opens again.)
"So Lance, are ya chargin' the kid or not?"
(Sigh) "I'm gonna have to Dave, if not with multiple counts of murder then involuntary manslaughter. Look at these files. He's been in Doc Foley's care for years now. See this? Jazmine Rhodes. The night watchman of a halfway house she'd been living in found her in the garden behind the place. As you know, she was in a relationship with our suspect for years. Both of them fought addiction but more importantly, she was his rock. She helped him work through his suicidal tendencies.
Now this person is James Shreveport. Mr. Austin claims to not know him right? We did some digging and found out that on October tenth he was instrumental in Austin's survival after a drug overdose. Day laborers found the guy in a warehouse with multiple puncture wounds in his chest.
Here's a picture of Rosie Hernandez. The "big fuckin' guy" as he put it. He's an EMT with Perdition Georgia Medical Services. He provided CPR and other lifesaving techniques to Austin during his most recent trip to the hospital along with Jacob Wyatt who drove the ambulance. Both of them were discovered by a group of kids playing in the woods. Both were bludgeoned with an unknown blunt weapon inside of Hernandez's hunting cabin.
Finally, we have Charlie Brock, William Roberts, and Alicia Knight. Their location was called in by a passerby in the alley behind a nightclub called "The Woodz." I was called in personally for that crime scene and it looks like they were ambushed. Multiple puncture marks with, at the time, an unknown object. Later it was determined to be.."
"An arrow."
"Nailed it. Alicia is on the Perdition Technical College Archery team, second best from what I gather. Here's the thing, Charlie was Austin's coworker but that was years ago. He's the one who sold Austin the gun that jammed in his attempted suicide. One thing Austin said was correct, Charlie was dating Jazmine at the time of their deaths. Roberts and Knight are friends with Charlie and those two are a couple. They lived in the apartment under Austin. One time, he tried to drown himself in his bathtub. The water overflowed and seeped through the floorboards into their apartment. They notified management who opened Austin's door and found him in the tub. From what I read, he coded then. However, he was revived in that ride he took with Hernandez and Wyatt. Austin's been under Dr. Foley's care ever since."
"What about his injuries Lance? Nobody would do that to themselves."
"Actually yeah! Dr. Foley couldn't give me all the details, ya know doctor-patient confidentiality, but he made it clear that self-mutilation was something Austin did regularly; especially in high-stress moments. For example, killing people that prevented you from doing the one thing you wanted to do...die.
As for his knockout story, he's right about that to a degree. Austin did wake up in his apartment. The apartment he lived in before he was placed under Foley's care. Security cameras at the place got him walking right into the foyer, covered in blood. He used the elevator to the third floor and left bloody prints all over the buttons. Hell; he even broke into his old place and left plenty of evidence in there as well. Luckily, the apartment had been vacant for a while. Police got called to the scene for a possible burglary and found him sleeping like a baby on the floor covered in blood and dirt. The rest you know, we had to get him medical treatment and when he was alright enough to speak, we brought him in here. Oh, there was one tidbit of information that Dr. Foley provided that I thought was interesting."
"And that would be?"
"Austin found comfort in bonding with some rescue dogs at Foley's facility. The Doc keeps them there for the patients to interact with and ease stress. One is a basset hound, another is Jack Russell which seems excited all the time and the third is a bulldog with a tail cropped so short it doesn't wag. Wanna know their names?"
"You can't be serious Lance. I'm guessing the basset is Frowney, the Jack is Smiley and the bulldog-"
"Straight. That's right."
"Damn! Well, you know they will go with insanity. Any lawyer worth the ink on their degree will use that."
"Above my pay grade man! All I know is that I have seven murders and the lead suspect confessing to it all right here. Aw shit! This thing is still recording!"
Click.
Dead by Dawn
I was home alone when they came. My boys were trekking up Mount Kyanjin Ri in Nepal and I was getting a little staycation. No cooking, minimal cleaning, reading, writing and sleeping without being awakened by earthshaking snores or multiple visits to the bathroom that didn’t coincide with my own.
I always thought I would have a heart attack and die if someone broke into my home in the middle of the night. Alternatively, I saw myself grabbing the surprisingly sharp pocketknife I keep by the bed and shocking said invader with a nicely placed jab to the neck…or wherever my flying fist might land.
I did neither.
It was my third night alone and I was sleeping like a baby when a hand covered my mouth, startling me awake for the seconds it took another set of hands to put pressure on my carotid arteries. At least, I assume that’s what he did. All I know is one second I was ready to bite a hand and scream, the next I was waking up in what appeared to be a one-room cabin. I was laying on a cot, hands and feet bound, while seven men sat watching me.
“I hope you don’t think you can actually get a ransom for me. We own a small business. We don’t have major profits. We pay our bills and have no debt. That’s it. You seriously chose the wrong side of town. You know we live on the blue and pink-collar side of town, right? I mean, you saw our house. What were you thinking?”
I babble when I’m nervous. Needless to say, I was nervous.
“You have been chosen,” said the only un-bearded fellow.
You can imagine where my mind went but all I said was, “Is this some kind of religious thing?”
“No,” replied a different guy.
“Kind of,” said a third.
Right. “What have I been chosen for?”
“To kill us.”
I giggled, also a nervous habit. “Great. Give me a gun and the keys to a car.”
“It is not that simple.”
“Of course it isn’t.”
“We were sent here long ago as punishment. We had to live and suffer as you humans…”
“Whoa, what. Wait. You humans? Um, I am sure I don’t really want to know, but, if you are not human, what are you?”
“There is no word for us that you would understand.”
“Fallen angels?” I said, giggling again while my skin had goosebumps and a sheen of sweat.
“More like gods, than the angels that come to your mind.”
“Well, if you are gods, how did you get sent here?”
“We angered the Creator. Our punishment is eternal damnation. Eternal damnation is living and suffering as a human without end. We cannot die.”
“Then how am I supposed to kill you?
“It is the night of the seventh moon in the seventh year of the seventh century since we were relieved of all that made us gods and forced to be but men.”
“Okay.”
“On this night alone, and not again for another seven hundred of your years, the barriers between this plane and ours will open for seven hours – from now until dawn. In that time, if we are killed, we will finally throw off the chains of our earthly imprisonment and return to our true existence.”
“And if I kill you, I get to go home?”
“Yes.”
“So, give me a gun.”
“As I said, it is not that simple.”
“Yeah, I remember. So, what’s the deal?”
“We cannot just let you kill us. We must run away from you, and we have to try not to die. You have to catch us and stab us seven times with this dagger,” the un-bearded one said, pointing to a very pointy knife with a bejeweled handle that I hadn't noticed on the cot next to me.
“Well, I guess you’re stuck here because there is no way I can do that. Have you looked at yourselves lately?” They were seated, but it was obvious they were all in the over six feet, six pack, I eat steak for breakfast and bench-press your mom group.
’While the barriers are down, you will be able to tap into energies and powers you’ve never dreamed of. But you must figure it out on your own or else it would be considered cheating, and we will continue to rot in this hell.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“I did.”
“Oy. Anyway, I have never killed anyone, and it is not on my list of things to do. Couldn’t you take me home and get someone else to do it? Why not hire a contract killer or something.”
“We cannot hire someone. That would be cheating.”
“And this isn’t?”
They looked at each other.
“You have been chosen by the Creator.”
“You are fricking kidding me. You must have really pissed him, or her, off.”
“Clearly since we are here.”
“No, I mean, I am the last person in the world to choose to kill someone. Seriously.”
“If you do not kill us, you will die.”
“As I said, last person. I’ve been suicidal since I was 12. Get it over with. Just shoot me now.”
“You do not want to die.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But I definitely don’t want to stab seven men.”
“If you do not find and kill at least one of us an hour for the next seven hours, you will lose a finger each hour. If you do not kill us all by dawn, those you have killed will rise as we have ever done these last seven hundred years we have tried to die in the many wars that have plagued the earth, and you will be beheaded – by seven strokes of seven angry immortal men.”
“That sounds horribly painful.”
The only one who hadn’t spoken looked at me with haunted eyes and said, “It is.”
I wasn't certain we were talking about the same thing.
“Fine, I guess I have no choice. Untie me.”
They looked at each other with a sense of hope or dread, not sure which. “You must free yourself. And you must do it without one of your fingers.” As he said this, one moved quickly to flip me on my side and, using something that must have been made for cutting off fingers, he snipped off my pinkie.
I was still screaming when they left the cabin.
I wasted fifteen minutes of the first hour whimpering. Then I started to think. Okay, if the walls are down, so to speak, and those guys were supposedly like gods, I must be able to tap into some powerful energy.
Why would I be chosen? I thought. Well, because it had to be someone who didn’t want to kill, who had a healthy fear of a painful death if not death itself…what else? Maybe also someone who wanted to believe in other worlds and beings or varying layers of existence… who wasn’t power hungry.I suspect someone who sought power would have a field day figuring out what powers he could get tonight and how to hold on to them.
I just wanted to get home so I could see my boys again. I might even take off from work and hop on a plane like they’d wanted.
A half hour had gone by before I thought, so, if the walls are down, on this amalgamated plane, my pinkie is not gone and the bindings on me do not exist.
And it was so.
I took a deep breath. OMG, I thought. I wanted to think myself anywhere but there, but figured I would end up fingerless and headless, so instead, I grabbed the dagger and went out the door. I thought myself into the form of an owl, carrying the dagger in my claws. I flew above the surrounding forest and began my hunt.
I found the first within minutes. I landed in the branch above where he hid, retook a human form and landed a death blow before he knew I was there. And then I added the six to complete the seven stabs.
And yes, I meant “a human form.” Why take my normal, five foot seven, 120-pound form when I could be six foot six carrying two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle?
I thought myself into owl form and set off to find the other six.
I found all but one within the first three hours, but I hunted all night for the seventh, flying miles of circles around the cabin. I finally flew back to the cabin to rest and think. As I was landing, I saw him through the window. He was sitting, looking at the door, a gun in his hand.
Hmmm, I thought. Either he doesn’t want to go back, or he has to make a good showing.
I flew up to the roof. I heard him speaking.
“I know you are near. I can feel you. You will not be able to kill me, and my brothers will come back, and we will have to stay here. We will take your head and we will have life still. I don’t want to return to the ether. I have grown to love this world. I do not want to leave it.”
Great.
I wondered how to get in the cabin without being seen. Then I thought, why go in the cabin? If there were no air in the cabin, he would suffocate and die. Bingo!
I could hear him choking from my perch on the roof. Within moments, there was silence.
I flew down and peeked in the window. He was on the floor, unmoving. I thought restraints onto his wrists, just in case, and removed the gun from the room. Then I entered, dagger at the ready. As I stabbed him for the seventh and last time, his body faded away or perhaps it was just me, for I found myself standing over my bed in my home. Alone.
The dagger was still in my hand.