connor-is-ok

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It burns, Gabriel Alcala

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I just realized how visually similar The Hunchback is to the creepypasta monster The Rake..... Woops. I haven't even read that one, despite it being on my list of creepypastas to read.

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I just got my first proof copy in the mail today and I'm over the moon!

This is my first real book. It's tiny, like 120 pages tiny, but it's such a huge milestone for me and a tremendous success and a huge step forward towards my dream of being a career author!

My collection of occult cosmic horror stories releases October 7th, but you can pre-order the eBook version now on Amazon, and you'll be able to pre-order the paperback too, once I've approved the Ingramspark proof copy that should be showing up later this week.

If you're dreaming of being an author too, keep on at it: that moment you open up the package and hold your first book in your hand is truly magical and worth all of the hard work.

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"The Mirrors Are Trying to Kill You"

A Short Story by Connor S. O'Keefe

I know I'm going to sound insane, but please trust me. Shatter your mirrors now. It's for your own safety. I only tell you to do this because for the past few days mine has been trying to kill me. If you meet me on the street, it won't actually be me. 

It all started Monday. I bought a full length mirror to hang on my closet door. I thought it would help me dress better, I don't know why, it was just an idea. I brought it home, hung it on the back of my closet, and went to bed. When I woke up my room wash trashed, which was worrying because I am a neat freak. At first I thought I had been robbed. I looked through all of my belongings and nothing was gone. I didn't bother calling the police because... why should I? Nothing was wrong outside of someone trashing my house. I assumed someone had played a prank on me or something. I live in a pretty sketchy neighborhood, so I've always been careful to lock my doors, but I decided to take my security more seriously. I cleaned my house, then went to Home Depot and bought a new, more sturdy bolt lock for my door, then went about my day. I came home after work to find all of the wooden chairs at my dining room table broken, along with the wooden stools at my bar. A mild inconvenience at best but still weird none the less.

Creeped out, I checked the new bolt and nothing was wrong. Come to think of it, I actually had to unlock it with my key before I entered my house...

It doesn't matter. I went to bed that night and woke up to find my wrists cut. I freak out and ran to my bathroom. Blood dripping from my arms onto the carpet of my room. I began to wash my arms and looked into my bathroom mirror. My reflection was smilling at me. There was no pupil or iris in the eyes. It was just pure white. The teeth were pointed and long. I screamed and fell over my own feet onto the floor. Water and blood splashed onto the mirror. I scrambled onto my knees and looked into the mirror again. Nothing was abnormal. I was staring into my normal self, with my chin barely peering over the counter. I put it out of my mind and finished washing and bandaging my wrists. I went on with my day and inevitably forgot about that morning. Two days passed and I stopped worrying.

Then Thursday came. That night as I was laying in bed about to go to sleep, I heard a crash come from my kitchen. I got up, grabbed the baseball bat that I keep by my bedroom door, and crept out into my living room. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, until I turned around and was looking at myself. And I don't mean the decorative mirror that I have in my living room. There was a second me standing in the living room, same clothes, same face, same baseball bat, everything. The other me was staring at the ground, so I didn't see it's face. Confused, I moved to see if it would copy me, it didn't. I walked over towards it and poked it in the chest. It grunted, the sound was much deeper than my voice. I walked a full circle around it; it was a perfect one to one recreation of me. I tried to raise it's chin with my hand, it grunted and pushed my hand away. By that point I was sufficiently weirded out so I went back to my room and closed the door.

As soon as the door latched a massive screech came from my living room and a succession of thudding footsteps made their way towards my room. The sound, which I can only assume is duplicate of me, began banging on my door as it continued to scream. It sounded like what a stereotypical cave man speak sounds like. Just a bunch of jumbled up nonesense. The banging went on for a few minutes, when it suddenly stopped. I waited a beat before quietly, timidly squeaking out "Hello?"

Just then an obscenely loud thunk hit my door and a crack ran through the wood of my door. It started in the middle and ran for about a foot and a half. I screamed and jumped onto my bed. The doppelganger kept banging on the door, about six more times before it stopped again. This time I didn't say anything. I just sat on my bed in terror. I heard a deep growl come from my left. I looked over and saw the doppelganger me standing in the new closet door mirror. It was staring at me, holding the duplicate baseball bat to the one I was holding. It roared and raised the bat above it's head. I screamed and threw my bat in the direction of the mirror. The bat hit the wall next to the mirror. I jumped off my bed and grabbed the bat from the floor. The doppelganger wasn't moving but I was too on edge to ignore it. I took the bat and beat it against the mirror. The glass shattered. I hit it again and more glass broke. I hit it again and again, glass began to fall onto the carpet of my bedroom. I kept banging the bat against the mirror. Eventually all of the glass had fallen out of the frame, but I kept banging the bat against what used to be the mirror. After about five mintues of banging a wooden baseball bat against a frame filled with cardboard, my hands were sore, and my arms were tired. I dropped the bat and stumbled over to my bed. I flopped down and immediately passed out.

When I woke up there was blood all over my the end of my bed. At first I thought the duplicate had gotten in before I remebered that I had shattered my mirror. I checked my feet and yep, there was glass all over the bottom of them. I grabbed a pair of tweezers from dresser and meticulously picked out each shard. It hurt like hell, but I didn't want to get anything infected. I walked into my bathroom and cautiously turned the lights on. I decided to crawl on the floor to get the bandages out of the cabinet underneath the sink because I was too scared to walk in front of the mirror. I wrapped my feet and put the bandages back. I knew it would be a bad idea but I couldn't help it, the curiousity was too tempting. I climbed onto my knees and peaked my eyes over the counter. The mirror reflection was normal, as far as I could tell. I pulled my feet under my body, shifting my weight onto them. It was a bad idea because it was extremly painful, but I was now crouching in my bathroom, with only my head poking above the bathroom counter. I slowly lifted myself off the floor until I was standing up. I grabbed the baseball bat that I left in the doorway and stared into the mirror, holding it like a sword.

"I don't know what you are, or how you are able to be in my mirrors or whatever it is. But I want you out of my house." I said to the mirror. For about ten seconds nothing happend. Then, the eyes of the reflection rolled back into it's head, and the mouth became an uncannily large smile. Not very large, but slightly bigger than what should be possible for a human, enough to send a shiver down my spine. I raised the bat slightly. It growled for a split second.

"Your house?" The reflection said "You mean, our house?"

"What does that-" I began to ask, before the reflection swung it's bat at me. I jumped out of the way and the duplicate bat came crashing down onto the faucet of the sink. Water came rushing out of the broken spout and began spraying everywhere. I fell backwards, dropping my bat and falling into my shower; knocking the curtain down in the meantime. Part of it fell onto my face. I quickly shoved it backwards, to see the reflection climbing out of my mirror. It smiled at me and crouched on my sink counter, kind of spiderman style. It just stared at me. I slowly stood up staring back at it. I picked up the bat and pointed the end of the barrel at it like I was in a lightsaber duel. The duplicate did the same.

"What are you?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I'm you. Can't you tell?"

"You're lying." I responded. All the duplicate did was laugh. It leaned towards me. I shoved the tip of the bat forwars. "Stay back." I snapped. I side stepped until my back was to my bathroom doorway, then step backwards until I was out of the bathroom. I slammed the door closed and and scrambled into my livning room. I ran to my pantry, grabbed bread and a box of cereal, then ran back into my bedroom, locking the door. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the duplicate watching me from my living room mirror. I called my mother and explained what was going on. She told me it was a nightmare and that I was being irrational. I adamantly denied that, she refused to listen to me so I eventually hung up. I went into the bathroom with my baseball bat and began smashing that mirror. After the glass began to fall out of it I went to the living room to smash that mirror. As I approached it the reflection appeared.

"This isn't necessary, Austin." It said. "No one will believe you anyway. Why don't you just accept me already?"

I said nothing and smashed my bat into it, swinging it like an axe. I pulled it up andc swung it back down again. The duplicate started laughing from between the cracks of the glass. I hit the mirror repeatedly, but the laughing didn't stop.

I dropped the baseball bat onto the ground, reaching my hands up and ripping the mirror off the wall, flinging it onto the ground glass down. And began stomping on the back of the frame. The laughter was enraging me. I began to stomp onto the back of the mirror. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!" I screamed each syllable with every stomp, but the laughter didn't stop. I picked the bat up and began slamming it onto the mirror, screaming incoherently at the top of my lungs, like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. My voice began going out and I couldn't scream anymore, but the laughter reamined. I slammed the back of the mirror with the bat one more time and then turned to walk back to my room.

I threw the now cracked baseball bat onto my bed and slammed the door, locking it. I walked over and picked up my cellphone. I had a text from my mother, she was coming over, I didn't reply. I was beginning to think that it might not be my mother. What if she had the same thing happen? She was much older than I was, more frail. She wouldn't be able to defend herself as easily. I wasn't sure how many people this same thing might have happened to. I might have been the first, I may be the last. One of you reading this might recognize it. I decided that whoever it was that was texting me wasn't my mom. I threw my phone into the trash can and sat on my bed. After 20 minutes there was a knock at my bedroom door. It was my mom, supposedly. She must have used her key that I gave her to get in.

"Austin? Honey, are you ok? It's mom" Came the voice from the other side of the door.

"I don't trust you!" I hollered.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't believe you. You're not my mom, you're a fake!" I cried.

"What are you talking about?" She said, showing concern, but I can only imagine it was fake.

"Go away, you're not my mom. I know you're trying to kill me but I won't let that happen. I'm armed in here." I cried. "Just go!"

"Fine, but I'm calling a someone to check on you."

I didn't reply. I eventually heard my front door close. I stayed on my bed, unmoving for who knows how long. My phone began vibrating in the trash can. I picked it up and looked at it, I don't know why, I just did. It was an unknown number. I answered it. It was the supposed "Burbank Police Department" calling to check in on me. I didn't trust it. I screamed into the phone "Stop calling me!" and hung up. I put my phone on the floor and grabbed the bat. I slammed the barrel into the screen of my phone and repeatedly bashed until there was nothing left. I looked over at my desk and realized that my laptop screen could also produce a reflection. I swung the bat into the laptop over and over again. I kept hitting it. I'm not even sure how long I hit it, but after some time there was a knock on my door. It was the "police" again. I said nothing. I opened my bedroom door but didn't leave my room, I hid behind the wall and waited. There was another knock on the door and call for me. I didn't reply. I waited for who knows how long, by this point I had lost all track of time. I think they left. I have been writing this on scratch paper that I found in my desk since then. I think they might come back. If they do I plan to let them in, but I won't talk. This is the time for action. I either kill them, or they kill me. That's the only way this can end. Is it suicide? Sure, I guess. 

I just heard a knock on my door. I didn't say anything. They knocked again, they called out their false police identity. I'm going to let them in. If there is no more, then presume me dead. If I am, and you are still you, then shatter your mirrors and stay safe. I wouldn't recommend leaving your home, and if possible, not leaving your room.

Keep yourself safe, Austin.

End of evidence item number A7. Case #77481937 Collected by: Officer O'Grady Current condition of case: Assailant in Mental Hospital Current Case Status: Closed

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Escapee from Region IV by Connor S. O’Keefe (cont.)

Chapter 1 Part 3

When I woke up in the morning we were driving again. It looked like we were on a back road of some sort. There were long, distantly winding corn fields on both sides. Birds were flying in and out between the lines of the tall green stolks, presumably trying to catch beetles, worms, caterpillars and other types of bugs that were crawling along within and between the corn. The sun was shining down, barely peaking through the clouds of the early morning sky. I looked at the dashboard clock, 8:25AM. The earliest I have woken up in a long time, I think. "Morning, Geoff." I said while stretching, extending my arms out and hitting the roof of the cabin.

"Morning there. Slept well?"

"Yeah, I guess." I replied. "No nightmares this time."

"Well that's good. I know I've asked this twice before with no luck, but I'll try a third time. What's your name?"

"Oh. Erm. My name is Grace."

"Well, Grace, nice to finally know your name."

I chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about that. How long have you been driving?"

"Just about two hours. We're just about to enter Southerland. There's a coffee shop in town. We can stop and get some breakfast."

"That sounds good."

"So since we're talking about you for once. How old are you?"

"What year is it again?"

"2019."

"I'm seventeen, then."

"Where you from?"

"North Carolina."

"That's pretty far away from Colorado."

"Yeah... I know. I miss my family."

"Do you think they'll recognize you if we can get you over there?"

"I don't know. Maybe." I inhaled sharply. "I hope so."

"Would you want to go home?"

I thought about it for a minute. What would it be like if I did go home? I don't even know my family anymore and they don't know me. Hell, I barely even know myself. I have no hobbies, no interests. All I know is a dark, dingy, padded room, and a straight jacket. I looked out the window and watched the lines of corn fly by. I-80 was a long stretch of road that could, theoretically, lead me home. The only thing I really wanted was to get as far away from the Institute. But I also want to get that place shut down. Conflicts of interest. Fun, aren't they? I pulled Dr. Tulowitzki's key card out of my pocket. It was a bit bent by this point but it should still be usable. Geoff looked at me, and waited for a response. I looked back out the window, not wanting to make eye contact. Finally I quietly sighed and said "No. Not yet."

"Well, then I guess you're gonna be my co-pilot for a while. I can split profits with you so you can make some money of your own. I make pretty good money doing this, about a hundred grand a year, and I don't have a family of my own. So I can spare some cash your way." He said, looking back at the road.

I sighed again. "Yeah, that sounds good." I said, turning my head to look at him.

"Alright. It's set then. Welcome to the team."

"Well what about you? Where are you from?" I asked him.

"Oh, I grew up in Kansas City, Kansas.”

"Why'd you start driving semis?"

"It's what my dad did. He taught me how to drive one when I was nine. After high school I didn't have any aspirations for college, so I decided to join what I called the family business."

"Interesting. I don't even remember what my dad did for a job..."

"Maybe we can find out someday."

"Yeah. Maybe." I said, hopeful.

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Escapee From Region IV by Connor S. O’Keefe (cont.)

Chapter 1 Part 2

I arrived at our Charlotte, North Carolina home from school, put my key in the door, and walked inside. I had just turned twelve two months ago, and one of my birthday presents was a house key. My parents were still at work and my older brother, Nathan, was at college attending the nearby University of North Carolina.

There was a strange car parked outside of my house but our neighbors were pretty weird people so I didn't pay any mind to it. My shoulder length pigtails bounced as I walked into the kitchen, put my backpack down, and made a peanut butter and Colby-Jack cheese sandwich. It was my favorite after school snack. I don't remember when I started making these but it was really good. Especially today. It was one of the final days of school for the year, and I had taken four tests today. Math, Science, English, and my worst subject of all, History. I suck at history; dates and names get jumbled in my head and I always end up saying that George Washington Carver was the first President.

My brother was going to be home in a week from his freshman year. I imagined that he would have a ton of fun stories to tell. I sat down on the couch in our living room to watch whatever was on the Disney Channel, probably Phineas and Ferb, when there was a knock at the door. I opened the door to find a man in a white coat standing there.

"Can I help you sir?" I said through my missing front tooth.

He leaned down to reach my height. "Hi there sweetie, are you Grace Eleanor Schnell?"

I felt awkward around him but answered honestly. "Yep! That's me!"

"Well I need to talk to you. It's very important. It's in regards to your parents." He said and asked to come inside. I let him in. "Your parents and I have been talking for a while and they are concerned about you."

"What do you mean?”

"Well, my name is Doctor Richard Borenstein. I work at the Region IV Mental Institute. Your parents have become concerned with the way you have been behaving lately." I was still confused. I didn't think I had been acting strange lately.

"What's a mental institute?"

"It's a nice place that people go when they have problems in their head." He said calmly. "Your parents have told me that they think it might be best if you go there for a while. It won't be too long, we at the R4MI are very good at what we do, and we can fix you up quickly."

"So do I have a choice to go with you? Or can I stay here?"

"Unfortunately not. Your parents have already signed your admittance form, we have come to take you with us."

"Can I wait for my parents to get home before I leave? So I can say goodbye."

"I'm sorry, honey, but that's why I came here now. Your mother was very upset about this and they agreed to not be here when we came to get you." I was confused and upset. I didn't want to go but he was kind and certain that this is what my parents wanted.

"Should I go pack?" I asked, hoping that my mom might be home from work by then. "I'll need clothes, right?"

"No, you won't." He walked over to the screen door and opened it. "Just come with us and we'll give you some really comfy clothes. It's a very nice place. You'll get a very nice room, and toys, and we'll take good care of you. You'll be back before you know it." I lowered my head and began to cry. I was confused. Why would my parents do this to me and not tell me. "No, don't cry." Dr. Borenstein said. "Here, let me carry you to our van, and we'll take you to get ice cream, does that sound good?"

I sniffled. "Ye-yeah. Ice cream."

I awoke with a snap in the bed area of the semi-truck. Momentarily forgetting where I was. Geoff was driving calmly through the night. "Hey, you're awake. You ok? You were crying in your sleep." I wiped my eyes and blinked a couple times so my eyes would adjust to the lights of the dashboard. My head was spinning. The dream I had had had just reminded me of something I hadn't thought about for years; the first time I met Dr. Borenstein. I wiped the crust out of my eyes and looked at the clock. 11:25PM.

"Yeah. Sorry, just a bad dream. Did I say anything?"

"Not really. Just something about waiting for your parents." I looked down and I was under a blanket, with my sweatshirt back on.

"How did I get back here?"

"Ah, you fell asleep in the front seat around 4 o'clock. I pulled over and put you back there. I tried to wake you up so you could go back there yourself but you were out cold."

"What about my shirt?" I asked, trying to not sound accusing.

"I just slipped it on you as best I could, it usually is colder back there than up here and I didn't want you to start freezing."

"Oh, well. Thanks. Where are we?"

"Just outside of Nebraska." Geoff said, keeping his eyes on the road. We sat in silence for a few minutes before Geoff spoke again. "Who are you?"

"What?" I asked in confusion. He was looking at me in the rear view mirror.

Geoff waited a couple seconds before replying. "I saw the tag on your shirt. It's from that crazy house they mentioned on the radio." I looked at my lap and contemplated what to say.

"I don't want to go back."

"Are they as dangerous as the warning said?" I said nothing in reply. A tear fell down my face. Geoff drive for a couple minutes again."If you are," Geoff chuckled. "I don't think you're in any sort of shape to hurt anyone."

The silence in the cab was deafening. "Did they mistreat you?" Geoff finally asked. I didn't say anything. "The shape of you when I picked you up. Whew. I can't imagine it was a good place."

"I don't belong there."

"No one belongs in a place that lets patients look like that."

"No, really!" I said looking up at Geoff, tears still falling. "I'm not crazy! I don't need to be there!"

"What happened?" I waited a few seconds, looking at my lap again. I began sobbing just at the thought of everything I had seen.

Through the tears I croaked, "Are you going to take me back?"

Geoff thought for a minute, and finally responded "No. I'm not. If they let you get the way you did, I think they don't need to have anyone there." I looked at him again, in disbelief. "I'm an old soul." Geoff said, he paused for a second. "What does TS mean?"

"Test subject... I think. At least, that's what they referred to me as."

"Why would they do that?"

I waited a couple minutes, trying to gain control of myself. Finally I told him everything. How Borenstein took me from my home, the screams in the night, the blindfold. I explained to him about the vials and the human parts in pickling jars. I hesitated for a second, but decided to tell him about the lady on the table.

Geoff looked mortified. "Yeah, I'm definitely not taking you back there." I sniffled, and said nothing for a minute. I just stared into my lap. Geoff spoke the silence out of existence with "I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's getting late and I'm close to my daily driving limit. There's a Loves gas station coming up. Maybe we can find you some new close, sweat pants really ain't good for 95 degrees summer heat... and maybe a shower."

The last ten minutes of the ride were in total silence. I was still sniffling and softly crying in the back of the cab curled into a ball on the mattress, but by the time we pulled into the truck entrance of the gas station I had managed to reduce the tears to one or two a second. Geoff got out and left me sitting in the cab for a bit while I gathered myself fully, taking slow deep breaths, measuring them with three second intervals. As Geoff was returning to the truck, I wiped the rest of the tears out of my eyes and rubbed my nose with the sleeve of the crew neck. When he got back to the truck he had a black medium t-shirt with an eagle on the front. He handed it to me and a bag of other stuff. I asked him what it was, he said it was toiletries he had bought for me. He said I had a shower appointment in ten minutes. While we waited we ate at the Wendy's that was attached to the gas station. I ordered a salad and a chocolate frosty, and Geoff ate a Dave's double meal with a Cherry Coke.

The shower felt so good. Another first in five years. My hair was disgusting and I washed it something like four times before I finally felt good about it. I wanted to stay in the shower's hot water forever, but a couple seconds after I finished washing the water shut off. I wasn't sure why but I eventually realized it was because my time limit was over. I put my sweatpants back on and the t-shirt. Geoff drove me to a nearby Walmart and bought me a pair of shorts. Geoff told me I could take the bed, and that he would just recline his seat. I tried to refuse, saying it was his bed, but he wouldn't hear it. "You're young. I'm not. You need some good sleep either way. I bet that place didn't give you a good mattress."

"They didn't give me any mattress." I replied. Geoff threw his hand out and offered me into the back of the truck.

[connor-is-ok]

Escapee from Region IV by Connor S. O’Keefe

Content warnings can be found on my Wattpad.

Chapter 1 Part 1

The last time I really knew the sun's light was May 2, 2014. Since then I have been admitted to the Region IV Mental Institute. I get two meals a day, five medications, and a four walled mattress that the doctors refer to as my "recovery room" or "the safe room". I'm hardly ever allowed to leave that room, but when I am, I am forced to wear a straight jacket and blindfold, so that I don't "pose a threat to myself, or anyone else." I have been diagnosed with Psychosis, Schizophrenia, major depressive disorder, bipolar disorder, and borderline personality disorder. But the thing is, I'm not mentally ill. I am perfectly fine, but I have been unnecessarily kept in the R4MI for the last five years.

My name is Grace Schnell, and I have no idea why I'm here.

I've made a scratch on my walls for every day I've been here. 1,830 marks. At least, I think it's been that long. There are large gaps in my memory, times where the doctors would enter my room, and then I would suddenly wake up on the floor of my room. Sometimes I would have new scratches and bruises afterwards.

There are times where I stay awake on the floor of my cell and hear screaming coming from inside the building. I don't know why it happens or where it comes from but I intend to find out. I have been biding my time, waiting for a chance to get out of this room and make an escape. A chance to find out what the hell has been going on. I got back to my room just now. I don't know what they do when they remove me. Normally, an orderly enters my room and puts on my straight jacket and blindfold, then the doctors guide me to some sort of examination room, and then I'm on the floor of my dimly lit padded cell again. Usually it would be just as normal, the doctors would put my unconscious body back in my room, then I would wake up, and wait for food and medication, wait for more food, and then go to sleep. Rinse and repeat except for the days the doctors remove me. Which would be about every four days. But next time was going to be different. Because the next time would be the day I get out of this hell hole.

The next time an orderly opened my door I was prepared. I hid beside the door, and when he walked in with the straight jacket, I slipped out. The hallway was lit much better than the cell I was in, which made my eyes hurt as I hadn't seen light that bright in a long time. I had to squint as I began to make my way. The tile floor was ice cold on my bare feet. The entire building seemed to be freezing. I stumbled down the hallway, searching every door. The walls were a pale beige color, with no windows in sight. There were hundreds of doors. They were all gray steel, with complex locks. Some had passcodes, some had fingerprint scanners, some just had regular key holes. I don't know what kind of psychiatric hospital needs this kind of diverse high tech security but I wanted to find out why. Eventually I came across a laboratory. It had a lot of equipment that appeared to be working with different liquids. Some were an opaque blue, others a thick red, a couple were clear liquids, and one that looked a lot like urine. I walked over to one of the vials of blue liquid and looked at the label. It read "Lysergic acid diethylamide". I heard footsteps down the hallway and hid behind a counter, barely peaking my eyes over the surface. It was the orderly that entered my room. He was running and talking into a walkie talkie in a frantic manner.

"Test Subject 11025738 has escaped. I repeat, test subject 11025738 has escaped her room." Test subject? Not patient? What does he mean test subject? I put the vial back and waited a few minutes before leaving, but as I made my way down, it occurred to me just how difficult navigating my way out of here would potentially become. I came to a big plastic blue double door and peaked through the window to discover an intersection, with three more double doors on each side. Green on the left, brown on the right, and red straight ahead of me. I carefully went through the door, doing my best not to make a sound. The whole internal structure had changed. Rather than a hallway the size of a normal house hallway, this ceiling of this room was at least 30 feet high. The floor had changed to a solid dark gray laminate. The lights were very dim, and the walls were a dark brown, almost black, which absorbed even more of the small amount of light in the room. There were signs above each door. The one I came through read "West Wing 4", above the brown door it read "South Wing 2", "North Wing 5" was written above the green door. And the red door directly in front of me was labeled "Surgical and Testing Wing". Curiosity got me, and I went through the red doors. There weren't as many doors down this way but it was surprisingly disgusting for a supposed surgical area. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years, dirt and blood caked in the walls and doors. Most of the doors were closed and I didn't bother trying to open them because I saw a stairwell at the end of the hall. The hallway was somehow even more cold. I crossed my arms and rubbed up and down to try and warm myself. An open door caught my eye on my way to the staircase. I took a peek inside and it was horrifying. A woman was lying on a table, naked. Her stomach was sown closed but her intestines were trailing through holes. She was somehow still alive, although she was hooked up to a breathing machine. Some of her intestines were wrapped into a microscope before trailing back into her body. She moved her head and looked at me, tears trailing down her face.

I didn't know what to do so I turned tail and kept on towards the staircase, until I came to another lab. I went inside to see if I could find out more about this place. More horrors met me. Human parts in jars lined the walls on shelving units. Livers, heart, feet, heads, hands, and pickled fingers and eyeballs. I leaned over, supporting myself on my knees, facing the floor. It was disgusting and smelled atrocious. Like a sewer on steroids. That's when the contents of my stomach decided to vacate my body and I vomited on the floor. Mushed up peas and nondescript meat were mixed in with the brown muck of stomach acid and food that the facility had fed me over the last four days. The smell of the bile made me want to throw up again. I leaned over again to do so when I heard footsteps enter the room. It was one of the doctors, a small man with glasses who seemed to be about my size, which is roughly 5-foot-2.

"Hey, what are you doing in here?" he said when he saw me. He reached for the walkie talkie on his belt when I took a running leap and slammed my shoulder into his chest.  He fell to the ground and dropped the walkie talkie. I got up and kicked him in the throat a couple times. I grabbed the name tag and keycard from his lab coat. It said his name was "Jonathan Tulowitzki." I ran out the door and down the stairwell. It went down three floors. I ran through the ground floor door, labeled as F, and found myself in what looked like a long lobby. There were two hallway exits on the right which said they were for office groupings. There were also four bathrooms on the left. Footsteps were coming down one of the hallways so I ran into the closest bathroom. I went into a stall and stood on one of the toilets to be sure I wouldn't be found if someone came looking in there.

The footsteps went past the bathroom and I heard Doctor Borenstein, the head doctor for the facility, say "Find her. We can't let her leave. She knows too much now."

Knows too much about what? I thought. I didn't know anything. I just knew that I needed to escape. As the footsteps faded I climbed down and exited the stall. I looked at myself in the mirror. My black hair was longer than I remembered. It was only at the middle of my back which was shorter than I expected. I guess the facility had supplied haircuts at some point. My gray eyes were dulled with the lack of light, but I had a gut feeling that it was something more than that. My pupils were smaller than what is natural. My olive skin was extremely pale, and my seventeen year old frame was tiny. I was practically bones. There was little substance to my figure. I was extremely dirty, as I hadn't had a shower in who knows how long. The sweatsuit that the Institute forced me to wear was dirty and had a few holes in the sweatshirt. It was a pale beige, the same color as the walls in the West Wing. The pants were blank as was the shirt other than a small barcode with the inscription "TS 11025738" written in black ink on the upper left hand corner, just below the shoulder seam.

I took the shirt off and wrapped it around my waist. The Institute had also outfitted me with a white tank top underneath, which meant I wasn't naked after taking off the crewneck. I walked over to the restroom door and cracked it open. There was an orderly set up at the door that ends the stairwell, but there was no one at the main door. I quietly slipped out of the bathroom and creeped over to the main door. It needed a badge scan to open it so I took the nametag I had stolen from Tulowitzki and scanned it. It made a quiet beep and I made my way out of the building. There was no door handle on the other side, it was just a smooth black slab of metal. The door of the building was aimed directly towards a line of trees and bushes. I  grabbed the side of the door and closed it as quietly as I could. The door clicked and I wasn't sure how loud it was on the inside so I bolted to the end of the treeline and hid in a bush. An orderly came running out two seconds later and ran towards the treeline, not in my direction, just in a straight line. He ran past me; so close that I could hear him panting and speaking into his walkie talkie. He was saying something about a possible perimeter breach. I stayed in the bush for a couple more minutes until I was sure I wasn't in any danger of getting caught. As I waited I studied the building as much as I could. It wasn't really a building in the normal sense. It was a giant black square, no windows, no lines indicating any form of entrance. I couldn't even see where the main door was anymore. But I didn't care. I was never going back. At least not yet.

I slowly took a couple steps backwards keeping an eye on the door for the first five steps. Then I turned around and ran off as best as I could. I was weak and barefoot, so the rocks and branches hurt my feet. I eventually made my way to a road and started following it. I didn't know where it was leading me but all I cared about was that it was leading further away from my prison. I walked for about 15 minutes until a semi-truck drove by. The driver honked the horn so I hopped off the road and began walking along the side in the grass. The semi-truck slowed down and pulled up next to me. The man driving it was a pudgy older guy, with a large white mustache; other than the mustache he was completely bald, and he had a beer belly. He was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. He had a deep gruff voice. He rolled down the passenger window.

"You shouldn't be walking on a highway like that, young ma'am." He called to me. I stared at him blankly. Not sure what to say, or even if I should say anything. "Do you want a ride somewhere? There's a town about five miles from here." I looked in the direction he was pointing. I slowly nodded and looked back at him. He smiled at me softly and said "Well then hop in. My name's Geoff."

I looked at him and climbed into the truck. "Alright, then," he said, put the truck out of park and returned to driving. "You don't talk much do you?" I shook my head. "Ok then. Maybe I can get you to. How old are you?" I said nothing. "What's your name?" Again, I said nothing. "O-K then, I'll just play some music." He flipped on the raid and it was playing a classic rock song. When the song ended the DJ came on and started making an announcement. Her voice was soothing, something you might hear at a smooth jazz club.

"Hey cool cats and kittens. This is AJ DeMarco from 106.5 The Shock. That was Astronomy, by Blue Öyster Cult and I just got an important announcement from the Region IV Mental Institute. A dangerous criminal has escaped and is on the loose. They didn't give much info about the assailant, but you can recognize them by they're patient number TS-"

I flipped the radio off again. "I don't like listening to those." I said in monotone.

"You what?" Geoff replied, astonished that I had finally spoken.

"They scare me." I said, looking at my lap.

Geoff thought for a second. "Well good. There are some really crazy people out there. Dangerous people who want to hurt you." I looked at Geoff. "Erm, not me though." He quickly added. "I'm just trying to help get a young girl off the highway." I nodded in agreement. I didn't think he was planning to hurt me. At least, not in the way that place could. "You look terrible. When was the last time you ate?"

"Earlier today."

Geoff scoffed. "It couldn't have been much. You look like you haven't eaten in a while. Your clothes look pretty bad too. Are you homeless?"

"You... You could say that." It felt weird speaking. I hadn't held a proper conversation with someone in years, or even myself for that matter. Speaking in general felt almost like a foreign act, something that was unnatural for me to do, something I shouldn't be doing.

"Well, that's just unfortunate. Did you run away?"

A wave of shock went down my spine. Is he one of them? I thought, fearing the worst. "D-Did I what?"

"Run away. Like, from home."

"Erm. Yeah, kinda." I muttered.

"Do you want some food?"

"I don't have any money." I said, patting my pockets.

"Oh. Well that's alright. I don't mind paying for something. You hungry?"

My stomach grumbled just hearing about something other than peas and random pieces of meat.

Geoff laughed. "I'll take that as a yes. How does McDonalds sound?"

"Mc...Donalds?" I said in confusion. By now it had been so long since I had heard of any brands so I genuinely had no idea what he was referring to.

"Yeah you know, hamburgers, chicken nuggets, ice cream, et cetera." My mouth was watering just by the names of the food. Geoff noticed my look of longing and laughed again. "Alright. McDonalds it is.”

After about four minutes of driving we arrived in a small town called Estes Park, Colorado. We drove another two minutes and Geoff pulled into the parking lot of a Safeway across the street from the McDonalds. Geoff told me to order whatever I wanted, so I did. I ordered a hamburger, fries, a six count pack of chicken nuggets, and a large drink. It was easily the best food I had ever had, although I didn't really have much to compare it to in recent memory. Geoff just ordered a cup of coffee and a small fry. As I ate he sipped on his coffee, watching me. I looked up at him with a mouth full of fries, and asked "What time is it?"

"11:30 AM." Geoff responded.

I swallowed my food and took a big gulp of Dr. Pepper. "What's the date?"

"June 7, 2019."

"Woah. It's been longer than I thought..."

Geoff cocked his head to the side in confusion. "What do you mean? What's been longer?”

"Erm, nothing." Was my reply and I shoved a boot shaped chicken nugget into my mouth.

"Do you got anywhere to go?”

"What?"

"Like somewhere specific you're heading?"

"Not really..." Then I had an idea. "Can I come with you?" It was a pefcect plan. If I hitched a ride with Geoff, he could easily drive me away from the institute and I could start my life and maybe, at some point, take them down. I have been in there. I am witness to the insanity that they have committed.

Geoff looked at me, raising an eyebrow . "You mean you wanna travel with me?"

I stuck a fry in my mouth. "Yeah," I said through the fry. "If that's ok with you. I don't really have a place to go, or a family that I'm aware of. So if you don't mind..." My voice trailed off at the thought of my family. The last time I had seen them was when I was twelve. Did my parents and brother remember me? Did they think I was dead?

"I don't mind just as long as you pump the gas every once in a while."

"Sure.... you may need to show me how to though." Geoff laughed, thinking it was a joke. I just looked at him, with a deadpan expression.

"Oh... Erm... sure, I can show you."

"I really appreciate it, sir, everything."

"Geoff. Please, call me Geoff."

[connor-is-ok]

Escapee From Region IV by Connor S. O’Keefe

This is an ongoing story. The rest will be released on my Wattpad.

Prologue

March 17, 1998

"Dr. Ashton, he's flatlining!" The new young doctor cried. Doctor Michael Ashton, an old veteran of this business, calmly walked into surgical room four.

"Give him 40 cc's of epinephrine." Doctor Ashton said.

"What? That won't do anything!" The young doctor cried, as he whipped around to start performing CPR, his necktie clapping him in the face.

"Don't you question me!" Doctor Michael said loudly. "Do it! 40 cc's of epinephrine now!"

The smaller doctor looked up at Ashton's 6-foot-5 frame and hurried over to the small table of needles. He stumbled and knocked the table over, it went crashing to the ground with a loud "CLANG!" as the doctor face planted into the floor of the third level subterranean surgical room. Dr. Ashton roared and shoved the younger Doctor out of the way as he tried to stand back up. Ashton grabbed one of the needles off the ground, uncapped it, and shoved it into the right side of the test subject's chest, directly underneath the man's pectoral muscle. The right lung would normally be there but the man had been fitted with a second heart instead of a lung. The subject's heart rate sped up slightly before steadying out to a normal pace.

The young doctor propped himself up on a wall, trying to stabilize himself. Ashton walked over and grabbed the front of the young doctor's shirt. Ashton pulled the man up to him to look at him eye to eye. His feet dangled five inches from the floor as Ashton growled, "What's your name?”

"R... r... Richard Borenstein, sir." The young doctor muttered.

"Borenstein...." He shoved the man out the door, and Borenstein fell on the ground. "Leave my surgical room, meet me in my office. We're going to have a nice chat." Ashton glared at Borenstein as he stumbled off down the dirty hallway towards the staircase.

Ashton turned around, took his surgical gloves off, told another doctor to watch the test subject, and made his own way towards the staircase. He pulled a Marlboro cigarette box from his pants pocket. Lit one, and put it in his mouth. Ashton didn't smoke normally, only on special occasions, and this was a very special occasion for Ashton and Borenstein. Ashton walked up the staircase as he began to smoke the cigarette.

By the time Ashton reached his office on the ground floor, the cigarette was half gone. He walked into his office and Borenstein was sitting in a chair at the front of Ashton's desks. Ashton calmly walked over, and put his hand on the back of the young doctor's head. He took the cigarette out of his mouth, and shoved the lit end into Borenstein's neck, then slammed his face onto the desk. Ashton put the Marlboro back in his mouth, took a drag, and sat in his own chair.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in there?" He said to the young doctor, who was holding onto his now bleeding forehead. Borenstein groaned in pain. "What is it that you think we do here?"

"We're doctors, sir." Borenstein replied.

"God, Borenstein. You're so fucking stupid. We're not just doctors. We're scientists who are trying to improve the human condition better than God ever could. We're trying to put our species at the true top of the food chain. And the last thing this company needs is people like you who disobey orders."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry?" Ashton screeched. He started yelling at Borenstein. "Sorry doesn't cut it here! Your damned incompetence is unacceptable! People like you are the reason this place almost went down fourteen years ago!" He leaned over, grabbing Borenstein's necktie and pulling him closer. Ashton produced a switch blade pocket knife from his lab coat pocket. He flicked it open and held the blade up to Borenstein's neck. He growled, quietly so that only Borenstein would hear him, in the case of any eavesdroppers. "If that damn thing dies, it's on you. Understand?" Botenstein nodded in small, slow movements, trying to not push the knife further into his throat. Ashton smiled. "Good." He sat back in his desk chair, keeping the knife in his hand. "Now go home." He said quietly. "And when you get here tomorrow, you're going to pull a twenty four hour shift. Guard duty over that things life. If it starts dying again, you're going to be the only one to take care of it. If it dies before the end of your shift..." Ashton put the sharp side of the knife blade up to his own neck with his left hand, and drew it across his own throat, slicing it open. Blood came flowing out of his neck and down onto his clothes. Staining his white lab coat red. "You'll be next." He gasped. He picked up the cigarette and inhaled. Smoke came billowing out of the freshly opened wound. "Now get out of my fucking building." Ashton said, glaring at Borenstein.

Borenstein got up and tripped over the rug on the floor. He pushed himself up and scrambled out of the office. He ran down the hall and took a right towards the main door. He fumbled for his key card to let him out, panting and manic. He grabbed ahold of it and put it up to the scanner. The door beeped and he shoved it open. He bolted out and took a left, towards his car which was parked in the grass since the building didn't have a parking lot. Blood was beginning to drip into his eyes from his forehead. His neck was throbbing in pain. He ran to his car, and as he grabbed for his keys he leaned over and vomited into the grass. Borenstein had seen a lot, he was a surgeon for a few years before joining the Regions Organization. But the actions he had just witnessed were something else. A man had just slit his own throat infront of him. The sad part was, Borenstein knew that Ashton would still be there tomorrow. It was gross, and it might have been deep enough to kill him, but it wouldn't.

On the drive home he kept thinking about what all had happened today. He was terrified. He didn't want to return to work the next day but he knew if he didn't he was going to be killed by order of Ashton. Dr. Michael was a warlord in scrubs. When Borenstein got home he downed a whole bottle of wine. As he was passing out he knew that the next twenty four hours would be the most stressful event of his life.

[connor-is-ok]

Cover Reveal!

Their Eyes Were Dust will be available to read for free on bertwriteshorror.com on June 12. No downloads required, available right on your browser.

You can also listen to me read this story on the 12th at 5pm on Instagram (@bertwriteshorror) or on the 13th at 5pm at twitch.tv/bertwriteshorror

[connor-is-ok]

“The Hunchback” by Connor S. O’Keefe

For more info on the content warnings, check my wattpad.

Content warnings: Fear, Language, Mental Health, Violence, Blood, References to Alcohol Abuse

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I went into the gas station to get a pack of cigarettes, and I was nearly frozen from the short walk inside. For the middle of autumn in Mississippi it was surprisingly cold. At least I think it was. I had just moved here and didn’t really have anything to compare it to. The cashier definitely could tell something was wrong because he told me they were on the house. Guess he was the owner or something, that or he was about to get fired. I appreciated it though, since I realized I had forgotten my wallet after I asked him the price. As I was leaving he told me he hoped my day got better. I stopped, glanced over my shoulder, and after a beat I popped a cigarette in my mouth and told him I doubted it would. I walked outside and lit it. I took a puff and almost hacked up a lung. Guess I should have seen that coming since I had never smoked before. I zipped up my ragged bomber jacket and hurried over to my car. I quickly unlocked the doors and hopped in. Put my key into the ignition and…. Nothing. Not even a croak.

“Damn it.” I muttered under my breath. The last thing I needed today was my car going dead. This didn’t surprise me though. Couldn’t expect much more from a 2002 bucket of Toyota bolts. I wish I could’ve bought something better but this thing was all I could afford at the time. I had spent most of my money moving to Jackson two and a half months ago. I might have been able to afford some upgrades by now but after losing my job I hadn’t been able to find another. It was a small construction job. Ten bucks an hour which was decent. The construction company usually hired people in rehab so they didn’t really care that I had no resume. But a couple weeks in, after most of the employees failed a surprise drug test, the owner decided to fire everyone and rebuild his roster from the ground up, or some bullshit like that. Even though I passed and have been sober for almost three years, I guess they didn’t want to take the chance with me. I haven’t even touched drugs before, except for some experiments with weed in college. You would think having a college degree would really help my chances of getting a job but I guess having a criminal record, no matter how small, can really screw you over.

I prayed to whatever being is out there and turned the key again and the Corolla desperately tried to start. After ten seconds of holding the key in place, I was about to slam my fist on the dash when the stupid hunk of junk actually turned over. “Finally.” I pulled out of the parking lot, flicked the cigarette out of the window, and drove home. Well, I say home. It was a shitty motel but it worked. Since I had been there a month and a half before I lost my job they were only charging me $20 a month until I could pay them in full but with that kind of deal you can guess how bad it was. It's just a small local place and the owner is the sole morning receptionist who's just looking for some amount of business. At the time I was her only customer. I still had to kill at least four bugs a day though.

I say I’ve been sober but recently I hadn’t been so sure. The hallucinations had started again. That’s what the doctor said they were. Hallucinations from psychosis due to alcohol abuse. And I hoped he was right, because there’s no way evolution, or god, or whatever being is up there would ever let a nine and a half foot tall thing like that exist. That’s why I got clean. I went to rehab, and the hallucinations hadn’t been back since. That is, until two days ago. I woke up around 3:30 AM two nights ago to a tapping on my window. I blinked a few times and it was gone. Then, last night around 8:30 the tapping started again. I looked out the window, and to my horror, the giant was back. It smiled and waved at me. I screamed and rushed to the window, shutting the curtains. I climbed in bed and curled up under the covers. All night that thing was tapping and scratching at my window. Around 5 AM it finally stopped but I still couldn’t move. Then, when I thought myself brave enough to take a look, it was gone. That’s why I, a brown-haired, green eyed, 26-year-old unemployed vagrant, am buying my first ever pack of cigarettes at 6:30 AM on a Saturday morning.

I got back to the motel around 6:45. I walked in, put the pack of Camels on the counter by the door and walked over to the window. I still hadn’t opened the curtains up again. To be honest I was terrified too. I hadn’t slept at all last night and the fear was stiffening even still. I slowly grasped one of the curtains and pulled it open with the slowest movements I’ve ever had. And the window was perfectly fine. No scratches or dents anywhere.

“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself. “I could have sworn…… maybe it was just a nightmare and I actually did get some sleep.” I wasn’t really tired so the thought process made sense. All of the sudden a small pinging noise came to my attention. It was the motel’s answering machine. I forgot the room even had one of those. I had to use that as my phone number because I couldn’t afford a cell phone at this point. I walked over and clicked the play button. A deep southern drawl came out of the other end. He wanted to meet me at 9 for a….. a job interview? Is he serious? He didn’t say where to meet in the store, he just said he wanted to meet at Shores Grocery Stores. Luckily I knew where that was because it was actually across the street from that gas station where I bought the cigarettes from. I quickly called him back and said I would meet him there.

Nine o clock came by much faster than I expected it to. I got to the store five minutes before the agreed upon time. I had gotten a shower and dressed in my nicest clothes at the time, sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that didn’t show stains. I walked in and asked a cashier where the main office was and he directed me to the back right corner of the store where a little alcove was. I knocked on the door and heard “C’mon in.” from the other side. I opened the door and walked inside. “Can I help you?” Asked a man who looked like he was about to go to a rodeo. He was a six-foot-three, blonde haired, blue eyed, 56 year old Caucasian man, wearing a blue flannel shirt, cowboy boots, a white cowboy hat, and dark blue Wrangler jeans.

“Um… y-yeah, I-I’m here for a job interview.” I stammered.

“Ah, yeah, you’re in the righ’ place. Have a seat.” This guy's southern accent was something else. I could barely understand half of what he was saying. He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Terry Shores. I own this here establishment.”

I shook his hand and sat in the seat across from him. “Hi, I’m Jordan. Jordan Belmont.”

“Ah, Jordan. Like the country from the Bible Lands.”

“The What Lands?”

He looked at me as if he was second guessing his decision. I wouldn’t blame him if he was. One look at me and I would have kicked myself to the curb, not even a word shared.

“I’m actually named after my grandfather. Richard Jordan Manhoff.”

“Well ain’t that something. Do yah have any religious beliefs, son?”

“Well…. Kind of.”

“How kind of?”

“Well, I’m agnostic.”

“Agnostic?” He asked. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to figure out what it meant or if he was trying to not laugh.

“It means that I-“

“I know wha’ it means. You’re agnostic an’ yah decided to move to the Bible Belt?”

“What’s the Bible Belt?”

“Oh bless your heart.” He said, shaking his head and smiling. Being from California, I of course had no idea what he meant by that so when I responded with “Um….. thank you?” Terry threw his head back and laughed the biggest belly laugh I have ever heard. After about twenty seconds of laughing he wiped his eyes, looked at me, and said “Alright, let’s get this interview started, why don’t we? I see yah got a Bachelor’s in Business Management?”

“Yes sir, I do.” I said, knowing exactly where this interview was going.

“Wonderful, but I also see that yah have a criminal record, is tha’ right?”

“Uh, yes sir… I do” I said, my heart sinking with a feeling that this interview was about to come to an abrupt end.

“Tell me about that. How’d yah get it? What’d yah do?” Terry’s long southern drawl made it feel like the words were stretched out, making them hurt even more as I knew once I told him what happened, he would almost definitely ask me to leave.

“Well…. It’s a bit of a long story.”

“Well go right on ahead. I got pretty much nothing else to do today. After this all I do is just watch sec’rity cameras.”

“I um…. I burned down my house…”

“Now why in God’s green earth would you burn your own house down?”

“Well… it wasn’t my house per se. It was my landlord's house that I was renting.”

Terry nodded. “Righ’. And?”

“Well…. To shorten it up a bit, I had an alcohol problem, and according to the doctor it was so bad that it made me hallucinate this demonic creature thing, and I thought it was chasing me. I got so paranoid that one time I poured gasoline all over my house and prepared for it to come back. When it did, I ran out of the house, and threw a match into a puddle I had made, burning the whole place down in an attempt to kill the thing. When my landlord found out, he pressed charges. The judge gave me two options. 2 years in prison with a year of probation, or mandatory rehab with at least 2 years of supervised AA meetings, where there would be a cop to check in on me every week, which would also count as 2 years probation.”

“You still go to AA?”

“Yes sir… well, when my car will let me, if it works.”

Terry laughed, “Yeah, I’ve been having similar issues like that the last couple days. My truck darn near di’nt turn on this mornin’. Almost thought I would have to call and cancel with yah. Are yah still sober?”

“Yes sir. Almost three years now.”

“Well, here’s the thing. If yah don’t burn down any more houses, yah stay sober, and yah go to AA at least twice a month for the next 4 months, I’ll give yah the job immediately.”

I nearly got whiplash from his words by how much I did a double take. “Wait, what?”

“I need someone to manage my store and you seem to be the most suitable candidate I’ve seen these past two weeks. It only pays nineteen an hour, no Walmart or nothing, but we could renegotiate after a while if yah prove yourself reliable.”

“Are you serious?” I asked incredulously. No way this guy was about to hire me, a convicted arsonist, to manage an entire grocery store.

“Course I am.” He said solemnly. “I’m intending to open a ranch with my wife where kids can come and learn about horses. I love learning kids to ride.”

“Teaching kids.” I said and immediately regretted every syllable. I REALLY needed this job. And now I just blew it.

“What’d you say?” He glared at me.

“I’m sorry. Old habit. I was an English minor and I tutored middle schoolers during college. I’m really sorry. Please forgive me.” I begged him, desperately attempting to save myself.

Terry smiled a big, tobacco stained toothy smile. “I’m just messing with yah. My wife Meera has been trying to get me to have better grammar for months. She’ll appreciate having someone at the store to do that too. So what'd yah say? Can yah start tomorrow?”

“Um… yeah!” I said, barely able to contain my excitement. This was by far the best thing that had happened to me in a good 5 years since I had graduated college. “As long as my car doesn’t run out of gas by then. I can’t really afford gas until Monday.”

“Tell yah what,” Terry said leaning forward. “There’s a gas station across the street. I’ll pay for a full tank and I can just take a bit from your first few paychecks until it’s paid back. How’s tha’ sound?”

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to do that.” I said feeling guilty at the amount of generosity he had already shown by even offering me the job.

“O’ course. Like I said. I really need someone to fill this position.”

When we got outside Terry asked me which car was mine. In the thirty minutes we were in his office the parking lot had practically filled up. I pointed out my car and Terry exclaimed “GOOD GOD SON! That’s your vehicle? Are yah sure I shouldn’t just buy yah a new car instead of a tank of gas?” We both laughed and I drove him over to the gas station. Afterwards I thanked him profusely and agreed that I would be back tomorrow morning at 8AM sharp. He told me to hang on a second, walked back inside, and returned a few seconds later with a new pair of jeans. He tossed them to me and said “I’ll take these off your first few checks as well. You’ll need them. No sweatpants in the dress code.” I looked at them. 31/30. I looked up.

“How did you know what pant size I wear?”

Terry chuckled and turned around to walk inside. “I have an awfully good eye for knowing those things about people. See you at eight, Jordan.” And with that he walked inside, and I had a job. I was so excited I could scream. But I didn’t because I didn’t want to look insane…… again.

That night, after I did laundry, I laid out a Ramones t-shirt, and the pair of jeans Terry had given me. I had to go to another store to buy a belt because I felt too embarrassed to walk into the Shores Grocery Stores to buy one. I honestly wasn’t even sure if they would have one to begin with. I bought a cheap braided leather belt and a couple microwave dinners, and now I was broke until Monday when my last check from the construction job could go through. I had waited to cash it until I absolutely needed to. As I left the parking lot, though, I could have sworn that I saw it again. That thing. Whatever it is. And I knew I was completely sober. Back at the motel, I nuked a Hungry Man microwave dinner and closed the curtains again. I was so exhausted from the night before but I had a bad feeling that the thing would come back again tonight. I had bought some melatonin at the store as well, so after everything was prepared for Sunday and I had eaten dinner, I popped five into my mouth, swallowed them down with a can of Sprite I had gotten at the motel vending machine, and passed out within three minutes. The next time I woke up was 6 hours later, 5AM, except this time there was no tapping, there was no scratching. I honestly believe I just woke up because my body was ready to be awake. I wasn’t even tired anymore. I climbed out of bed, got a shower, put on the jeans but decided to put a Clash t-shirt on instead of the Ramones one because it was less wrinkled. It wasn’t anywhere near time for me to go to work so I grabbed the cigarettes, climbed onto my bed and flipped on the tv. The Boomerang channel came on playing the Flintstones, which I'm not really a fan of, but I didn't feel like switching the channel so it stayed. I popped a Camel into my mouth and lit it with a cheap Scripto lighter I had gotten for a dollar a couple weeks back. I took a slow deep drag from it and exhaled, a much smoother attempt than last night. Then, I saw it. I call it the Hunchback. It’s human-like, but it has brownish-gray skin, with giant, black soulless eyes. Small palms with extremely long fingers and short, sharp nails. It’s completely hairless, with long arms that drag on the ground. Sharp pointed, shark-like teeth, with a tongue that it constantly uses to lick its non-existent lips whenever it watches me. When it walks it always has bent knees and it leans over like an old person using a walker. It has long feet, I would guess a foot and a half each. And it’s growled at me before. It sounded distorted, kind of like the Jurassic Park T-Rex. But now, it was sitting on my TV. I don’t mean on top of my TV. I mean INSIDE. On the show. It was sitting next to Fred Flintstone’s recliner, where Dino was supposed to be. And he was staring at me… licking his would-be lips. I screamed and threw the lighter at the tv. I missed and it smashed against the wall.

“Shit!” I cried as I had simultaneously broken my only lighter and made a huge mess on the wall. I grabbed for the TV remote, but it was gone. Nowhere to be found. I had set in on the nightstand, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t on the floor or anything. It had just disappeared. I rushed over to the TV set and as I did I saw the Hunchback approaching the screen as well. It sounded like it was moaning. A long, drawn out howl type of sound. I pressed the power button and nothing happened. I tried changing the channel. Nothing. The Hunchback was starting to move faster. Finally I reached for the power cord in the wall behind the TV. As I pulled it out I saw the Hunchback attempt to leap out of the TV but I had pulled the cord out of the wall just in time. And as the TV screen faded, I got a chance to stare my attacker in the face. Which immediately made me feel nauseous. I took a seat on the bed to catch my breath. My heart was racing. Am I going crazy? I thought. I haven’t had a drink in years but it’s back again. There’s no way this is a hallucination this time. It can’t be. I decided to put it out of my mind and went to the bathroom to grab some toilet paper to wipe the lighter fluid off the wall. Suddenly I smelled something burning and remembered I had set the cigarette on the nightstand. I quickly ran over and put it in the ashtray. Thank god that I wasn’t in a non-smoking room. I finished cleaning up the lighter fluid and hoped that it wouldn’t stain and the motel staff wouldn’t be too pissed at me for any potential smell. I looked at the clock, 6:35. The motel had a small breakfast bar. Just toast and cereal. It’s not technically a breakfast bar, just food for the overnight staff, but I’d become friends with the receptionist, a short, stocky black guy named Russell. He sometimes lets me in the back for some food in the early mornings.

I was able to grab a match book from Russell while eating breakfast with him. A bowl of Frosted Flakes and two pieces of cream cheese toast. I went back to my room to grab the pack of Camels before I hopped in my Corolla and drove to work. It was only a five minute drive so I actually got there twenty minutes early. I expected more people to be there but there were only two other cars and Terry’s dark blue Chevy Silverado. So I went back to Terry's office, and talked with him for a bit. I mainly wanted to ask him one question; why is it called Shores Grocery Stores instead of Shores Grocery Store. It turns out that Terry called it that because when he opened the store seven years ago he was intending to have multiple stores by their tenth year. I also asked him why they had a clothing section if they were a grocery store, and where it was. Terry’s response was they had installed a full clothing section two years ago to try and expand the store Walmart style but it hadn’t gone over well, but Terry decided to keep a small one just in case the clothing section started being in demand. The clothing section was in the back left corner, opposite Terry’s office, so I took a bit of time to see what they had, and it was exactly what I expected. Flannel shirts, Wrangler jeans, and three cowboy hats. A very Terry clothing section. As I headed to the back to clock in for the first time I learned that the two other cars in the parking lot belong to the two main openers, one cashier, and a stock boy, with another stock boy to arrive in about thirty minutes. Terry had to leave after showing me where the time clock was so he could attend church service at eight thirty, but he said he would be back at one. I had to ask the other cashier how to log into a register because, as the manager, I was allowed to do whichever thing I wanted; either be a cashier, help stock, or watch the security cameras, which Terry described as ‘The most boring task I have ever done in my life’ so I decided I’ll do what I can to avoid doing that. The day went by pretty smoothly, although I had to stop a lady at the doors because Tabitha, the cashier, thought the lady might have grabbed a couple candy bars when she turned around to break a hundred. She actually had and willingly gave them back. I had to go to the office to write up a report on the attempted theft, something I have to do with every injury, shoplift, etc. after that I had two hours left on my shift so I just hung out in the office with Terry for most of it because at that point the second cashier had arrived which was able to hold the flow of customers pretty well. Right before I was supposed to go to lunch, though, one of the stock boys, a seventeen year old stoner kid named Tyler, dropped a bottle of bleach on the floor, which was fun because I had to make sure nothing went in his eyes or his mouth, help them clean the mess up, and, of course, write another incident report. I went to lunch thirty minutes late. There was a twenty minute period at three where I had to go out and help in the third of four checkout lanes but that was the last major event of my work day.

That night went much more smoothly. I went to the library to create a free library membership and check out a couple books. I wasn’t about to risk turning on my TV again. I checked out three books. One, about store management so I could freshen up a bit since I had been out of college for a while. Pet Sematary by Stephen King, one of my all time favorite books, and a short book called Dead Connection by some guy named Vincent V Cava. I had never heard of him but the cover looked interesting so I thought I would give it a try. For the span of recent events, horror books seemed very fitting. Maybe it would help me mentally prepare for the potential coming onslaught of hauntings. But the Hunchback didn’t come back. Not that night, or the next morning. Monday resulted in no special events either, Tyler didn’t spill anything although he nearly dropped a big box full of egg cartons. After work Terry and Meera invited me over to their house for dinner. I found myself beginning to feel safe and settled, seemingly finding my place in the world. I went back to my motel room that night and fell asleep easily; no melatonin, no Hunchback, and of course, no tv.

I woke up ready to celebrate the one year anniversary of the last time I saw the Hunchback. It had been a pretty good year for me. I was steadily making nine hundred dollars a week as the manager of Shores Grocery Stores, I had finished paying off my debt to the motel a few months ago. I had also gotten my own small apartment with the help of Terry, and my life finally seemed to be going up for once. I went over to my desk that I never actually used as a desk, instead using it as a prop for a medium-ish fish tank and fed the few fish I kept in the tank. “Morning boys.” I said as if they could hear and understand me. I grabbed a shower, threw on an old Black Flag t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and made my way down to my car, which was now a 2008 Honda Civic, thank you Terry for co-signing so I could actually afford it, and hopped in, on my way out to enjoy my day off. The sun was bright, and it was significantly warmer than last autumn. I threw on the knock-off RayBans I had gotten at a Dollar General, put the car in reverse, and headed out to the library. I had a couple books I had to return that were about to go late. The only other real plan for today was to meet up at a bar with a couple friends later that night to celebrate today. No, I wasn’t trying to relapse, as far as they were aware I was actually celebrating sobriety, but they didn’t question why I chose that spot. It was called Lucky’s and was my favorite place to eat. Terry didn’t drink and he introduced me to it. According to him, Lucky’s has the best food in Jackson, apart from his wife. And honestly, I have to agree. When Terry first took me there I ordered a burger, expecting it to be mediocre at best. In a word, mouthwatering. Apparently they have some sort of agreement with a local cattle rancher, and they get super fresh meat, so every burger they make is super flavorful and juicy. I used to date a girl while in college and she had convinced me to try veganism, it wasn’t bad but I am so glad that we didn’t work out. The signature “Lucky Burger” is something everyone needs to try at least once in their life.

The celebration was great. The guys told me to take a few shots, I aggressively refused; at one point I was willing to leave when they told me it was just water in a shot glass, not vodka, which was relieving and I happily took it from them after a good laugh. I still kind of wanted to punch a guy named Tavon, who I had met at the library, because it was his idea, but it was a good joke. It was a great night otherwise. We toasted shot glasses of Coca-Cola to my sobriety, after which Ethan, the opening stock boy who had just turned twenty-one, said that next time we come here I’m going to be his sober ride home. I laughed and told him to shut up as he downed his shot of Coke. Overall I made a few memories and had fun with my friends. I began to feel as if the Hunchback would never come back. And just as I began to feel that way, it did. In full force.

After the celebration dinner, I walked into my apartment to find one of my windows broken. I wasn’t too worried about it though, probably just some of the apartment complex kids trying to seem cool to their friends. The next day, however, it got more aggressive. When I came home from work I found all three of my fish out of their tank, on the floor, dead. I wouldn’t say I was distraught by it but I was very upset. These guys had kept me company for the last seven months. Before I let myself start watching tv again there were times when I would get bored and I would just sit at my desk and watch these guys swim around their tank, feeling jealous that they had nothing to worry about or be afraid of. Later that day I called Terry and Ethan and we held a small funeral for my fish. Even Ethan got up and said something, which surprised me because he’s not much of an animal person, but he apparently thought my fish were cool. I later learned that the reason he thought my fish were cool was because sometimes when he would come over, he would smack their tank and watch them scurry. The next few days were marred by nightmares of the Hunchback. And they were extremely vivid. Many of them were of it chasing me down darkened and dimly lit hallways. But there were a few of them where it would actually catch me, it would pin me on the ground and start eating me alive. It would start at my legs and chew all of the flesh off, then it would go to my arms and then chew all of the flesh from my chest, somehow I would still be alive, and the pain was excruciating. Finally it would bite my head off and I would wake up in a bed that was soaked in sweat. These dreams were constant. At one point I had enough and didn’t let myself sleep for three days straight. When I got to work on the third day Terry looked at me and called me over.

“Are you sick, Jordan?”

“No, I feel fine.” I lied. I hate lying to Terry but I didn’t want him to think I had relapsed in some way.

“Well you look like you haven’t slept for days.” He didn’t say this as an exaggeration or some sort of guess. Over the past year Terry and I had gotten to know each other very well, so he definitely knew I hadn’t slept. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I don’t like telling Terry no so I simply said “Maybe.”

“Let’s talk about it.” He said, and before he gave me a chance to reply he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his office. He sat me down in the same chair I had my interview in and looked me up and down. “What’s wrong?”

I sighed and began telling him everything, the appearances of the Hunchback last year, the nightmares, my window and the mystery of my fishes’ deaths. Terry sat back in his chair thinking for a couple minutes.

“So….?” I said after some time.

“Well, my guess is that, since it’s been a year since you last saw this Hunchback creature of yours, your subconscious is probably scared of it coming back again, and is manifesting that fear in your nightmares.” These were some of the biggest words I had ever heard Terry say over the past year I had known him, so it took me a bit to process what he had said. But he was right. It was the only rational explanation for all of this. “Now, I don’t know if I can be much help here, I’m no psychologist or anything. But what I can say is that when you get home tonight, get some sleep. You need it. Now get on out there, we need someone at register two.”

I got home that night after working a late shift, and decided to watch some TV during dinner, but I couldn’t find the remote. I figured it was probably under the couch and I didn’t feel like getting on the floor to retrieve it, so I just ate a quiet dinner and went to bed. That night, I had the worst night yet. It wasn’t a nightmare but when I woke up, there were three giant claw marks in my shirt, and through all of my bed sheets, both above and underneath me. I screamed at the top of my lungs as I ripped my shirt off. “What the fuck?” I cried to no one. I immediately called Terry, and he showed up a few minutes later. I showed him my shirt and the bed, hoping he could have some sort of advice or suggestion. The first thing he did was look at me out of the corner of his eye, and slowly say with a smirk “Did yah have a lady friend over last night?”

I glared at him and through gritted teeth said “Not the time, Terry,”

He chuckled and looked back at the bed. He took the shirt out of my hands and examined it for a few seconds. “So yah say this was the Hunchback again?”

“I mean, it has to be. There was no way this was some sort of animal. There was nothing else wrong with my apartment.”

“Has this thing ever made physical contact with yah? Has it ever touched yah?”

I had to think about this for a second but I was able to remember one incident. “Yeah… once. One night I woke up in the middle of the night in a sleep paralysis state. I saw the Hunchback in the corner of my room watching me. When it saw me wake up it slowly walked over to me, it caressed the side of my face and smiled while licking its lips. After that, it just walked away, out of my room, and closed the door. The next thing I remember, it was the morning, and I felt like I hadn’t slept at all.”

“I have an idea.” Terry said, and with that, he walked out of my apartment, got in his truck, and left. He was back within ten minutes and when he came back inside and asked me, “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

“Uh… yeah.” A half lie. When I was little, for a couple years, my dad decided to put me in Cub Scouts, I wasn’t very good at it. One year, at summer day camp, they decided to let the younger kids try the BB guns. Easy enough to say, I sucked at it, bad. I never once was able to hit the target. I did, somehow, manage to shoot my scout master in the right butt cheek. Safe to say they didn’t let me touch the guns after that, probably a good idea for an eight year old. Terry handed me a Sig Sauer P220, it was all black with a beautiful wooden grip.

“If that thing comes back again, shoot it in the face, after that everything should be fine, except for a potential hole in your ceiling.”

“I guess I’ll try my best but I'm a terrible shot.”

“How… how do yah miss from point blank range?” Terry asked in befuddlement.

I shrugged. “Guess I’m just full of surprises, Boss.”

That night I couldn’t sleep at all, not for a lack of trying. It was either the awkwardness of having a gun under my pillow, or the fear of what happened the night before. I just layed on my bed, watching the ceiling fan slowly spin, too scared to look around and see if it had come back again. If it did, the Hunchback made no attempts to make any more physical contact. When the sun started to come up I decided to get up and make a pot of coffee. I looked at one of the security cameras I had set up the night before, hoping I hadn’t spent two hundred bucks for nothing. Suddenly, a loud, ear piercing screech erupted in my kitchen, I covered my ears and crumpled to the floor. The glass cup on my kitchen counter shattered. Like an opera singer singing a high C to a wine glass. The oven door glass flew over me and I got cut a lot. The lightbulb fell out of the ceiling, and shattered on the ground. My blender fell off the counter and also shattered on the ground on my other side. Then my watch shattered, slicing open the top of my wrist. Suddenly my cabinet slammed open, as if flung by an invisible hand, glass came flowing out of it from my now shattered cups and plates, sending a new layer of sharp shards all over myself and the floor. The coffee pot went next, spilling boiling coffee all over the place. I didn’t get hit by much of it but what did get me still hurt like a bitch. And then it ended. The sound was gone as quickly as it came. I was bleeding all over, I was barefoot and I was surrounded by hundreds of tiny shards of glass. I didn’t want to move to not risk cutting my feet on the glass, but I quickly decided that my arms were already cut enough so I proceeded to sweep the glass out of the way with my forearms and slowly crawl my way over to the back left corner of my kitchen, meanwhile getting blood all over the vinyl floor. I checked the security camera. The lens was cracked but it was still recording. Which meant it had recorded everything, with sound thanks to a small microphone hole in the top right hand corner. I took the camera down and removed the micro SD card. I put it in the zipper pocket of my cargo shorts, and crawled out of my kitchen, getting more blood on the floor. I stood up when I made my way to my living room. “That’s gonna suck to clean up.” I muttered to myself. I got a shower to clean off the blood, wrapped my left wrist in a bandage where my watch had sliced it open, put on a new change of clothes, took the old ones to the dumpster, and drove to Terry’s house to show him the footage.

“Well I’ll be damned…” was Terry’s response. “What happened?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

“Oh right, the Hunchback. I guess you’re not crazy after all.”

“Wow. Thanks.” I said with fake enthusiasm. I was just relieved I finally had some proof of that fact, even if I felt like I could only show it to Terry.

“I didn’t think it was anything supernatural, I thought yah were just trying to play some kind of joke on me.” I stared at Terry in disbelief.

“Do you really think I would ruin my favorite Black Flag shirt and my bed sheets just to mess with you?”

“Well… I mean yah did call me and tell me the store was robbed.”

“Oh shit.” I had done that. It was a slow night about four months ago. I had just let myself start watching TV again and I had watched Pulp Fiction on AxsTV, which gave me the idea to pull a prank on Terry. I had counted the cash from the registers, and told the closing cashier Tracee to hide the money in the corner behind the drink cooler. After which I called Terry and said the store had been held up at gunpoint and the thief had gotten away with nine grand. Terry was at the store in five minutes, which means he definitely sped and went through some red lights, since his house is ten minutes away from my apartment, which is four minutes away from the store. Tracee and I were literally on the floor laughing. I am surprised neither of us got fired that night. But I digress. I looked at Terry and asked “Got any ideas?”

“How can I? Up until a minute ago I didn’t believe that something like this could exist. The only thing I have are some guns and a hunting’ knife and I’m not sure if they would be effective.”

“Probably more effective than sitting on our hands. We have to try something. I mean, I don’t know how long I can take stuff like today, I’ll probably die if it keeps going this way.”

“Do you have any idea why it’s targeting you?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want it, not any more. We need to somehow get this thing to leave me alone, or kill it, or something.”

“I do have one idea but it will take a lot of prep time.”

“Ok, what's that?” I asked, hopeful.

“Yah like camping?”

A week later, Terry and I were trekking through the woods behind his house looking for a spot to have a camp out with an indefinite ending. The plan was for Terry to teach me how to shoot a gun, and that we would be camping outside until the Hunchback tried to come after me, then we would shoot and kill it. Simple plan? Not so much, like I said. I’m a terrible shot. Terry didn’t realize just how bad I was until the first time he tried to give me a lesson. He stood me two feet in front of a tree, I raised the gun, fired, and missed. “Oh dear Lord in heaven.” I hear Terry mumble over my shoulder. It took two weeks for Terry to finally get me hitting the tree somewhat consistently. About one third or so of the time I would hit the tree. We wasted hundreds of rounds on that damn tree but Terry had an arsenal, given that he basically lived in the countryside. He had three rifles, two shot guns, and five pistols. Way too much for both of us to use, so I just kept the Sig Sauer and Terry’s hunting knife. I left everything else to Terry. We camped out about an acre from Terry’s house for about a month. We slowly began to lose hope that we would see the Hunchback again when out of nowhere the nightmares started again. And they were bad. I mean three letter organization torture bad. There were dreams where the Hunchback would gouge my eyes out and rip out my tongue. Others where it would rip off all my toenails and fingernails one by one and then pull out my each of teeth. Some were of the Hunchback using its nails to saw through the skin at the base of my fingers, all the way down to the bone and then rip them the rest of the way off. In a few the Hunchback pinned me to the ground face down, grabbed my hair, and ripped the skin from my head with its claw, nail things. It was scalping me alive, leaving blood to ooze into my eyes, leaving me practically blind for the rest of the dream. Others were so bad I don’t even want to think about them ever again. And they all felt real. I felt all of the pain and every single time I would pray that I would just pass out from the pain but I never did. It got bad enough that pain began to linger even hours after waking up. One day I tried to pick up the P220 and my fingers didn’t move for a second. When I finally managed to wrap my fingers around the handle I immediately screamed in pain as all of the nerve endings went into a split second of shockwave pain, almost like they were being reminded that they were once each cut off and tortured away from my hand on many occasions. Terry ran out of the tent thinking I was being attacked by an animal, despite at this point some of them should begin hibernating. I had crumpled to my knees. I noticed my hand was numb, then slowly went back to that tingly feeling you get when you’ve slept on it weirdly, and then it was back to normal. I slowly became aware that my hair was matted to my face with sweat, I looked like I had been in a rainstorm. As I stood up I flung my head backwards and slicked my shoulder length hair back like I normally had it. Suddenly there was a brief rustling in the trees around our campsite. I wasn’t sure but I was fairly certain I saw the Hunchback. Pistol in my right hand, I grabbed the knife with my left hand, put it in the sheath on my belt, and ran after the shape in the darkness. I ran for several minutes following it through left and right turns. Suddenly the shape rounded a thick tree. I tried to follow but it had disappeared. I gripped the gun with my both hands, sneaking around like a cop in a dangerous house that hasn’t been cleared yet. I slunk around snapping the gun in each direction, tree to tree, trying to find it. On a gut feeling, I looked up, and saw it perched on a tree branch, like a bird. I swiped my hands up and fired at hit. I missed five shots in a row but I knew I was close to getting it.

I was tired and sore, which led to me not feeling like chasing it. I wasn’t sure how far out I was from camp and I didn’t want to get any more lost. I just stood there, watching it jump from limb to limb, further and further away. Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder. I whipped the pistol around to find the barrel of the gun pointed directly in the face of Terry.

“Terry!” I said, breathless. My heart was racing and I was still pointing the gun at him.

Terry slowly used the back of his hand to move the gun away from his nose. “What in heaven did you run off like that for?”

I stared at the ground. “I saw it. I fuckin’ saw it. It was there and I had it but I fuckin’ missed. I fucking missed it, man.” I was practically screaming that last part in frustration. As I said that I put the safety on and pitched the gun at the dry dirt like it was a baseball. It bounced and stopped a couple feet away. I looked up at Terry, tears welling up in my eyes. Terry grabbed my shoulders again.

“Hey, you’ll get it next time.”

At this point I broke and tears started coming down my face one at a time. “Who even says there will be a next time?”

“There will be, and we’ll be ready.”

“Yeah, but what if the guns don’t do anything? What if bullets don’t hurt it and knives do nothing? What if all of our preparations mean nothing?" I fell to the ground, burying my face in my knees, tears streaming down my face. “What do I do if we can’t kill it and the rest of my life is tormented by this freak.” I stopped and pointlessly tried to catch my breath. “Why shouldn’t I just give up now and go home? Return to San Francisco and just end it all. I’m starting to feel like that might be best.” Terry kneeled down and put his arm around me.

“You mean move back in with your parents?”

I scoffed. “Yeah right. Like I could do that.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t! During the alcohol abuse I stole two hundred bucks from them and they didn’t know why. They didn’t know I was addicted to booze and they badically disowned me. They knew something was wrong but they thought it was drugs. They thought I had stolen money from them to buy heroin or cocaine or something. They gave up on me which sent me spiraling even worse. I had no one to turn to at that point and that’s when the Hunchback first showed up.”

“Well, yah got me now,” Terry said looking out into the trees. “So you’re not alone anymore. I’m here for yah, and I promise yah that I always will be. We’ve been through a lot together and I don’t know how I could manage all the stuff going on without yah. Meera really likes yah too.”

I sniffed trying to get control of myself and looked at him. He was smiling, which was odd given the circumstances, but it felt weirdly comforting to have him there with me. “Thanks, Boss. I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“Meera and I only ever had one daughter. So to me, you’re kind of like a son that I never had. It’s nice.”

I smiled and put my arm around him too. We sat there for a few more minutes, watching the sun lower in the sky before Terry got up and said, “Come on, we need to make our way back to camp before the sun goes down.” I stood up and he led me back since I had no idea where we even were. When we got back it wasn’t a very pretty sight. There’s no way for me to confirm or say with certainty that it was the Hunchback, but all of the food that we had was unpackaged, removed from their respective containers, and thrown in the dirt. We had nothing left but the tent. Terry and I had brought four wheelers out and parked them a few yards away, he went over to them and examined them. They seemed fine so we decided that we would head out tomorrow and buy some more food to bring back to camp. We went to sleep hungry but we toughed our way through it and had breakfast with Meera in the morning. That afternoon we brought some metal shooting targets to the campsite, and set them up in a nearby clearing. Terry used them to help me make my aim more precise, so that next time I would have a better chance of actually hitting the Hunchback. It didn’t really help much but I hit it a few more times than I thought I would.

That night went by smoothly, I had a bit of trouble falling asleep, but the next morning we both woke up to a howling sound, like the one I heard coming out of the motel TV a year ago. I jumped up and grabbed the knife, which I kept next to me at all times just in case.

“What in tarnation kind of animal is that?” Terry asked groggy and still half asleep.

“It’s not an animal.” I said putting on my belt and the sheath of the knife. “It’s the Hunchback. I’ve heard it make that sound before. It’s nearby. I know it.”

Terry got up and threw on his concealed carry harness. We had both decided to wear normal clothes to sleep in in case the Hunchback showed up in the middle of the night and we needed to chase after it. I unzipped the door of the tent and saw the Hunchback staring at us from the woods. I grabbed the Sig Sauer from the nearby folding table and took aim. I fired and missed it by inches. I ran out of the tent and took pursuit as the Hunchback started to flee. Terry was just a couple feet behind me as we both chased after the creature while it slunk its way through the woods. It’s not a fast creature, but its long legs helped it gain distance quickly. We chased it for a few minutes until it disappeared from view. It was the same as last time. I turned a tree and it was just gone. Terry caught up with me, out of breath.

Suddenly a thud came from behind us and we both turned to see the Hunchback lunging towards me, mouth open, claws out. I tried to dodge, but was just out of time. I put my arm up and its claws sank deep into my right forearm. We tussled on the ground, rolling over and over a few times. When we stopped it was on top of me, still scratching at my forearm. Clawing chunks of skin off. It bit down into my side and blood came gushing out. I screamed in pain as best I could when it brought its fist down into my chest. I heard a snap as one of my ribs broke, and a sharp pain in my side became more increasingly prevalent. Terry ran over to try and help me but it pierced its claws directly into his chest. When it took them out blood came rushing from the holes. I finally managed to move my hand down to my waist and grab the knife on my belt. I swung my arm up and stabbed the beast directly in the neck. It screamed and jerked back, breaking the blade away from the hilt of the knife. It took off in the direction of the clearing where we had set up our target practice. I got up and limped over towards Terry. Kneeling next to him, I grabbed the bottom of his head and lifted it up.

“Go on, go after it.” He groaned.

“No, I can’t leave you.” I tried to tell him but he cut me off before I could finish.

“I’ll be fine. Just go.”

“But Terry”

He gave me a weak shove. “Go! I’ll be fine. Go kill that thing, for both of us.” I stood up and looked down at him, considering if I should leave him here, possibly to die. He looked up at me and screamed, “Go on now! Get!”

I turned and left him there, lying on a bed of leaves praying that he would survive. I ran in the direction of the clearing. I pulled the gun from my waist band and cocked it, ready to end my mystery once and for all. I pulled it up, arms extended, like I had seen in cop shows before. The sky was cloudy and gray. It looked like it was about to rain, and it would be a bad one. Mississippi winter rain again. This was the type of southern rain that doesn't stop for a couple of days. I could feel that I didn't have long before it would start. A raindrop fell on my forehead as I turned and entered the clearing. The Hunchback was just standing there. Staring into the sky as if in a trance. I halted at the edge of the trees. I felt like I was in some sort of Doom game.

“Hey, you fuck!” I screamed at it. It turned and looked at me, licking its lips like normal. Rain began to fall even more and I took a couple steps forward. It didn’t move, and I took one more step forward. Then it came running towards me, its arms falling behind it, making it look kind of like Naruto. It tried to swipe its claw at me, but I dodged to the right, rolling underneath its swinging hand. I shot it in the shoulder and its arm went limp. It screamed with a mix of pain and fury as I got up and retreated a few steps backward. I took another shot and just grazed its leg. It roared again and came back at me again. I waited for it to get closer, to make sure I could hit the shot but when my gun jammed, my heart dropped out of my chest, and the next thing I knew the Hunchback was on top of me again, gnawing the flesh from my chest. I was starting to see my ribs. There were at least three of them that were broken. I was screaming and hollering in pain and piece after piece of flesh was ripped away from my body. It was excruciating. My throat started going hoarse and my screams got quieter. The world started going black and I felt myself slipping in and out of consciousness. Then suddenly a gunshot rang out over the trees and the Hunchback stopped eating me. There was a new gash in my forehead, which was streaming blood into my eye, so I was running half blind. I got myself to sit up, propped up on my right arm. Which was missing skin and bleeding all over the dry ground.

The gunshot had come from Terry, who had made his way to the clearing. He apparently had unholstered one of his Springfield 911 9mms and shot the Hunchback directly in what would be the spine, but it had done nothing to stop it. It knocked Terry to the ground and ripped into his leg. Terry was screaming and howling in pain. The Hunchback taunted us by matching his howl and then it laughed, or at least I think it laughed. I wasn’t really sure if it even could. I pulled my gun up to eye level, and prayed to Terry’s God that I might be able to hit it from this distance, just this once. I closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. Bang. When I opened my eyes again the Hunchback was slumped over on its side, a bullet hole in its head, and Terry was crawling his way over towards me. I didn’t have much time left. I could tell. I was weak and bleeding a lot. The pain in my side was unbearable and it was getting hard to breathe. As he got closer I shakily muttered, “Terry, I. Terry.” And then the world went black.

The next time I opened my eyes I was in a hospital, sun shining through the window, with a breathing tube in my mouth. Pretty much my whole body was wrapped in bandages and my left arm was in a cast. I closed my eyes again and when I opened them, the breathing tube was in my mouth, there was an IV in my left arm, my right arm and chest were still in bandages, and it was nighttime. I looked over to the opposite side from the window and Terry was sitting next to me, in a wheelchair. I tried to sit up but was shot with pain throughout my entire upper body.

“Hey hey, take it easy.” Terry said softly, putting his hand lightly on my chest. “Nice to see yah awake again.”

“How…. How am I still alive?” I muttered, trying to find the strength to move my mouth and speak.

“Grace of God. Best explanation for everything.”

“At least someone was on our side against that thing.” I muttered. “What happened to you? Are you stuck in that thing for good?”

“No no. They had to strap me in this thing because I kept trying to walk before the doctor said I could. They finally gave me this thing so that I could move around and come visit yah.”

“At least you’re not too bad.”

“Oh yeah? Tell that to my leg.” He gestured towards his left leg, which was still wrapped in bandages. “They say I’ll probably need a cane after this but I’ll walk again.”

I leaned back, further into the bed. “Yeah? And what did they say about me?”

“You’ve been out for five days. They said yah likely wouldn’t live to see another day. They gave 200 to 1 odds. But here yah are.”

“Damn.”

“Yah were in pretty bad shape. Yah had five broken ribs, and a puncture in your lungs. When yah stabbed that thing in the neck and it jerked back it both broke your wrist and dislocated your shoulder. Your right arm was missing most of the skin as was your chest. They had to give yah three skin grafts to fix that. I really am happy that yah woke up. I don’t know what I would have done with myself if yah had died.”

“You wouldn’t need to feel bad. I’m that one that dragged you into this mess man. Did I kill it?”

“Pretty sure. That was some good shooting form yah. I told them where the body was. They’re making their way down to it now to get it. I had to show it the footage from those video cameras of yours that we set up in the campsite.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s all over.”

“I’m gonna leave you for a bit. Go talk to Meera and tell her you’re awake. She’ll be really excited to see yah again.”

“Hey, what happened when we got here?”

“Meera brough us, that’s what took me so long. I had called her and told her to be prepared to take us here in five minutes. When we got here she told them that we had been attacked by a bear. When I woke up the next day I told the hospital I wanted to talk to the department of agriculture. I told them everything and showed them the videos. You should have seen the looks on their faces.” He said laughing. I tried to laugh but it made my chest hurt. Terry rolled out of my door and I turned my head back to look into the ceiling.

And that brings us to today. It’s been five years since then and I haven’t seen that thing since. There’s no way for me to confirm that it’s dead because the DOA never found the body. I can say though that all of the torment and nightmares and sleep paralysis, everything has ceased, and I am happier now than I have ever been. About three years ago I met and began dating a girl named Clarissa. She’s a registered nurse and actually works at the hospital I was in after the attack. We learned that she apparently changed my bandages once. Small world I guess. She has a Catholic background and even though she’s not really practicing she still goes to Mass on Christmas. I joined her last year. It was an interesting experience. We moved in together about a year ago, and life has been smooth sailing. We just had our first child, a girl which we named Theressa Anne Belmont. We call her Terry for short. Named after Terry and mother Teresa. She’s absolutely gorgeous. She inherited my green eyes, and Clarissa’s black hair. She has such tiny hands. I could talk about her all day but I am digressing. She’s my whole world. Both of them are. I still work at the store, but I have been “promoted” to managing the newly opened second one. Yes, Terry and Meera finally managed to open a second one, three years behind schedule. We actually asked Terry and Meera to be our daughters' godparents and they happily agreed. They treat her as if she’s their own granddaughter. We take her over there at least once a month, if not more. They absolutely adore her. I don’t blame them. I’m digressing again.

I’ve told Claire, my nickname for Clarissa, everything. I was able to make a copy of our footage and I have the scars, so she believes me about it all. She’s actually the one that convinced me to write all of this. I don’t really have a point in writing it other than to journal my experience. I guess if any of you have a problem with that thing, if you want, you can message me and we can talk about it. I could give you some advice. Maybe tell you what type of rounds would do the most damage. Armour piercing probably. I really hope I don’t get messages about this thing, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But if I do, I’m more than willing to help. If you, or anyone you know, has ever encountered this thing, just know two things, it’s called the Hunchback, and you’re not alone. My name has been Jordan Aaron Belmont. And this was my story.