On the Way Home from School

I've been reading a lot of Stephen King lately.

As Sam made his way home from school, snow was just beginning to fall. It started in a polite manner, calm and courteous, coming down hard enough to be beautiful. As his walk progressed however, the snow began shooting down from the sky, coming very close to blinding him. Even though it stung his eyes, Sam remained in a slow stroll. He had no desire to get home and see what was waiting for him. The thought of entering his home at this time sent shivers down his spine. It was tax season and his step dad became a feral beast during this time. He pushed that thought out and replaced it with a much nicer thought. He instead turned his mind to the benign pleasure which he received from having the first snowstorm so early. Usually there was no snow until mid December. The houses which he passed soon began to dwindle in density. After a while, he was walking in the middle of a dirt road with no inhabitants. No inhabitants with exception of Sam’s family, who owned a house at the end of this eerily empty road. Sam did not like this part of the walk. He always felt that a malevolent creature stalked him from within the darkness behind the evergreens. These were foolish thoughts of course. Sam was old enough to know that these things only existed in the worlds of the horror films his friends always dragged him to see.

About halfway down the road, Sam got an terrible urge to run. It began at the bottom of his spine and moved it’s way up until he found himself in a sprint. He could not explain why he was running. He could not have known that the cause of his sudden burst of speed was an adaptation perfected over centuries of failures. He could not have been aware that his body detected danger, causing it to go into alert. Attempting to discover why he was running, Sam turned his head to look behind him, and his breath became caught in his throat. He was a man who emerging from the forest in a rush. It was a truly terrifying sight, as he knew that this was not simply a trick of the mind. The figure that emerged from the woods was not of the horrors he had imagined in his mind. The figure from the forest was a human, but barely. Most of his hair was gone revealing a pink scalp. The man was foaming at the mouth and many of his teeth were gone. His eyes were a dark bloodshot red, so red dark that Sam could not determine the original pupil color. The face of the man was caked with a thick layer of mud and he sported countless scars across. He took long strides, gaining on Sam with each one. Sam let out a yelp and pushed himself to go faster. Only a few more miles he thought, only a few more miles until I can lock the door and be safe. Sam put even more energy into his stride. 20 feet. 18 feet. 15 feet. 10 feet. 5 feet. Sam’s hand shot out for the doorknob. He turned it in the same motion and flung himself into his home. He then threw himself against the door just as the man reached it. As sick as he locked, the crazy man was extremely strong and Sam felt himself losing ground. He reached for the lock and pushed it down, using his last reserve of strength. The lock clicked into place and the door held sturdy. Sam backed away from the door. The man’s futile cries were left unanswered. Eventually, the noises ceased and only silence remained.

An hour after Sam escaped the clutches of the lunatic, he sat up in his room muffling his sobs with his pillow. He could not shake that horrific face from his mind's eye. He would never be able to shake that face. Worst of all, no one would ever believe his story. They would all write it off as a psychological problem which stemmed from his step fathers abuse. Sam would see countless therapists, and each one would tell him the same things. It was all in your head Sammy they would say with their pretentious smiles. They would always follow that up with: Enough about the crazy man, tell me about your stepfather.