The Animal

The sequel to my previous story, Sindicate.

The Animal

I am sorry. That kind of stress, that kind of torture is too hard to bear. I couldn’t help myself. And that is why we are doomed. It all started that day… Sorry. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jacob Thompson. And I am the reason that humanity itself is about to die. I was a completely average person. I was married to my beautiful wife, Maria. I had two kids, Jen and Stephen, and a nice red Cadillac. My life was perfect. Then, it all fell apart.

My wife fell victim to breast cancer, sending my life into tatters. I abandoned my job as a salesman, sinking into a deep depression. The children, only 6 and 10, had to tend to themselves, with nobody to help them. I tried everything to cure my grief. Hypnosis, physiatrists, even surgical memory removal. Nothing worked. Nothing, that is, until I turned to the Overseers.  It had been months, and I was still in grief. I had lost my job, my car, and if I didn’t get over this soon enough, I would lose my house. I had to do something. This depression was blocking my emotions like dark clouds on a warm summer’s day, choking my body and mind like poisonous smoke. And so, I contacted my brother.

My brother Vladimir was a strange individual, an intelligent, strong, but seemingly emotionless person living on the outskirts of society. His emotionlessness was what I needed, what I had to have to continue with my miserable life. And so I came to his house. As I walked through his threshold, he outstretched his arm for a handshake, no emotion on his face. I took a seat in his living room, and unraveled my story. It rolled from my tongue like a tapestry into the air, permeating it with grief and saturating my eyes with tears. Vladimir didn’t show any sign of emotion. Instead, he said in his deep, cold voice, “Come with me.” I complied, walking out to his truck, and I stepped inside. Little did I know the horrors that awaited down that long highway.

As we pulled into the alley, I thought that my brother must be insane. After a long drive, we had arrived at what appeared to be a simple, abandoned alleyway, with a barbed wire fence surrounding it. I asked “Is this it?” My brother grunted in response. I assumed that that meant yes. He climbed over the barbed wire fence, not even responding as the barbs cut into his skin, lacerating his fingers. He moved like a snake, slithering down the fence, then halted, waiting. “Are you coming?” He asked. “It’s barbed wire!” I exclaimed. “Are you insane? What’s in there, anyways?” He responded with “Would you rather stay in your grief, lose your life, and give up everything you love or come with me at the sake of a little pain and suffering?” As I climbed over the fence, wincing at the pain, he said “That’s what I thought.” He moved into the alley, progressing deeper and deeper into the shadows until he reached the point where no outside light could penetrate its shadowy depths. Then, he lifted the door. I heard a squelching sound, like the sound of flesh being torn. My brother lifted something up in the darkness, and an eerie blue light cast a dim glow over the alley. My heart pounded, adrenaline running through my veins like pounding rapids. I followed Vladimir into the tunnel, knowing that there was something horrifying lying beneath. My wildest imaginings couldn’t comprehend the nightmarish visions that would lie in that place.

We descended a long set of stairs, a cold, stone surface that also made out the walls. I slipped on something, and then stuck my hand out to break my fall. When I pulled up my hand, it was covered in blood, and not mine. That was when I knew that I had to get away from this place. I tried to make a break for it, but Vladimir could sense what I was doing, and his hand shot out like lightning, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. I tried to claw my way from the tunnel, but he pulled on, relentlessly. Then, he threw me into the room.

As I pulled my head from the stony, cold surface of the floor, I noticed several figures in the room. There were several that lied, crumpled on the floor, covered in thick straightjackets and faces covered in heavy gas masks. They screamed in pain as fluid from the vats behind them was pumped into them via tubes. Then, there was the leader. A tall, expressionless man with tubes all over pumping directly into his skin. My brother and I watched, silently, at the cruelty taking place. Then, silence. The tubes disconnected, the masks and jackets falling off. And what lied beneath them may have been worse than what I had seen before.

They were perfectly normal people, but their expressions said otherwise. They were steely and cold. They stood up in unison, moving toward the center of the room where their demented leader stood. And then, he spoke. His voice was a shadowy chill, tearing through me like a bullet. His smooth, deep voice spoke out “What have you brought to us, Vladimir?” Even my emotionless brother appeared slightly scared. “I have brought my brother, the perfect example of human emotion. His mind is full of what makes them weak.” “Good,” the leader said “You have finally completed you're task.” He walked over to me, bringing his hand to my head, and then, the world went black.

I awoke at my own doorstep. My children were staring down at me, tears in their eyes. My younger child, Stephen, cried out “Is daddy gone?” I managed to croak out “No, Daddy’s not.” My children reached out and embraced me, and I embraced them back. Whatever those people had done to me, I survived, and my life was still intact. Or so I thought.

Two months later, I had finally done it. My life was back. Those months flew by as if nothing had actually happened. I got my job back, my kids were able to get better lessons at school without worrying about me, I felt great. That place that my brother took me to, it didn’t do anything. In fact, things might actually have become better after it. After work one night, I came home. That was when everything in my life fell apart again. As I drove down my dark road, getting home from work, I heard screams coming from my house. I jumped out of my car, trying to find the source of the noise. Then, I saw him. A tall, dark figure with the limp, lifeless bodies of my children in hand. Suddenly, I exploded. I sprinted towards the figure, ready to exact my revenge on whoever had done this. I was running as fast as my legs would allow, but he was just too fast. I sprinted back, to my garage, pulling out anything that could be used as or was a weapon, and slinging it over my back. As what seemed like gallons of adrenaline pumped through my veins, I bolted in the direction that the figure had gone. Then, I saw him. He stood there, almost as if he was waiting. Rage and sadness made me snap, losing all sense of rational thought, turning me into some sort of animal. I unslung something from my back. A tool I had made for burning weeds in my yard, a device of bug spray, lighter fluid, kerosene, and a match. Previously, it had been used to make weeds burn and not come back, but now, it was to be a flamethrower.

I shrieked, running towards my mysterious assailant, and pulling the trigger on my flame thrower. He moved like the wind, evading everything, even as I ran closer and closer. Then, he disappeared. My heart was bursting with rage and sadness. I screamed into the air, the noise tearing through the serenity of the night. As my neighbor, Phil Dawsond walked up, a concerned expression on his face, I turned around, looking for blood. I pulled the trigger. I watched my neighbor burn, the one who had treated me with nothing but kindness. And as I walked away, searching for the figure, I had no regrets. I found him but one block away, waiting for me once again. I chased him for what seemed like hours, losing him and then finding him again, waiting. He lured me into the city, into that club. All of the people were innocent. I burnt them all.

I threw away the flamethrower, unslinging a sharp, rusty shovel from my back. I went on a rampage, destroying everything and everyone that got in my way. And I relished the bloodshed. Then, the police came. They ripped the shovel from my hands, tackling me on to the floor. The figure came over, stood over me, and lifted his hood. It was my brother.

In the police escort, my brother got to talk to me. He said in his cold voice: “So, you really do hate me now. Well, what if I told you that this wasn’t the only thing that I took away from you? What if I told you that I also poisoned your darling wife. Breast cancer? Ha! That would never kill someone that quickly. No, it was me. I have been the one making your puny little life fall apart.” My heart swelled with rage, my voice escalated, my muscles bulged. And then, my true animal was unleashed. All traces of human nature had abandoned me, all shards of sanity leaving. I attacked. I ripped into the guards with claws and teeth strengthened by my anger. I smashed the windows with my fists, unleashing my wrath onto the innocent public. For hours I ripped into everything in my sight, my rage consuming all. And then, my rage was consumed by sadness. I reached into a policemen’s holster, realizing what I had done. And then, I held it to my head, willing to punish myself for what I had done. But before I pulled the trigger, everything went black.

When I awoke, my  brother stood in front of me. He calmly said “Your death toll was 129. Very impressive. Very impressive indeed.” I screamed out at him, but I was too weak to move. “I will now release you to the police. But I must say one thing.” As he said this, his comrades appeared out of the gloom. “You have taught us, the Overseers, two important things. That human nature can be lulled into a sense of false security when things go right, and that all it takes is a little tampering, a little grief, a suffering of the human emotions, to unleash the animal within.” This is my story. Not that you will believe it, but it is true. Please, don’t let rage consume you. Don’t let yourself unleash your inner animal.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Please read my previous story, Syndicate, first. This is an indirect continuation. Thanks, Daniel Hebert

Reviews

[char]

So Vladimir manipulated his brother into acting by pulling at his situation and bending it to his liking...that is really damn interesting! I like this; the idea behind it and the way you tell it. You should write this as a book. There's so much to work with here. Near the end of the seventh paragraph, you forgot the 'r' in 'your'. The only ignorable flaw in an otherwise interesting piece that was entertaining as hell.