creature fear

 

 

        He was bleeding. A warm pool of blood collected around his body. Somehow, only a small portion of it was his. Mostly, the dark, sticky liquid was running off the lumps of skin and bones that lay dead on the floor. He looked down from his cut finger to the eyes that starred up at him. Those eyes, he used to know so well... but now they were foreign and lifeless.

        Anchored in the last piece of body was the knife that caused it all. That knife that was somewhat of a family heirloom, passed down to him so that one day he could cut something open and make it “true to its form,” like his father always said. He had always hoped his only son would become a medical genius.

        Blood washed over the floor in dark puddles, reflecting a single yellow dingy light. The rest of the lightbulbs were now broken, with bits and pieces haphazardly decorating the old washing machines. They adorned the pieces of warm meat that marinaded in the river of blood with glints of sparkles. 

        Outside, the wind howled loudly as it curved around the edges of the building. The door slammed open and closed on creaky hinges. Every time it banged against the frame, the old glass with the faded lettering, that read ‘laundry-o-matic’, threatened to shatter into a thousand pieces. Every time it thumped, he looked up, scared that it would attract attention, scared that someone was watching.

        He knew he only had a limited amount of time before the town meeting would end, and all of the inhabitants of the small settlement would pour out of the doors. He needed to clean up this mess and get rid of the evidence.

        The washing machines that lined the dirty wall of window rumbled nosily with life, trying to clean for all they were worth. One, furthest from him, was left open and the space inside was filled with darkness. The dyers behind him emitted waves of heat, generated by the cycles that were running. He felt faint as the warm air surrounded him.

        He found a mop and some laundry baskets easily. He placed the oddments of the figure into the baskets-- he only needed two to complete the cleaning. Miscellaneous appendages protruded between the holes that designed the sides. 

        The sound of shoes banging repeatedly against the inside of a dyer created a steady rhythm. The noise was obtrusive, yet somehow hypnotizing. He ignored it and walked out the back entrance.

    ******

        Every night since then, a haunting nightmare plagued his dreams. It was One that he knew so well and feared so much. He tried not sleeping, but exhaustion would cunningly pull him to the depths of insanity. Whenever he did have these nightmares he would desperately try to wake up. He never could, though, until the dream had run its course 

        He would be in the laundry mat, like he was every other Thursday. He would be washing his chef’s uniform and running clothes. As He waited, he would  stand at the table, folding his socks into perfect squares.

        Then, suddenly, he would be on the ground. He would feel a pool of blood that collected around him, coming from an unknown source. It was like the incident, only in his dream he wasn’t able to get up. He was glued there by the hardening red, and all he could do was struggle, powerless and with no control. 

        He would watch as the sharp surgical knife would float towards him and end close to his hand. It would slowly cut the length of his finger, not deep, but painful enough. The knife would then fall on the floor in front of him and start spinning deliriously. It would only stop when she walked in. The knife would always point directly at her.

        She would slowly walk the line of the washing machines, dragging her hand across the cold metal along the way. Under every lightbulb that she stepped, it would explode instantaneously. She didn’t seem to mind as the small flecks of glass embedded into her naked body. 

        Finally coming to the back of the room she would calmly lay down in front of the knife that was focused on her. He would struggle even more, but the river of blood that wrapped around him only grew stronger.

        He would cry out to her, begging her to get up. She was the love of his life. He would tell her to leave, that she would die if she stayed. But, she would look at him with her big knowing eyes and ignore what he had to say. He would shake his head and scream that they were not. She would look directly up and watch as the knife floated over her head, ready to sink deep into her heart.

        He would yell as he realized all he could do was watch as the knife killed her. Still begging to wake up, the nightmare always continued.

        She then would be floating in the air, lifeless and bleeding. The knife would start to slice. Chopping with the precision of a surgeon, a bodiless hand would circle around her. Inch by inch, it would cut her into perfect squares of bloody flesh. In the background he would hear someone screaming out.

        Next, silver serving platters would float out from behind the dyers and the small pieces of her would be piled on. Mint would garnish the thick chunks of meat. The screaming in the background always progressively became louder, and eventually he would wake up. The voice screaming in agony always turned out to be his. 

   ******

        He woke up at 4am.The house was quiet and was creaking as the wind blew hard, showering the building with pellets of cold rain. The roof in his room was leaking again, so he grabbed the red bucket from the bathroom and placed it under the steady drip. He would fix that later, that is, if he remembered.

        He washed up and then put on his white chefs’ uniform. Feeling at ease as he buttoned himself into the white worn cotton, he sighed in relief. He felt in control and secure with his uniform on. He slowly forgot about the dream his reoccurring dream, just like he did every morning. 

        Stepping over barbie dolls and the pony stick that decorated the floor, he smiled as he tiptoed into his daughter Nora’s room. She was curled up and had a content look on her face. He was so lucky to have her he thought to himself. Even if she wasn’t his by blood, he loved her more than anything.

        The light from the hallway trailed in behind him and shone in on her. He walked over to her bedside and bent down to kiss her gently on the cheek. As he looked down at her as the long shadow from his body hovered over her and caused her to stir in the halo of light. 

        She was fragile and small as he pulled the fallen covers back over her body. He was happy when he was by her.

        He thought of the endless times that Sophia had wanted to tell Nora that he wasn’t her actual father. She felt that she had to be fair and tell her the truth of her where she came from. Myles didn’t think a small 7 year old needed that. She didn’t need to know yet that the world was shadowed by sinister monsters and truths.

        He tucked a strand of her long silky hair behind her ear and left the room quietly.

 As he walked through the hallway, the framed photos of his beautiful family stared at him, smiling warm smiles. His family looked so full of life. He studied the faces that held so much hope and happiness. Where did it all go wrong?

         He continued walking to the end of the hallway to where the black frame hung. His wife had made such a big deal of hanging and placing in the perfect spot, saying that it was a big deal and a great achievement. The frame itself was something she surprised him with; she had crafted it herself. He studied the line that declared that Myles Aden Dering had received his doctorate in medicine from University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine.        

        He remembering how hard he worked to get that single piece of paper. He did it for her. She had always wanted to marry a doctor. She had always wanted to be around someone who made people better. He liked that about her.

         Looking past his reflection, he saw the image of his wife starring back at him.

 

         “Why?” he asked out loud. His face was so close to the frame it echoed back to him

         “Why? Why did you have to do it?” He asked looking at the image of his wife that had appeared, looking at his sharp teeth that protruded his mouth. 

         “Wasn’t I ever good enough? Didn’t I make you happy?” He said 

        He watched as she looked down hiding her shameful eyes. He watched as his eyes slowly began to turn to slits. His face changing expressions, his mouth opening wider. He remembered how his white chef’s uniform stuck so close to his body soaked red blood, that it seemed like a new layer of skin.

        For a moment, he flashed back to the memory of his reflection in a pool of Sophia’s blood. Crazy and wild eyed. He was a monster.

        He voice changing, he began to yell, to scream. Crying out in despair.

         “You fool!” His voice rang down the hall. “She never loved you. You were never what she wanted!” Spit covered the frame as he hissed those words to himself, to his reflection, to his wife.

        He could hear Nora stirring. He took back his control from the darkness that was taking it.

         “I just loved her so much.” He looked into the frame, eyes softening. “Why?” He said questioning himself, questioning thing he had thought or felt, or formulated in his head. 

        Myles walked away and into the kitchen, trying to ignore his figment of imagination. He looked up at the glass cupboard to grab a mug, she was looking at him straight in the eyes.

        He looked towards the freezer, feeling guilty, feeling gratified, feeling confused. He didn’t dare open it. He didn’t want to see what he was hiding. He turned his view back to the cupboards realizing she had never looked away.

        Myles said nothing and grabbed a mug. He poured his coffee, took his pills and went to work, hoping she Sophia would leave him alone. Hoping he could just ignore the  thoughts in his head.

*****

         Nothing was working. He couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’t cook. The pills that he took were no longer sufficient, even when he took twice the dosage. He would forget what he was doing and lose control. He’d let his mind wander and lose all self-consciousness. He would black out and come back to, doing something that he’d normally wouldn’t. He felt empty and hollow, afraid that he would let himself go again if he didn’t fight back.

         Fighting back had grown so difficult. It was more work than it ever had been before.

        He usually would find that when he would black out, he would go to work. He often would become conscious of his sweaty body as he chopped endless pieces of steak into perfect squares. He would look down and see that his body was doing it without him even realizing, without even looking down. 

        Other times when he would lose himself, he would awake to find himself standing over his little sleeping Nora. The knife, in his pocket, would burn against his skin, reminding him it was there.

         He never knew the amount of time he lingered over her. But, he would cry silently when he gained control again and turn on the lights, hoping that she was okay. She would usually wake up to him holding her close. Asking him what was wrong, he’d would shake his head and say that he missed how things once were.

        If he did have to lose control though, he would much rather that he harm himself instead of anyone. He would prefer to let the inhumane monster inside take toil on his own body. Often, it would. Frequently he would gain control to find himself bruised and cut from unknown reasons. The knife would be at hand, ready to pounce, ready to take over.

           *****

        He thought about her and he could feel himself losing control. He looked around and saw the knife on the bathtub ledge. He got up to get away from it, but saw himself in the mirror, slowly changing. He tried to think about Nora, about cooking, about happy things. Nothing worked. His head started shaking and his back became hunched. He looked up to see his eyes, no longer blue but yellow. He could feel its’ strength as it glared back at him in the mirror. He had no control.

        He trashed around, slashing at the shampoo bottles of her’s that Myles had not yet gotten rid of. He broke the mirror with a simple thrush of his hand. He picked up the knife and wondered what next to destroy. 

        Myles ring on his finger was tight and suffocating. The knife in his hand gleamed as he put two together. He put his large hand onto the ledge of the sink and powerfully brought the knife down, ridding him of his fourth finger.

                                                 *****

        A steady banging at the door interrupted him as he mixed the sauce that was boiling perfectly at the stove. It was crimson with juicy tomatoes that he had picked from his garden. He then mixed it with the other contents of what he was cooking. His secret ingredients, as he liked to call them, would mix perfectly with the lavish meat he was filleting.

         He was running through the meal he was creating for the New Harvest Feast he hosted every year in the fall. Everyone in the town, excited to eat his extravagant concoctions, would attend this festive feast at his restaurant. He had been planning this meal for a while and was relieved to finally let the town have a taste of it. The banging at the door continued. 

          “Hey!” A muffled voice from outside yelled. Myles ran to the door, opening it quickly. A big bulky figured man stood there. He had a hockey mask on his face that glowed brightly in the dark night. 

         “Come on in, Harry.” He said, knowing exactly who it was. The man took off the Halloween Jason mask and walked inside.

        A hearty smell encircled Harry as he walked into the untidy house. 

         “What’s that smell?” he said stretching his perfectly sculpted muscles over his head.

          “What do you want Harry?” Myles asked, sighing as his neighbor looked around the foyer. He was annoyed and wanted his always-there-neighbor to leave.

         “I was just wondering if you had heard from Sophia?” Harry said. He was seemingly always just leaving, after spending the day with her, whenever Myles came home from work. Myles glared at him suspiciously. 

         “I mean, how are you doing?” Harry said, feeling the sudden change in atmosphere.

        Myles shrugged his shoulders and said nothing as Harry looked him over in a judgmental manner. He was wearing a pair of dirty cords and a t-shirt that had red on it. His eyes were bloodshot and the subtle on his chin was more than just a five o clock shadow. He looked like he was going through hell. All he wanted to do was get back to cooking. He itched his left hand that was bandaged with tape and a rag and looked at Harry.

         “Hey, what happened there?” He said not realizing that his neighbor wanted him to leave. “Let me see it, I am a doctor.”

         Myles almost laughed, “Harry, you are a chiropractor.” He walked into the kitchen with Harry following. 

         “So, you haven’t heard from your wife since she moved to Cleveland?” Myles cringed at the mention of her again. He shook his head no.

        “Well, do you think she will come back for the feast?”

         “I don’t f*****g know.” Myles replied trying not to think about her, attempting not to stray from little restraint he had.

         “It’s just, we were supposed to garden yesterday, and I am worried. She didn’t call me back.” Harry said, placing his hands on the counter. Myles couldn’t compose himself as his vision began to blur. He couldn’t say anything in response to his neighbor, his mouth widened and his hands began to shake. 

        “She always would call me.” Harry said going one step to far. Myles hissed and he hunched over. Harry looked taken back and thought his neighbor was going crazy from missing his wife so much. He shuffled his feet uncomfortable and stood up straight ready to leave.

         “Well, the big feast is soon.You better get cracking.” He said pointing at the eggs on the table. Myles looked around quickly as if noticing for the first time where he was. Harry caught his eye, and look at him without blinking. Slits of darkness glared out at him as he began walking.

        “I’ll walk you to the door,” said a deep hoarse voice that came from Myles. He put his large hand on Harry’s larger shoulder.

          “Cause you’re right, I really should chop too it. Lots of people to feed.”                                          

       *****

        Suddenly he awoke from darkness. He was on the floor of his kitchen, the hard titles were warm under his body. He smelt an intoxicating smoke that turned the air a slight grey. Getting up, he felt dizzy as the smoke poured into his lungs. He shuddered as something hit the floor with a loud clatter. It startled him to see it was the surgical knife falling from his hands.

        He opened the side door to get rid of the smoke so that he could see what was burning. A big ball of something was on fire on top of his stove. The flames licked around it, greedy and desperate to eat every piece it could consume. He stumbled as he tried to run to the pantry to get the fire extinguisher, but he instead bumped into the table. Silver platters fell to the floor, banging and bumping against each other as they fell. 

        He stepped back and noticed that he had prepared dinner already. In fact, his meal for tonight looked almost complete. His first course was small pieces of filleted meat that had a red tomato spread gluing the contents together. A thick pasty line of yellow that crossed the squares in a small x. He picked one up, smelling the ingredient he feared was in it. He popped it in his mouth quickly.

        It was exotic and tangy, delicious and creamy. He closed his eyes and sighed, realizing it was even better than what he had remembered.

        He resisted grabbing another piece of his creation, and he stumbled his way to the pantry and grabbed the extinguisher, and put out the fire. He grew dizzy again, everything around him moving frame by frame in slow motion. The fire sprouted bigger and he finally put out the fire revealing the details of the charcoaled ball. It was the face he saw just minutes ago starring up at him. His eyes grew unfocused as he starred at the eye sockets that were now only full of melted goo. He felt himself drifting away, he didn’t try to resist.

                                              *****

        The feast was a success. He laughed as he danced around the town hall merrily with all old ladies who had no one to dance with, his yellow eyes twinkling.

           “Such a shame” said one of the townspeople, gossiping to each other from across the wide tables. 

         “This food is delicious-- like nothing I’ve ever tasted.”  Said someone else. 

          “Harry and Sophia would have really loved it.” 

          “O golly, they sure would have. I mean tastes irresistible.” 

          “Well, you know Myles probably threw his heart and soul into it.” 

       ***** 

        Picking up the orange bottle of pills he had so diligently remembered to take for all his life, he studied the side that now seemed so foreign. Take twice a day on a full stomach it read. He laughed, knowing fully well, that before, Myles would had obediently swallowed them hoping for the better.

         He opened the container and let the small tablets fall into his hands. He watched them as they piled into a small, white mountain on his palm. He looked down as he let them empty into the blood that had waded around him. He laughed, He was the king of the world he though, looking at the small islands of flesh that laid in the red.

        His yellow eyes twitched so he closed them, hiding the defined black slits from the sun that was coming through his window.

        

Author's Note

still needs some work, but working on it I am

Reviews

[nostal]

Nice, very descriptive.
Nicely written and hooks the reader since the first sentence.
Good job.