Don't Look Up

Darkness settled as I rushed through the woods, blanketing me with every step as though to suffocate me. The deeper I ventured into the woods, the colder it got. Though despite the bitter squall bearing down on me, pushing me deeper into the darkness I felt only a numbness that was slowly adding to my deep despair. The little flecks of moonlight that were left peaking through the clouds did little to light my way, succeeding only to make the shadows of the twisted bare trees seem to reach for me. They seemed to be stretching their branches like gnarled rotting hands, reaching ever towards me as if to feel my warmth as though they could sense my presence. The shadows added to my paranoia as I pushed forward, desperate to make it to where I could finally rest. I had to get away from the thing that had thoroughly plagued what seemed like endless days of torment leading up to that night, finally pushing me to attempt to escape if only for a few fleeting moments. As I started up the drive to the old cabin, my last attempt at safety came into view. The old building covered in rough wood siding was like an old friend, supportive and caring, and hopefully secluded enough that that thing wouldn't be able to find me. Dead leaves drifted around my feet like lost souls as I climbed the sagging wood steps to the porch, and entered the gaping maw of the old house. I turned on the living room light, and it feebly flickered to a dim glow in the center of the room. I scoured the small cabin, searching the darkened rooms and corners shrouded in shadow, finding nothing I began to relax, sitting on the sheet-covered couch. Then with a cold sense of creeping dread, I looked up.

The face I saw was twisted and barely recognizable, blood was clotted in its raggedy fur and its eyes were pools of dripping sludge. I covered my mouth trying to stop a scream from bursting out, “maybe,” I thought frantically, “maybe it can’t see me.” That little light of hope was soon snuffed out as the oil-black eyes of my childhood pet locked with mine. The same eyes that the light had drained out of all those years ago; the same body that lay limp in the tall grass as I set the slick red rock down and broke into tears. I knew that all of this was going to catch up with me, I knew it when I had begun to see buddy lurking around every living thing I had massacred since then. He had slunk around the corner of the courthouse as I had walked out a free man based on a technicality even though it was I who killed that family, skinned them, and staged them around the house like they had been every time I peered through their window. I knew I had to repent for my sins, I knew that although it was the voice in my head that told me to do it karma wouldn’t care. This was justice’s poetic revenge, killed by the first, neigh, the second victim of the voices. The first would always be me. Buddy skittered down from the ceiling, bones cracking and sticking out everywhere. I closed my eyes and braced myself, “you will repent” was hissed from somewhere in the darkness, then I felt jagged canine teeth ripping into my stomach. I screamed as sharp pain bloomed from my chest and darkness seeped into my vision as I began to lose consciousness. The mutilated thing tore further into my body and I felt warm blood flow onto my legs and arms. The thing made wet smacking sounds as it ripped innards out of my gaping middle. A cold, needling pain slid into my temple and my lungs burned from lack of breath. I spat out blood as my last seconds ticked by and the cold began to take over me. Despite the tearing, searing, unbearable pain a wave of calm washed over me. For the first time in my life, my mind was quiet, no more voices, I felt at peace. I took my last breath as the dog finally got to my throat and let go.