When Madness Comes

The bedroom door crashing in, ricocheting off the doorstop with a loud thud, caused Jason to awaken in a start. He had sat upright and thrashed from side to side preparing to fend off the expected attack. When nothing or no one immediately pounced, he swung his legs off to the right side of the bed, grabbed his jeans, and had them on in one swift movement. Shirtless, he ran headlong down the stairs, bouncing off the wall at one point and sending a photo clattering against the rail behind.

The foot of the stairs led directly to the entrance of the home. A small area of weathered white tile with gold veins was visible in the muted moonlight; pushing it's way through the gauzy curtains hanging in the bay window adjacent to the door. A darkened shape along the wall proved to be a small table, and Jason threw open the drawer to retrieve a pistol he kept hidden; secured to the underside of the table toward the back of the drawer.

With a quick rack of the slide to ensure a chambered round, he slung a dark blue jacket on over his otherwise naked torso in one fluid motion and flung the door wide. He had lurched through, but quickly braced the frame and swung back inside. He had forgotten his shoes in his haste, and knew he would need them on this day. Without time for selection, he threw on the closest option; large, steel-toed black work boots. Without pausing to lace them, he sprinted out of the house, leaving the front door open without even an afterthought.

Odd, menacing sounds were rising from the shadows to both sides, unseen sources from among the tree-lined depths. They were a quietly deafening chorus of sussings and incoherent whispers. Jason's heartrate quickened as he glanced wild-eyed into the darkness beyond the trees over his left shoulder.

Bang! Jason crashed and toppled into the windshield of his silver Ford Taurus sitting in the graveled lane; the silver shimmering almost as liquid in the bright moonlight. His feet had skidded out behind him in the loose rock and he was left sprawling for a moment. A small, frantic sound escaped his lips as he rolled off to the right and fumbled for his keys in his pant pocket.

Thunderous thrashing came seemingly from both sides of the lane simultaneously. Branches and debris flung with tornadic velocity against the car, some grazing Jason's head and back. He let loose an exasperated moan and gave up on using the vehicle. He ran, sliding a bit in the gravel and almost falling face first before regaining his balance. He began firing wildly into the trees on both sides until he realized he was screaming and did not know when or for how long.

Forgetting about the need to fend off the encroaching hordes, he focused instead on sprinting with all of his strength to reach the Keeners' house across the street. He silently cursed the reality that he had chosen to move to a house with such great property, because the length of his lane had now become his enemy as well.

Something tore at his jacket from behind, and he could hear the sussing sound very close over his shoulder. His eyes widened and sweat began to bead his brow. He let loose a high pitched, desperate sound as he flung both arms back and forth in effort to rid himself of his tormentor.

The moonlight suddenly shifted and grew dimmer, somehow taking on a rusty tint. Shadows grew thicker, darker. The pathway ahead of Jason slowly began to tilt to the right. Strangely, the pitching earth did not seem to disrupt anything but Jason himself. He staggered and listed to the right, as if running against the side of a steep hill. As the world continued to grind sideways, he had no choice but to desperately fling himself onto the graveled drive and use his gun in his left hand and his clawed fingers in his right to fight frantically to avoid falling into the black abyss of the sky.

Despite the reality that the world was twisting into such a maddened state that no rational aid could be offered, his shattering mind clung to one thought: The Keeners. I must make it to the Keeners' house!

He dared not risk trying to get to his feet, but instead scrambled hurriedly forward on his hands and knees. A deafening horn sounded behind him followed by a cacophony of shouts. His tormentors were almost upon him. He began to question whether he could make it.

As Jason was on the verge of giving up and collapsing in a heap on the ground in surrender, he saw the twinkling lights of a small building just ahead. As he did, the world snapped back into place abruptly; causing him to face-plant and sprawl in the dirt and gravel for a moment. As soon as he was able, he pushed to his feet and charged recklessly ahead, feet spraying up rocks behind as he increased pace.

He imagined phantoms, hell hounds, and any number of viscous psychos just on his heels as he reached the door to the small shack and threw it wide. A large man dressed all in white stood within, waiting. He had a badge on his shirt that read "Keener". Confused, Jason hesitated and stumbled back a half step. He shook his cloudy head.

The large man stepped forward and gripped Jason with both hands, firmly but not rough. "I've got you, Jason. Just breathe. Breathe. You're having an episode, but you are safe." He gently reached out and took the gun out of Jason's hand. As he did, Jason puzzled at the fact that it had transformed into a stick.

Seconds later, several men also dressed in white pushed into the small building, panting and breathless. "Thanks, Frank!" they said to the man whose name was apparently Keener. "I was worried he was going to get hurt."

Jason leaned back despite the grip on his arms and peered through a bit of the doorway. All was quiet and still outside. He was becoming increasingly confused. Something sharp plunged into his neck and the world began to dissolve...