The first thing his senses acknowledge is the smell—a putrefying, rotting stench. His gorge rises in involuntary response. Quickly sitting up, he stifles it back. Sunlight streams into the room from two perpendicular windows, illuminating every corner and crevice of the room. There’s blood everywhere! Smeared along the wooden floor boards, spattered on the walls, the bedding on which he sits is saturated with it… his hands are sticky. He looks at one of them and at the sight of the blackening, brackish, viscus substance. His gorge rises yet again. His other hand feels…heavy. Looking, he sees it is clinging to a roughly crafted, blood caked, lawn mower blade machete. There is…a tapping… on the glass…of the window to his left.
He turns ever so slowly. There, framed in the lower pane, is a pale white face, with soulless eyes, enshrouded in black, peering at him. Bolting from the bed, he races for the door; dropping the makeshift weapon in the process (an action which would surely bring an audible groan from any horror movie audience).
He bursts through the weather worn door of the dilapidated… cabin? How did he get in a cabin? Where was he? And who or what is the creepy thing now staring at him from between the porch railings? No time to think- RUN! Jump off the porch, serpentine between the trees. Why is he running? There has to be some logical explanation here. Let’s see. Woke up in a blood soaked cabin in the woods, now being chased by possible creator of said environment…yeah keep running! Head for the lake! Surely to god it can’t go into the lake…can it? How do you know there’s even a lake? Because there always is.
Waist deep, he turns to face a vacant shoreline. No pale phantom, no cabin, just empty woods and absolute disturbing silence. The water gently laps at him, it’s cold, sending a chill through his entire… There is a fluttering darkness and an urgent need. The bedside clock reads 12:34 as he rises from the bed. What a cruel way for his body to tell his mind that his two Corona nightcap was a bad idea.
Shuffling into the bathroom, flipping on the light, relieving himself and…holeee shite! That is the biggest spider he has ever seen and it sees him, too. Oh so carefully reach for the plunger…no…no don’t run, don’t jump, just sit right there you 8-legged freak. There is a crunch then a “POP” as the unwanted visitor meets its demise. He gives it a sailor’s burial and staggers back to bed; the light stays on.
The bedside clock reads 12:34 when he awakens to find the child standing beside the bed, back-lit by the bathroom light. Bad dreams, huh? Sure climb on in, teddy bear and all.
Awakened twice in what appears to be less than a minute he decides to slip into a pair of jeans and step out for a cigarette.
As he steps onto the apartment’s front porch there’s a chill in the air and he wishes he’d grabbed a…where’d that dog come from. An albino German Shepard sits just across the street and when he notices it, it notices him. The dog slowly transgresses forward, a deep guttural growl emitting from its throat. Is that blood caked around it jowls? He quickly turns to go back inside. The door is locked. He vaults over the railing as the Shepard mounts the porche’s lower steps. The dog redirects its advance and bursts into a full run at him. Racing through the side yard he slip-slides his way across the dew-wet grass. Clambering up the back steps, he’s thankful when the back door (which he forgot to lock) swings inward. Slamming the door, he braces against it, expecting to hear the dog slam into it and…nothing. Dead empty silence enshrouds him. He peers out through the kitchen window and…Oh my GOD! There in the back yard stand the pale freak from the cabin with the albino purebred heeled by his side. He blinks hard, shakes his head and…they are gone…if they were ever there.
Exhausted and confused, he wanders back to the bedroom. In his absence, the kid has sprawled. Wearily he slides the child’s still form over and crawls back into bed. The bedside clock reads 12:34. Obviously the clock is broken and he drank way too much before bed, but then a thought hits him hard. Since when did he have a kid? Better question—when did he get married?
He leaps out of bed, his hands search desperately for the light switch. The child cries out, accompanied by a woman’s voice, both sound terrified, “Please don’t turn on the light!” Later he will wish he hadn’t. The woman and child scream, mouths gapping and stare at him with cold black eyes. Moments later his scream joins the chorus.
The bedside clock reads 12:34 when he screams himself awake. He fumbles at the bedside lamp and… he’s not in a cabin, there is no blood and he is alone. Sighing heavily he realizes his two Corona nightcap was a bad idea. He staggers to the bathroom and isn’t a bit surprised to see a huge spider perched on the back of the toilet when he turns on the light. He decides to let it live.
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