FEAR

FEAR

-

He didn’t know who he was, or where he was, or rather, what the hell he was doing in a graveyard.

But it seemed at that moment, those things didn’t matter much. All he knew was that it was cold, cold, cold standing alone there without any clothes. He was naked and bare to the world around him, his imperfections and ugliness shining through.

Look at me, he seemed to shout wordlessly. Look how monstrous and deformed I am! Look how hideous I am!

He found an audience in the trees. They spoke naught a word, but he saw how their dead branches shifted back and forth, groaning, moaning, shrieking, all done in a noiseless matter. He shivered and walked forward. Was he dead?

The path was worn and used too much. The black dirt glowed with an eerie aura underneath the dull red sky and the pallid moon, reminding him of human flesh. How pale the moon is, he thought, how bright! At that moment he wistfully touched his own skin; it was cold, clammy and wet. Nevertheless, it had served its purpose. He was still alive.

He involuntarily shivered again. Specks of frost weaved into the wind, biting his skin and creating soft, deadly breezes. C-C-Cold, he mentally chattered. He let his right foot cover his left foot for a brief second, trying to produce even the slightest bit of warmth, and then vice versa. Oh, the miseries and woes his poor mind rattled through, trying to register each blinding stab of pain on every stretch of his body!

He breathed deeply, and exhaled a large puff of frigid air. He did not get it. He did not get anything. Why was he condemned in this cold, isolated place? Why was he here? And just who exactly was he?

His eyes automatically scanned the place out of curiosity, depicting a few gravestones toppled over, the silhouette of a fence completely surrounding the given area, and those crooked trees. The sky was still a dull, pulsating red, with pale strips of foggy blue converging together in the distance. The air overall turned quite-

“It’s Misty.”

He blinked, surprised. Yes, that was the right word. M-

“Stinkwat. I meant over here.”

The voice was harsh, grating into his ears, and the tone frightened him. He turned around slowly, facing a being he had never seen before. The stranger’s arms, which were thick, fat tendrils of black, were holding a sliver of flesh. On top of it was a fire that never seemed to go out. He squinted, and withheld a look of horror. It was hair. To be more specific, it was the hair of a girl.

“C-Can’t breathe,” she gasped in weak, pitiful heaves of the chest, skinny legs limpid against the tendrils’ grasp. “C-Can’t-”

“Shut up,” the stranger hissed, squeezing harder, emitting a strangled cry. He couldn’t bear to watch so he shut his eyes. The stranger laughed, its coarse voice filling the empty air. She was whimpering now.

“What’s the matter?” the stranger asked. “Why are you shutting your eyes? You don’t liiike meee?” He emphasized those last two words, letting them slither out smoothly and flawlessly. He kept shutting his eyes, trying to block out the disturbing image. The stranger laughed again. He hated that laugh.

“Open your eyes,” it commanded. He pretended not to hear.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me correctly,” it snarled, voice dripping with hate and malice. It must’ve done something then, for the girl let out a choked, strangled cry. Frightened, he reluctantly opened them.

Those tendrils were now gripping her flimsy figure with much force. Her face steadily turned pinker and pinker. Her eyes, ones of a terrified blue, stared into his. Help me, she seemed to wail soundlessly. Please, help me. He tried to respond to her; he tried to tell her that he was weak, cold, tired, hungry, and driven by fear. But he found out that he couldn’t. No words came out of his throat. His hand felt the bump of the Adam’s apple, feeling it, touching his icy skin, until fingers gradually felt his numb lips. Nothing. Not a word.

“What’s the matter?” the stranger repeated. “Too scared to talk? Or do you not care if I take this girl’s life?”

He tried again, and much to his chagrin no sound came out. The girl’s eyes widened. And the stranger grinned.

Something odd was happening. Visions became distorted and the trees were bending closer together, trying to catch every word of the scene. The stranger was a hideous monster; it grew longer tendrils and bumps of nasty puce sprouted on everything he came in contact. The girl grew pale, skin marred with spots of pink, purple and red. She was screaming noiselessly, trying to scratch her way out. Nails drew blood on her legs, veins protruding, and the white of her eye grew bigger and bigger, until her pupil was no more than a tiny speck-

“STOP!” he yelled. He could not take it. Shivering, he wept silently, covering his ears. This was all a trick of the mind. He had not seen anything. He was dreaming. This was all a simple dream, and surely he would wake up soon.

“Puke face,” the stranger was growling now. He cracked open an eye, and much to his dismay, it was still there amidst gravestones, clutching that girl. “Coward. You can’t save your precious lover?”

“She’s not my lover,” he said, marveling at his ability to talk. He didn’t know who this girl was. He didn’t even know who he was.

“So you’re going to let her die,” the stranger said in a slightly disgruntled tone, which flared up to its previous hatred. “I’m disappointed in you, stinkwat. I expected more. But tell me,” it said slowly, rising up a few feet or so, “how should I kill her? I’d like to suffocate her, and maybe rip out her spine while I’m at it. Or maybe I can break each of her limbs.” A smaller tendril gently massaged her delicate hands, particularly the forefinger.

“One,” crack “by,” crack “one.” crack.

She screamed in agony.

“No, stop,” he pleaded, darting his eyes to the moaning girl, to the black creature, and then to the finger, which he could not identify anymore, let alone the entire hand. “Please,” he begged again, tears leaking out. He could not help it. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want her to die. Engulfed in fear, the only thing he could do was to quake in terror, imagining the possibility of the same torture happening to him.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” the stranger was musing. He shot his head up in panic. “I don’t think it’d be worth it, though. You retarded losers would probably grovel for your pathetic lives,” it spat. “I can’t tell who I hate more, you or this sorry existence of a girl.” Suddenly, it was smiling. “I have an idea, puke face. Why don’t we play a game?”

He stared at it with eyes that tried to look hopeful. “Game?” It nodded.

“It’s called ‘Guess my name or I kill this girl’ game. It’s very fun.” It laughed with delight. “Listen closely, pig gruel. I give you three tries to guess my name. If you get it right, I might let you live. But if you get it wrong...” Suddenly, the air got a whole lot colder. “..I kill both of you.”

He gulped. “B-But I don’t even kno-” The word got caught off by the sound of the girl’s yelp. The tendrils were closing in.

“Start guessing, you slimy coward.”

He trembled and felt the inevitable hopelessness sink in. He did not even know his own name, so how could he possibly win this game? It’s so cold, he thought helplessly, and I am to guess a name I do not even know. Suddenly, he had a flashback of the time he was gazing at the distance, now much darker than before, and remembered one name.

“Misty.”

“Wrong!” the stranger said gleefully. “Two more tries. Only two tries left.”

“No, I meant the girl’s name is Misty; I didn’t me-”

“Shut it, snot head,” it snapped, “I make up the rules here, got that? Don’t you dare try to weasel your way out of this, like you always do. Oh, I’m up to every clever little trick you have up your sleeves. And let me tell you something: they won’t work. So shut up,” it warned nastily.

Okay. He shut up. His teeth chattered from both anxiety and the cold, racking his head. This was not a game. This was an attempt on giving him hope, and he only knew so well the stranger was going to rip it out of him after the two tries were up. And even worse, time. The girl was staring at him pleadingly, eyes filled with pain and sorrow. She was right. He was her only hope. And this game was his hope.

“Too long, your second try is up,” the stranger growled impatiently. He and the girl stared up in horror, but dared not try to talk back, now coming in realization with its true nature. Think, he begged his mind. Come on, think! There must be something missing. What’s his name? What am I missing? Why can’t I think of anything? He frowned. Why can’t I remember anything?!

“Five.”

Come on, come on, think, think, think...

“Four.”

Name, anything, dates, places, who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Why am I struggling with fear and bravery? Why can’t I remember?

“Three.”

“For God’s sake,” he yelled, desperation creeping into his voice. “She’s just a girl. What has she done to you?” It pretended not to hear, continuing the fatal countdown. But he could’ve sworn he felt a chilled smile.

“Two.”

Why am I so afraid? Why does it know me so well? What’s happening to me? Am I going to die? Is this a trial? Why can’t I remember the name? Why? Why only me? Wh-

A strong gust of wind interrupted his barrage of questions. The stranger rose several yards higher, and against the moonlight he could somehow discern his face; it looked like a white mask with strange symbols, a nose, a mouth, eyes, and yet something was not quite right, as if the face did not belong. As if it was borrowed. Before he could observe further, the neck extended directly in front of his face in the blink of an eye, coming face-to-face.

There was a maniacal glint in those cold, cold amber eyes.

“One.”

Snap.
-

Several days, weeks, months, years – no one would ever find his body. No one would ever find the corpse decomposing beneath the spray of black dirt. No one would ever find that perpetual look of fear latched on to his face. No one would ever find his pupil-less eyeballs. No one would find his broken neck and spine.

But in the end, best of all, no one would ever find his detached hand extended towards a gravestone, with a single broken finger.