The young woman’s body was dumped unceremoniously on the side of the road as though it were a bag of trash ready for the morning pick up. Her left arm was bent back behind her, at an angle that it was never meant to be. One of the bones of the forearm was sticking out through the skin, having torn through it as though it were tissue paper. Her brown hair lay on the sidewalk in matted clumps, caked together with dried blood. Her once pretty face was now covered in bruises, lines of blood running along her cheeks like a network of highways. Her mouth was only open a slit as though she were opening them up to whisper.
Her eyes told a much a different story. Her pupils were wide as though a flashlight were shining right into them. The skin around them was stretched tight. It wouldn’t have taken Sherlock Holmes to see that she was in shock when she met her end.
She had on a flowered skirt which was torn down the length of her leg. When police would arrive on the scene they would immediately begin to suspect that the woman in front of them had been raped. They would soon find out that that wasn’t the case though, the tearing of the skirt being entirely incidental, something which happened naturally in the course of the struggle. In time it would become clear that this particular woman was just another in a long line. All of them pretty and in their early thirties. Each of them with long brown hair. The eye color would change from time to time, but blue was the color that popped up most often, as it had here. After that the routine would be followed. Witnesses would come forward but each would be more useless than the one before. The most that anyone would be able to say was that the killer was medium height, medium weight, wearing a dark hoodie. Police would be left scratching their heads hoping the next time that they would be given a little more to work with.
If they were to happen to come across the body within ten minutes of it being dumped they would have found the party responsible only about fifty yards away. It was like this every time. This time he sat in a lonely car, slate gray. Just one of many unassuming vehicles which lined the side of the street. Inside that car was Ed Lucas, his hands gripping the steering wheel, the leather rubbing against his blood soaked hands. Specks of the same blood were all over his face. Blood that began to smear due to the tears that now ran down his cheeks.
“No more. No more,” he whispered to himself over and over again. He really meant it too. The thing was that he had meant it the last time. And the time before that. Each time he would tell himself that this was the end. He would be a good boy after this. He had finally gotten it out of his system. However the next time that he saw some pretty little brunette walking down the street it would happen. Maybe he would pick her up. Maybe he would tail her until they were somewhere private and then grab her. Whatever he would do, it would end with her being beaten until her bones snapped and until there wasn’t a single ounce of life left. He couldn’t quite explain it, but from the moment that he saw the women, something grabbed a hold of him, balling his hands into fists and swinging his arms wildly. It was though tentacles reached out of the ether and gained control of him. First it would slip between the fissures of his brain, infecting him with its images and its urges. Then it would wrap around his limbs, gaining control over all his actions. It had been like this every time, but the first was the one that was what ran through his mind now.
That had been only two short years ago. He was only twenty years old at that point, finally living on his own. After his mother had died in that car accident there wasn’t any other choice. The small amount of money he got made it possible to find some run down place in the middle of the downtown. It met his needs though. He never got out much anyway. He never had. At first it was because his mother wouldn’t let him. The world was far too dangerous for her little Eddy. And now he was too scared to. Scared of what it would mean for him.
For years now his head was a highway of images. Some moving so fast that they were only a blur. Some managed to break through the chaos though. And these images horrified him. They were filled with blood. Blood and broken bones. The images themselves were awful enough but what was even more awful was how it made him felt. Excited. Eager. Every time one of those images broke through the flurry, his legs would shake with a kind of arousal. They had started around the time that he was thirteen. He would try to broach the subject with his mother, but she would wave him off. Her mind was always on something else when it came to him anyway.
So for years these images built and built in his mind. By now they were blinding. Deafening in a way, to the point that he couldn’t even hear himself think. Being that he was all on his own now, he had no distractions in place. And it all intensified. First he allowed himself to dwell within those images as though he were standing right above the body, watching the blood flow down from the forehead, run over the eyes, stream-lets running off into the open lips, staining the teeth a dark red. That didn’t last long though. Soon he was no longer simply standing over the body. Soon he was burying his fists into the head, soaking his hands. He would snap out of it covered in sweat. And that was what his life consisted of. He went off to an office park where he cleaned up shit for about 6 hours a day, come home and existed in this fantasy world of blood and broken bones. But that’s all it was…a fantasy…right up until the night of March 5, 2012.
He returned home, slipped into his apartment, and tossed his jacket onto a pile of dirty clothes that had taken up permanent residence in the corner by the door. A series of creaks shot up from the floorboards as he paced around, shoulders constantly hunched as though he was always afraid of something coming up from behind him. His feet dragged along almost as if they were too heavy to actually lift. Ed flopped onto his couch, huddling into the corner of it. He stared ahead where his TV sat. He flipped it on providing the room with some mindless noise. From behind the TV his windows looked out on an alley. One was right by a fire-escape and was cracked open, letting in a soft breeze which brought with it a soothing whistle.
This was how he spent his days, trying to bury the images. Next to him on an end table was a picture of him and his mother. It was from about ten years back. His hair lay like a mop on top of his head. He started straight ahead, eyes just a bit off from the camera. More than a hint of sadness inside them. Next to him sat his mother, her brown hair laying perfectly straight, hanging to halfway down her back. Her hand was resting high up on Ed’s thigh. About an hour after this picture was taken her hand would be on his thigh again, only this time it would be under his pants.
And so there he sat all night, hardly a movement except for the constant blinking as he tried to shut out all that burrowed its way through to his head. This routine was not broken until he looked outside and across to another apartment building across the street that he finally saw her. She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. Simply piddling around in the kitchen. And she wasn’t classically beautiful according to the popular definition. Her skin seemed to sag in a few places. Ears hung a little low and the nose was too big for her face. But her hair. That hair of hers was perfect. Ed was struck by it, taking in every strand, marveling at the way it swooped around from the left side of her head, crossing over behind her neck, and coming to a rest just below her right shoulder. Not a single bit of it was out of place. And her eyes….a blue brighter than the sky on a spring day. Ed was struck by it, not able to look away, not even wanting to. His blinking finally ceased because to blink would be to shut out the amazing sight in front of him. A smile crept onto his face for the first time in years and tears began to seep out of the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t explain it, but no sight had ever brought such joy to his eyes.
And then it happened. The images came back. He was once again standing over a woman raining blows down upon her, listening to the cracking sounds of her bones. There was a difference this time though. This time it was the woman that he was gazing upon. She had the large nose, the sagging skin, and the luxurious hair. Luxurious hair that was lying in a pool of blood.
“What is happening?!” he yelled at himself as his fingers plunged into the cushions forcing the stuffing out of it. He screamed as loud as he could but the images continued to bore into him. And this time it was more than just the quick flashes. Now he could see himself walking towards her, towering over her as she backed into a corner, shrieking for help the whole time. First he grabbed a hold of that wonderful hair and whipped her around, slamming her onto the ground. Then he was on top of her pinning down her flailing arms with his knees. Next he was grabbing her head and slamming it against the hardwood floor underneath. Small specks of blood started to appear on it underneath her head. Her eyes began to roll into the back of her head and her body went limp. From there he grabbed her arm and twisted it until he heard a snap. The fists began flying after that, beating until her face was mush, blood and brain all tangled together with what had once been magnificent hair.
It was at this moment that the tentacles reached out for the first time. Ed could almost see them shoot out from the darkness. He gave off a high pitched wail as it began to infect him. His head began to pound, it feeling like his brain would begin to bust through his scalp any minute. The tentacles then grabbed a hold of his arms and legs, making any protests completely moot.
When Ed opened his eyes he was no longer on his couch. Now he was at the door opening it up, stepping out into the hall. He froze as he tried to understand what it was that he was doing. And then it occurred to him. He was going over there. Simply imagining it was no longer enough. He had to do it. He couldn’t explain why. He could never even explain why it was those images cropped up from time to time. He was horrified by it all, but a tiny voice told him that if he indulged himself for long enough that all of it would seep away. That one day he would be able to close his eyes and see only darkness.
Realizing what was happening, he slammed the door and backed away. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t who he was. He had never hurt anyone before….well apart from a few animals. But never another person. He just wasn’t capable of doing something like that. Was he? He collapsed onto the ground in tears. Why was this happening to him? He didn’t want to hurt anyone…but something made him feel like he had to. The tentacles squirmed all over him. Their hold had loosened for a moment, but they were beginning to tighten yet again.
He found himself dragging himself across the floor, sliding along it, back towards the door. Ed was aware of it the entire time but seemed worthless to do anything about it. It was as though he had become possessed and become simply a spectator to his entire life. He strained himself, pushing his muscles out, looking like they may burst out of his skin. Still he continued forward. He locked his joints hoping to stall his movement, but they gave loose immediately.
He was at the door when those tentacles slackened just a bit and he flopped onto the floor. In that moment Ed was up and hurrying around the room. A few feet from the door was a cabinet with a random assortment of mundane objects on it. These objects flew off as Ed shoved the cabinet in front of the door. The end table which held the picture of Ed with his mother was placed on top of the cabinet, the picture falling to the ground, a crack forming right over a young Ed. Chairs piled on top of that along with other things that Ed had found around the house, all of it piled high. All of it appearing as though he was desperately trying to keep something out. But instead he was desperate to keep something in. Himself.
He backed away from the mountain that he had created. He huddled in a corner, hands in his hair clawing at his head. Trying to claw out the tentacle that had wormed its way inside. Trying to pick out whatever demon had infected him. When he drew his hands away he had blood underneath his fingernails having actually picked his way into his scalp a bit.
From behind the barricaded door he could hear a pounding. Something there pounding to get in just so they could take him out. The pounding threatened to shatter his ear drums. He could almost see the door shake.
It was in this corner that Ed sat for the next three hours. Never once moving, afraid that he would end up closer to the door. His head always buried in his arms, afraid he would look up and see her. And to see her would mean to end her. It was then that he began to hear the voices. Voices that must have belonged to whatever creature who controlled these tentacles. And now controlled him.
“Come on Eddy. Don’t be scared,” it hissed.
“No,” he sobbed.
“What’s the harm?”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.”
“I won’t.”
“Pretty please. Cherry on top?” It had begun to sound like a pouting infant.
“Stop!”
“Just this once.”
“Never.”
“How long can you let this go on?”
At this point Ed stopped responding. Now he simply shouted nonsense in order to block it out. This creature only spoke louder though.
“Don’t you want the images to stop? I promise they’ll end. They’ll end once and for all. The blood. The bones. All of it will be gone if you just this once give in. You can trust me.”
And this was the very idea which would carry Ed for the next two years. His never ending desire to stop the images. To finally find peace so that he could just once be normal. Just once he could come home and relax. Just once be able to make a friend. Just once be a part of the world, instead of always looking on it from the outside.
His head peeked out of the darkness he had enclosed around himself. Took in the apartment again. What little had adorned it was now piled high against the door. It was a desert now and he was the sole inhabitant. Him and whatever it was that had worked its way inside his mind. His eyes wandered back to the building across the way. The lights in the woman’s apartment had now gone out and that luxurious hair of hers was nowhere to be seen. With this realization the tension eased, the tentacles loosened. It began to slither out of his brain. The pressure began to subside just a bit. The pounding in his head softened to a light thud. He had done it. He had actually managed to defeat the devil that was attempting to possess him.
And then a light came on. A light across the way. And this light shined upon a mess of brown hair. It was no longer the masterpiece that it once was, but it still caught Ed’s eyes. And this was all that was required for the creature to tighten once again. Enabled to push further down into its brain than it had been before. Ed whipped his head around trying to shake it loose. It fought desperately to take him off towards the door. Make him cross that final line. The mountain was still there though. Still blocking his way. Ed smiled out of relief, knowing that if nothing else that mountain would save him enough time to fight this off. After all once that light across the way went out again he could usurp control yet again. He just had to be strong enough until then. He just had to……
A whistling. Ed heard a whistling from behind him. His head snapped around where he saw his window open just a crack. An open window leading right out onto a fire escape. A way out. And a way over the line. The tentacles grabbed a hold as tight as they could, and there they remained to this day.
Bio
I was born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri. I currently live in St. Charles, Missouri and work as a Special Education teacher. I have previously had a short story included as part of the online horror magazine, “Jakob’s Horror Box.”
