Doc1FT wrote:
None of the details here are remotely coherent. Still more interesting then logging in today.
Two short weeks ago, I walked away from a mental hospital in Wichita Falls, some 30 miles to a truck stop where I slept for 2 days. I had been inducted the previous night, where I had seen creatures exiting some sort of vehicle and begin to scale the brick walls outside up to the roof. "There's nothing out there!", she insisted. I digressed, but when I asked her about the woman in an old-style white nurses' uniform poking her head 'round the door a few feet away, her eyes went wide.
I'd volunteered my discharge due to numerous wedge-shaped scars in the flooring, like, you know, someone had stabbed someone to death right under my feet.
But, it was mostly due to the impressionistic mural which hung in the common area, both beautiful and terrifying. Besides lacking a signature, it displayed every event which led me to where I was currently standing. From top left to bottom right, a sequence of events with which I was quite familiar, except the far bottom right: First, a Mexican whom I'd just met the previous night, who was holding a gun in my face, the black young man attending duties there at the hospital, and finally, the obvious face of pre-societal humans.
When I asked where the painting came from, the young lady said she was unsure, that it had been there a long time.
See, the night before, I was again at my lunatic cousin's, having nowhere else to go, the rest of my family inexplicably turned their backs on me. If you asked me what I did, I truly could not say because they simply would not themselves.
Just after sundown that night, I had walked across the street to an acquaintance's house, opened the door to leave, and a large, holographic-looking fox was staring right at the doorway. I shut it, and return inside. My buddy is highly annoyed, because they'd laid down with a headache. He jumped up, threw the front door open, and shouted at me to stop bothering him. The fox was still standing there.
He shut the door behind me, and all I could do was stand there, frozen. I looked around, and I wish I hadn't. High up in the tree a dozen yards away, within the branches sat something... unnatural. I returned my eyes forward to see the fox fade away, while illuminated footprints trailed one by one away from it.
I looked back at my cousin's house, and I knew I should not go back. The way it looked in the twilight, that yellow light from the kitchen window, the pale blue siding as white mixed with dusk. It was no less than the box art from a 90's horror flick. I ran back.
Through the garage and into the back door, I began to arm myself. I'd been carrying a 14" iron file with a 4" sharpened tip for a while, also setting up a wall of large, counter-clockwise spirals pointed directly at Eric's bedroom door, just inside. A Mexican I'd never met before was sitting in his room, looking like he'd just done about 20 years in prison.
And then it began.
THUD, THUD, THUD.
Something was on the roof. Something heavy. Something huge. I knew what it was. I didn't have to see it. The little jack russel terrier was going berzerk in the front yard as I stood halfway in and out of the back door, ready to run in either direction. There would be no running this time. There would be a fight.
The dog stopped barking as she lay on the ground ahead of me, suddenly munching on something. Fuck. I called out to her multiple times, but she didn't even turn her head.
I stepped back inside, a few feet behind the spirals. I yelled for Eric, but got no reply. The Mexican stepped out of his room, and stopped just short of the spiral's paths. "You're going to let me die?", he said, grinning from ear to ear. I had no idea what he meant, but I picked up a long, sharp piece of wood and held it to his face. He kept reaching in his pocket, and I demanded he keep his hands out.
The tension broke, and he returned to his seat in the room. I would see no more of him. He called someone on the phone, asking for assistance. I grabbed an old, heavy brass clothing rack and used its circular shape as a shield. The lower shaft of this thing a good 3', and was actually a brilliant defensive item. I would need it.
File and spear in my right hand, shield on the left, I turn and look toward the kitchen, where every cat in the house sat staring at a single point on the nearby wall. The calico turned and looked at me, its eyes an unnatural neon blue.
Pacing toward the kitchen, the cats scatter toward the adjacent living room. Into the kitchen, I hover about a moment, peering into the next room. The calico is lying prone on its back in the middle of the floor, the dog in the chair in the same position.
Something pushes on the end of the brass shaft. Startled, I jump back. It happens again, this time making a circular motion. I push back, strafing. Something is here, and I cannot see it. Paranoia and adrenaline hit maximum, and I pace backward toward the living room. I stamp on the floor, and the animals awaken.
Into the room, the brass shaft is knocked violently to the left, but I catch its momentum and return it hard to the right and back again, spear lodged between the brass spokes. The commotion rouses my sleeping aunt, who demands to know what the hell I'm up to. I beg her to call the police, but she insists I'm playing games. I feel pain in my right thigh, and then the sensation of the iron file being prised from my hand.
I drop my right knee on it, and hold on for dear life. "You're not getting it!!" I jerk backward and stand up again, weapon still in hand. I repeated my plea to call the cops, which finally sank in.
The police arrive, and it all comes to a close. At the station, I look at my aching thigh to find a bite mark the size of a shark. There's no blood or lacerations, like whatever did it had really dull teeth. As time went on and it faded, the only thing that remained were two fang marks, each 3/4" wide and 2" apart.