He woke up.

He always woke up.

The sun was bright and the sky was blue. He could see it through the tiny dank window that [which] tainted that pristine color into a sickly sullen green.

Rise and shine Rick. It’s another beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky. Well, that’s not true. There is one or two. But they’re small, fluffy, what did she call them? Happy fuzz puffs? She always said it was going to be a good day when there were happy fuzz puffs in the sky. She was silly wasn’t she Rick.

Coffee. Thick and black. He didn’t really like the way it tasted. He normally didn’t do more then sip it a few times before pouring the rest out in the sink. The smell was always what actually woke him up. Coffee always smelled so much better then it tasted. Huddling at the cramped little kitchen table that was almost too small for even one person. Slouched over the steaming cup. Slow deep breaths as he tried to shake the heaviness of sleep off him. It always lingered for at least an hour, and he only ever managed to wake up half an hour before he had to get moving through his day.

Think there were any happy fuzz puffs on that day Rick? Probably. It was a clear beautiful day. You spent most of it indoors though. You didn’t go back outside until after the sun set. There were lots of clouds then, but every now and then they’d part just enough to show the moon. It had been gleaming and looking like it was grinning. Remember that Rick? Remember how the blood looked in the moonlight?

He had class to get to. But for some reason today he just couldn’t take that lecture room. With all those people so close, sitting around him, packed in hot and uncomfortable. So instead he was just walking down the street, not even heading in any particular direction. Just walking. Sometimes that felt good. Just to walk. Walking by people who would never know his name or his face. Something about that always seemed right to him.

You always used to wonder. Used to wonder if your life depended on it what could you do? What were you capable of? Thinking about all those silly adventure stories. How would you react if you were ever in a situation like that. What kind of person would you be when the chips were down...

Through the park he walked watching the ground and the way the light played through the trees. Something many people ranked very high up in the order of naturally beautiful things. The intricate random patterns of the leaves cutting up that bright day was mesmerizing. With the grass shifting it even more. Like a beautiful summer snowflake. No moment of the light through the trees was ever the same.

You should have known what kind of person you were. Do you remember when you were fifteen? When you were fifteen, remember Bobby Jack. Punk who just kept picking on you. That was until you shoved him against the school wall and just started kicking him. You didn’t stop. He was in the hospital later. His family tried to sue yours. Self defense and all that. It blew over. But you should have known.

He sat on one of the lonely benches in the middle of the grass. This one was nice. It was under the shade of the trees but you could see the soccer field. Watch the kids play if they were playing. It was the middle of the morning so he was pretty much the only one there. He liked it that way though, he didn’t feel like being near people right then. 

So when it came through the door, splintering and breaking it off its hinges. When it grabbed your friend, and gripped his head and started twisting it like the lid of a pickle jar... remember him Rick? He was the one who always was reading those comics from China and Korea. He always claimed they were way better then the ones from Japan. As if you cared about the quality of different countries comics. You’d pretend to of course. Remember? And he always talked about how he wished life was like that. That he got to go traveling around, practicing his skills. Getting into dramatic fights. Like real life was like that. You always thought he was so stupid when he talked like that. Was it like a comic? When it grabbed him, lifted him into the air and yanked?

The breeze blowing through the park was always nice. You could smell the flowers that were blooming this time of year.

Everyone was screaming... except for you. You were just looking for something to use as a weapon. Even as the It managed to get the lid off that pickle jar that used to be your friend. Even as you were splattered by it, thick hot and wet. Do you remember what you grabbed? A lamp? Part of a table? Everyone was screaming and running, even as you started hitting it. Even as it’s sickly purple blood ran and pooled on the hardwood floor, swirling with your friends, forming a color that looked exactly like putrid barf. It was a mangled mess when you were done, even harder to figure out what it might have been originally... watching it there, it was twitching. But you had doubted it would be moving again.

He got up eventually though, he could only sit for so long, and he was starting to get hungry.

That was when you realized your friends hadn’t stopped screaming. That they weren’t in that room anymore, they’d all ran, ran to different parts of the mansion. Screaming still... the horrible sounds of breaking, twisting, rending.

He paid for the pretzel. The girl selling them beamed at him. She probably did that to everyone, it was one of those practiced hallmark smiles. He didn’t return it.

It happened in a mansion. So if it wasn’t like a comic book, was it like a video game? Was it fun. Rushing around. Gripping whatever it was so tightly your hands hurt. It was metal wasn’t it? A Maglight? A lead pipe? Where would you have even gotten something like that Rick? Video games have a lot more blood then the real thing don’t they. So they should be worse. Desensitized right? It wasn’t so bad because of all the games you’ve played. Where nothing really mattered, and you could hit pause to take a break. Or just turn it off. Did you manage to help any of them? Wish you could start over?

He liked the taste of salt. The pretzel was really just a vessel to get the large grains of salt into his mouth. Walking and chewing. Walking and chewing and trying not to think.

Oh Rick, I bet you remember James Chun. You remember what happened to him right? Oh he was always so happy. Big smile, kind of chubby, short. Dark hair. Asian right. Yeah. You remember him? How he popped, like a big balloon of puss.

But it was so hard not to think. That was the problem with the mind, it wondered, it would go random directions. If it wasn’t held all the time in an iron grip, It wandered all on its own.

Or that skinny girl. The one with the freckles. You found her stuck to the wall, choking and gagging on what could only be her own blood. Shaking with rage as you gripped that flashlight hard. You were thankful for that heavy metal Maglight, that‘s what it was. Someone had brought it to explore the haunted mansion. You didn’t use it for light very much. Though it worked real well at caving the skull in of that one creature. The one that was all limbs and sinuous. The one that kept laughing as the skinny girl gagged and coughed. You caved in its head as she died hanging on a wall. That pattern her blood made as it dripped along the wood work was beautiful. So was the sound she made, her and the creature both, they call them death rattles Rick. You heard her death rattle and you don’t even remember her name.

A moments laps and thoughts shored up behind the dam of concentration would break, flooding forth. Memories that just should never be remembered would come back, vivid as life. Unable to be stopped.

Green dripping off the end of the flashlight as you kicked the door down, trying to find the sound of her screen. She was so pretty Rick. At least you thought so. With her soft eyes, and her dirty curly blonde hair that always secretly made you think of whores. She was so innocent to. You had no right to think that way about her did you? Had to talk her into coming that night. Make fun of her for being scared. She was laying on the couch, in the room, the tiny knife limbed creatures that surrounded her scattered when you came. Remember how your heart fluttered when you saw that she was okay?

He remembered. He remembered what came next as well.

She sat up, crying, sobbing, wanting to leave. Then just as you were about to put your arm around her, she screamed. Oh what a scream! The sound of rending bone and flesh. As she stretched and expanded, swelled. A bad surrealist painting from a mad man’s mind. Still, almost looking like her, but now, so horrible, hands like giant meaty claws. Laughing as it tried to slice you open. But it wasn’t an it, it was a She. It was Her. You loved her. Or at least you thought you did. Kids always think that though don’t they? Remember how you tackled her down, pinning her…

He rubbed his eyes, softly at first, then harder. Trying to squeeze the tears away.

Then she turned back. As you raised the flashlight. Back into that sweet little thing, gasping and struggling and begging, begging for you not to hurt her. Begging for you to save her Rick.

He felt sick, sweating, he wanted it to stop but he knew it wasn’t going to not until..

You brought the flashlight down against that pretty face. Again and again, until you could hardly recognize it. At first she was screaming, but when you didn’t stop, she started to laugh. That horrible humorless twisted laugh. Still silly, even in death.

But it was kind of funny, wasn’t it Rick? That whole day. Kind of funny.

He sat down on his bed, shoulders slumped. The sun had set hours ago, and he was dressed for dreamland. The end of another day. He Reached over to turn off the light. His fingers stopped though, they didn’t pull the chain. His arm hovered there and finally he decided that maybe tonight, he’d sleep with the light on.

That won’t help. Nothing helps…

He knew tomorrow he’d wake up.

See you tomorrow Rick.

He always woke up.