"Nightmares" by JeC

Competition 1 Honourable Mention

Warning: This work contains graphic depictions of violence. Reader discretion is advised.

I'm shaking, the only words from my mouth being cries of pain and staggered breaths. The frigidness of the mid-January air hits me like a wave; I ran out without a coat or a pair of shoes, thinking, hoping I would get away faster.

"Why me?" I think. I knew from the moment I left the hospital that someone was following me. I couldn't see them but I felt them. Their sinister aura, their haunting eyes on the back of my head, their ghastly fingers waiting to snatch me the moment I turned my back. The feeling didn't leave me when I was inside my house. The sound of branches tapping their icy fingers against the window, the creaking of the floorboards underneath my feet, the steady sound of my own hand, chopping the vegetables for tonight's dinner. Every little sound scared me. I had just turned on the stove when I heard sounds, voices outside of my house. Quiet at first, then louder, then so loud it was all I could focus on. I didn't understand them completely. There were so many, all talking over each other. I tried to tune it out, to say it was all my imagination, but it was no use. They were really here and this time they weren't going to leave.

A slap of the cold wind hits my face again. I barely feel it. The only thing I can feel is the blood slowly seeping out of my body and the knife in my left hand. I tighten my grip on the knife, so much that my knuckles are a ghostly white, or are they like that from the cold? I don't know but what I do know is that they're still out here. I hear their footsteps crunching in the snow, their breathing hard and voices soft as they wander the trees, searching for me.

A jab of pain hits me again from a large abdomen wound, which is so deep I can see the bone. It's slowly bleeding through my right hand and into the snow below, caking it in blood as my hand alone couldn't hold in all the blood. I silently thank it's dark or they would've seen the trail of red streaks I left. I give up trying to keep myself warm and allow my body to relax as much as it can. Bones crack and muscles ache as I stretch out my body on the tree, and I try to recall what happened. Most of it is all a blur of shapes and colours but I remember all of them dressed in clothes as black as night, faces covered to the point the only thing I could see was their eyes. What haunts me the most was their eyes. It was like they didn't see me, like there was no one behind them, like... they were hollow almost, a shell of a person. Their pounding of shoes on my floor loud but nothing louder than that "Kill, kill, kill, kill" repeated over and over again, never muffled or dulled by the endless chatter and laughter as the ones not holding me down against the floor tortured me. I was punched in the face repeatedly, kicked all over, scratched in the face to the point blood was drawn. Objects were thrown, some of them stabbing with knives, creating craters of blood all spewing out like volcanoes. Wounds had appeared everywhere on my body, so many that if I tried to count I would bleed out by the end of it. I tried to escape multiple times but every time it only ended with more pain, tasting the kitchen floor beneath me and smelling their poisonous breath.

A sound rang out, louder than all of them. It was only a split second, but they had all stopped, distracted for a second. It wasn't enough to get the police but it was enough to get off the floor and run. I cough violently, blood dripping out of my jaws as well as from what I assume are teeth. I'm so tired. The adrenaline has worn off and now all I can think of is sleep. I'm in so much pain I don't even know what hurts the most anymore. My arms droop as I drop my head into my shoulders. My eyes look at the knife once again, tainted in blood. I peel my fingers, one by one off the knife until it's no longer in my hand and with what strength I have left I toss it away. I don't want to see it anymore. I know I'm dying, but I don't feel panicked at all, unlike when I first came out here. My eyelids start drooping.

You know what? Let them find me. I hear them coming this way anyways. At least they can't follow me after death.

Last Monday at 8:54 pm a man by the name of George Grayson was found dead outside his home, covered in stab wounds, bruises and burn marks. He had frozen to death just outside his home. His neighbor had heard his screaming and called the home to no success and had in turn called the police. Police say no foul play is suspected as all the wounds are all self-inflicted and no signs of forced entry is seen. Staff working at St.Bernard Hospital said that he was just discharged after a previous suicide attempt almost killed him and went home without any medication. Grayson suffered from psychosis...