Ivan the Horrible

Six: Another Nightmare

The freezing winds were brutal, tearing at the crimson red frostbite on Ivan's fingertips. It would be hard to pull the trigger if something were to surprise him, an animal, a murderer. Night had fallen. The glow of a roaring campfire lit the path. He saw it through the dancing flames. Ivan took a deep breath. His air visible in front of his face.

A tall figure, towering over the large fire. It was as black as the abyss, facial features obscured from the distance Ivan was standing at. The trail through stretched long through the woods. That figure stood in the middle of the path. Ivan pursued the beast. Rifle in arms, he jogged down the street, growing closer.

"What would you do if you met your father's killer?" Something whispered to Ivan. The man froze. He recognized that voice. It was his own.

"What are you?" Ivan questioned, taking aim at the dark figure before him. Now that he was closer, he could see something so strange. What he thought were tree branches from the forest trees were actually black tentacles. From afar they looked like the bare twisted tree branches but now that Ivan was mere feet away from the creature, he could see black tentacles jutting out from behind that dark figure.

"What are you!" Ivan repeated himself, shouting now.

The figure didn't say anything. In fact, it couldn't say anything, for Ivan could see it had no mouth. He raised his rifle at the creature.

The figure then moved. It's body still but tentacles raising in the air. They expanded as if the thing were trying to intimidate Ivan. It was working. The woodcutter felt his finger trembling as he moved it over the trigger. His stomach felt empty yet he also felt nauseous. It dared to grow closer, seemingly able to control the flames. The lit dimmed as the fire died down as the creature neared. Just as Ivan was about to squeeze the trigger, his heart raced as if it were about to burst. He whimpered a soft cry as fear overtook his senses.

The figure was no longer before him. No, what now stood before the man was his father.

Ivan stared into his father's blue eyes. They were indeed his father's right down to his beady black pupils. He stood wearing a dirty red flannel and blue jeans, clothes much too cold for this kind of weather. His short black hair was graying and wrinkled face matched his father's perfectly. This had to have been an illusion because Ivan thought this thing was his father due to the uncanny resemblance, the only problem was is that his father was dead.

"No!" Ivan breathed, his voice shaky. "This isn't real!"

"What isn't?" A familiar voice questioned. Ivan felt cold steel press into his neck. Very slowly, he lowered his weapon, dreading the thought of facing the horrible thing behind him.

"You're not real!" He muttered and closed his eyes. "This is a dream, and I have to wake up!"

"Don't fool yourself! You were nothing but a drunken idiot when you were a kid! The military did nothing but turn you into a brute, not discipline you! You think you are better now that you stopped self medicating with booze and cigarettes? A peaceful life won't change the fact that your father is dead. Dead, and forgotten about by a system that doesn't care about helping anyone!" The person criticized. Ivan grunted in pain as the blade of the knife slowly broke skin. Warm blood dribbled down his neck. The person holding the knife kicked the back of Ivan's legs, dropping him to the ground. Pain blasted through his freezing hands as he caught himself in the snow. Fearing standing up. Ivan closed his eyes.

"Wake up, damn it!" He shouted to himself.

"You can't escape your pathetic reality by sleeping, Ivan!" The person taunted. Ivan opened his eyes to face the person. It was himself.

"I miss father, yes, but I have to move forward! I have to stay disciplined. I have to avoid drinking too much. I have to move on!" Ivan whimpered.

The other Ivan chuckled darkly and walked towards the aspirations of his father. He tilted his head in a taunting way, examining the old man. While dramatically inhaling, the other Ivan trailed the blade of his knife across his father's throat as he spoke. "Such a shame dad died. Murder is such a horrible thing, isn't it?"

"Stay away from him!" Ivan hissed, pushing himself to his feet. He gripped his rifle, slowly raising it, but keeping it low to avoid his doppelgänger from making any sudden moves with the knife.

"What would you do..." the other Ivan mocked. "If you met your father's killer?"

Ivan had enough. The immense amount of rage that came from his depression finally poured out of him. As much as he wanted to bash the other Ivan's skull in, he raised his rifle and took aim.

"I'd fucking kill him!" Ivan said and pulled back on the trigger.

Blood splattered across the snow as he shot his own brains out. Ivan exhaled and lowered the smoking rifle. His father had now vanished, and the light of the fire sparked once again. That horrifying figure was nowhere to be seen, but the body of himself laid in the snow. Ivan stepped forward, walking over to where he lay.

The woodcutter froze. The body in the snow was no longer his own. Although he recognized the person, he couldn't remember who exactly he was. But he also didn't care. This was a dream after-all, and Ivan had decided it was time to wake up.

***

"Where were you last night?" Aida questioned in a stern voice.

Ivan swung his axe downward, splitting a log in two. He let out a sigh of annoyance and rubbed the sweat off his forehead before answering.

"Where do you think?! I was here sleeping!" He snapped and bent down to place another log in the block.

"Don't talk to her that way!" Steven yelled. Ivan paused, standing straight and holding his axe in front of himself. He hadn't noticed until now, but Steven's neck was incredibly thin for his rather broad shoulders.

"Stay out of it!" Ivan hissed. He then turned towards his mother. "What is this about?"

"The sheriff was found dead this morning! His head was blown to bits in the middle of the street last night! They say the bullet was a 7.62!" She shouted. Ivan merely shrugged.

"Lots of rifles use that kind of ammunition. I was here sleeping all night and woke up at 5:00 when my alarm was ringing. You would have heard me leave if you want to believe I am a killer!"

"Nobody said you were a killer, meathead! She was asking where you were!" Steven spoke again. That familiar sense of rage slowly began creeping up on Ivan. It felt divine to experience in his dreams, but that was the only place he could release it.

"Why would I kill the sheriff or Clara or Alexander?! Why does anyone in this fucking village think I want to be here at all?! I don't care about anyone here and there pathetic lives enough to want to kill them. I don't want to hear this again, understand?" Ivan shouted, his words dripping with anger. Aida said nothing, holding her tongue, then turned and headed inside the cabin. The door slammed shut behind her. Steven's glare was powerful enough to frighten a wild animal, but Ivan only stood straight, scowling back at him.

"You are going to get yours, boy!" Steven growled before heading inside to comfort Aida.

Ivan rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled, feeling his anger fade away. The sheriff was murdered last night? Even though he spent a majority of the day being questioned by the man, he could hardly remember his face. He thought about his dream last night. How he had shot and killed a version of himself, but the body wasn't his when he examined it.

"Impossible," Ivan murmured to himself before raising the axe once again.