Ivan the Horrible

Seven: The Horrible

It had been another long day of questioning. Ivan had even been forced to wait in a holding cell while the police gathered more information about the recent murders. Although he was freed to go home based on lack of evidence that he was guilty, he was the villages' number one suspect. There were police waiting on the trails from the cabin tucked away near the woods. This would prevent another murder if Ivan were the killer. The police officers and villagers made two mistakes, however. The first was letting Ivan return home after nightfall. The second was forgetting that he did not live alone or thinking he wouldn't hurt his own blood.

Ivan sat on his bed. He had gotten no sleep the previous night and the long day of harsh questioning had Ivan questioning himself. Maybe he had done something as impossible as it may have been. The stress of it all finally settled in. There was a bizarre look in his bloodshot eyes. His leg bounced with anxiety knowing that all eyes were on him from now on. All day, it felt like something was watching him. Everyone had been so paranoid and suspicious. They were within reason, but it was driving Ivan mad.

"Just forget about it!" Ivan muttered to himself and placed his face in his hands.

His mind began to wander. How could he have been accused of murder? After his father died, he often pondered on how anyone could take another man's life. The military would have required him to do so if he had been deployed to a combat zone, but luckily he never was. But then Ivan thought about his dream. About how he shot a darker version of himself... that was kind of like murder? At least that's what Ivan had thought to himself. That urge to hurt someone who was hurting him was too strong to fight in his dreams.

Ivan rolled over in bed and closed his eyes. Just as he felt like he was drifting into sleep, he heard his mother shouting from the living room. With a sigh, he stood and headed to see what was wrong.

The air felt cold, like the front door was left wide open. It had been, though. Ivan missed the conversation with the police officer that his mother just had. She was tired too, and just wanted to wait until morning before giving any information about her son. Only the low dim of the fireplace lit the house. Again, Ivan saw the shadows bending on the wall. They formed the outline of that all too familiar figure. Ivan narrowed a brow as a snarl formed on his face.

"Get out of here!" He screamed at the thing. His mother didn't seem to notice the figure, only Ivan screaming at the wall. She cursed silently to herself and faced her son. She had enough of him, and wished he had never come to Alaska.

"Ivan! What is wrong with you?!" Aida shouted.

"Get out of here, now!" Ivan shouted again. Aida slowly and cautiously walked over to her son. She heard anger in his voice as he screamed. Anger she hadn't heard before, even from her ex-husband.

"Ivan," she muttered, her voice quivered.

Ivan hardly heard his mother's voice. He screamed in frustration and reached for his head. The man closed his eyes, still yelling with rage. He was overtaken and hardly knew the reason why. This terrifying figure tormenting him had finally shattered his mind. The urge was difficult to fight, and Ivan finally gave into the feelings he was holding deep down inside of himself.

"Get out of my head!" Ivan whimpered. He pulled at his hair and began shouting again. "What do you want from me?! I couldn't do anything about it!"

"Ivan, stop!" Aida tried to reach for her son to get him to calm down. She didn't try again as a hard slap knocked her to the floor. Her cries of pain had finally caused Steven to come out of the bedroom. When he saw Aida pushing herself up off the floor, he bolted over to his step-son.

"You damn psychopath!" Steven spat. He reared his arm back and slammed his fist across Ivan's jaw. Steven felt pain blast through his knuckles from the improper form while Ivan hardly flinched. He wasn't focused on his mother or her husband, the figure had moved. Now it stood behind Steven, towering over him. It's blank white face had no mouth, but Ivan heard it speaking to him.

"Do it Ivan. Free yourself from this pain," he heard his own voice whispering to him. The figure raised a hand and pointed at the wall behind Ivan. He turned. The gleam of the fire reflected off of the blade of his woodcutting axe as it lay against the wall by the door.

Ivan moved one foot in front of the other. His mind went blank. It was like he was possessed with rage. The wooden handle felt cold in his hands. When he faced Steven, he spoke in a low voice.

"I keep seeing it in my dreams," he muttered. "And I can't stop myself in a dream."

"Ivan!" Aida howled in terror as he swung the axe through the air. Blood splattered across the walls. The first strike was aimed for Steven's slim neck. With every swing the sounds of flesh splitting and bones cracking grew louder than Aida's whimpers. She was frozen on the floor. Her terrified eyes darted from the chunks of bloody flesh to her son covered in blood.

Ivan glanced up. The figure was gone now. All that was left was his mother. He exhaled as if this would help relieve the intense feelings of anger flooding through him.

"Don't cry for him," Ivan spoke darkly to his mother. She smiled and glanced down at the axe covered in crimson. "He'll return to you even if he doesn't deserve to when this nightmare ends."

"I hate you, Ivan! You are a worse man than your father," Aida cried. Tears streamed down her face as she glanced up at her son. Ivan simply shook his head.

"Too bad I am still asleep," he said before slamming the axe downward. His mothers screams faded as her life slipped away. The floor of the shack was wet and sticky now. Ivan placed his axe on the coffee table and wiped the blood off his hands on his jacket.

"What will you do now?" He heard.

Ivan didn't turn around, already knowing what was behind him as he felt a frigid tentacle slip around his shoulder.

"Wake up and forget about this nightmare!" Ivan scoffed. He was silent for a second until something in his pocket changed his tune. An alarm sounded. Ivan felt his hand shaking as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The alarm was blaring, set to 5:00 am. This was the alarm that Ivan had set the night before, now it was morning and he wasn't waking up.

Ivan dropped his phone. It hit the floor with a bang and the screen shattered. That didn't matter to Ivan though. All he could do now was laugh. At first he giggled as if he had heard a silly joke, but slowly his chuckles turned into hysterical cackling.

"Do you still wish to wake up!" The disembodied voice taunted. Ivan covered his mouth to stop his chuckles.

"My life ended with my father's. What happens now..." he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "Is up to you."

"As planned."

Loud footsteps and shouting erupted from outside. A lot of the villagers were now crowding in front of the cabin. They were shouting for him to come out with his hands up. It seemed that the policeman who had spoke with Ivan's mother was still close enough to hear her screams.

"Rifle."

"Of course," Ivan said with no emotion in his voice. He stood and stumbled his way to his bedroom, and retrieved his rifle and ammunition from underneath the bed. He poured the bullets and cartridges into his coat pockets and headed back into the living room.

The figure was gone again, but Ivan could still feel it's presence nearby. He stepped over the mangled bodies on the floor and picked up the bloody axe on the table. It was difficult to carry with his rifle, but he found a way to use his belt to hold his axe behind his back.

"Now go to the woods..."

"Yes," Ivan murmured a response.

"Come out with your hands up!"

"Ivan! We've got you surrounded!"

The voices called from outside. Ivan stepped towards the door and raised his rifle. Whatever was about to happen, he didn't care. His mind was blank and body felt numb. Everything felt hollow.

And thus ended the life of Ivan Cal and began the life of Ivan the Horrible.