Thought You Knew (based on A Gorey Demise)

"O is for Olive... P is for Pat..."

I wrote another song for you guys. I meant we. We wrote another song. I don't fucking know why I still try. Oh, I remember now. I promised another album for you hungry wolves. I know you won't even consider my current mental state and excuse me from working on Creature Feature for a while. Whatever, you'll get your album. Somehow I'll get it done. So, what insanely torturous memories must I spout out now? Well, it appears I'm now on chapter O. Should be easy enough, literally all I have to say to you is that it was a tribute to my grandfather Olive who passed away when I was 17. Am I done now? Can I leave? Can I stop writing this for good? You're not going to let me off that easily, are you? You're sick. Maybe you should keep your morbid curiosity to yourself and stop harassing me. Please? I'm sorry. This isn't your fault.

The doctors asked me about the new people I'm seeing. I didn't want to talk about them to their faces, so they told me to describe them here. I still don't want to talk about them. One of the hallucinations is a Caucasian elderly man who stands at about 5'9" in height. He has unkempt, overgrown light gray hair that's thick with grease and a scruffy beard to match it. Last I saw him, he appeared to be wearing an old, formal suit and tie that was matted with grime and dust. Rips and tears accompanied the filth, and the outfit seemed worn out from years of use. The most frightening aspect of his appearance was that his left eye was swollen shut and outlined by dried blood. I was just falling asleep when I heard footsteps shuffling along the other side of my room here at the hospital. My eyes fluttered open to see him shakily pacing back and forth, his frailty made it a struggle for him to make the journey to and from the walls. As if he somehow heard my eyes open, he halted in his tracks. His head hesitantly turned to face me and revealed a very concerned look, his one functioning eye clearly reflected the worry and his lips were drooped in a slight frown. I didn't speak to him. Honestly, I had nothing to say. I'm used to waking up to strange, unfamiliar entities lurking around in the shadows of various corners. All that took me by surprise was his lack of hostility. I remained calm and still as he outstretched a trembling leg and slowly stepped toward me. Our eyes were locked together the entire time as he inched ever closer, and after what felt like eons he paused at my bedside. He smiled, but not the usual smile of a sinister sort. Instead, it was warm and friendly. The kind of smile that assured you that everything would be okay and that you didn't have to fret. The sort of beam that shed a light of salvation and hope upon you, lifting you out of your stone cold coffin of despair and agony.

"Even in the darkest of times," he cooed, "and even during the grimmest of days, you can use the light of your soul, the brightness of your mind and the determination in your heart to drive you forward. If you lose your head, you lose the fight." I could comprehend what he meant, but what I don't know is the context he expected me to use his advise in. His figure faded to a faint outline and then eventually into air. I wasn't confused or afraid. He was a hallucination who decided to spare me of yet another sleepless night, and so I was grateful. The second man wasn't so kind to me.

He was about the same age and height as the first nice old man, but he was bald and had no facial hair. A rancid odor emitted from him, a foul mixture of sweat and rotting meat. Multiple puncture wounds were widely spread out across his large body, staining his white T-shirt and gray shorts crimson red and brown. Disgusted by his image, I sat up in my bed (the night following the encounter with the first man) and narrowed my eyes at him.

"Who are you?" I queried in a sharply raised tone.

"You don't remember me?" His revolting breath burned my nostrils, even when he was about a meter away from me. "How sad, I thought we had a great relationship back in the day."

"Who are you?" I repeated in a louder voice, standing up to my full height in an attempt to intimidate him.

"Why does it matter, Curtis?" The sound of my name being spoken from that mouth made me shudder. "After all, you won't remember anything after I'm done with you." He drew a large kitchen knife from his back pocket and as swiftly as his wide legs would allow him he approached me. Being much more fast and agile, I dodged out of the way and spun around to pin him to the bed. He feebly struggled and squirmed as I held his hands behind his back with one hand and pressed his face into the mattress with the other. I called out for help at the top of my lungs, praying someone would make it in time before that psychopath could break loose. With each time he thrashed, my heart skipped a beat in fear that it'd be the one strong move he had to make to overpower me. I don't remember anything after the nurse rushed in. With that out of the way, I can continue with my tales of the past. I apologize for the awkwardly placed cliffhanger, that wasn't intentional. I had to stop before I could end the chapter properly.