The Monster Magnet

Monster Magnet chapter 1

The Hairy Hands

"Tap-Tap-Tap" I heard as I drove along in the night. I ignored the sound, and continue to drive. "Dartmoor seems strangely quiet," I thought to myself. The noise continued for a moment, then stopped. I looked to my right, and there's nothing but some condensation, like a child had put their hands on my window, or rather, an adult, because the hands were larger than that of a child. I kept driving, until the tapping sound resumed. I glanced to my right, and but there was nothing there. I continued to drive, until I saw a flicker of motion to my left. I looked, and nearly screamed. A pair of large, hairy hands with gruesome yellowed fingernails were pressed up against my window. I slammed on the brakes, and the hand seemed to press harder. I slowly raised myself from the seat to look at the hands, and that was just it-Just hands. The hands stopped at about where the elbow would be, and were large and hairy. They seemed to grow more menacing the more I saw of them. The left hand-my right-removed itself from my window and slammed back down, hard. My face turned ghostly pale, which seems ironic looking back, and I screamed. I lunged across the center console of my van, and frantically began to disengage the lock. Then I paused-"As soon as I unlock the door, I will be open to any attack those hands might launch," I suddenly realized. "It's easy to think in the quiet of a crisis," I thought silently to myself. Then it hit me-The quiet.

I slowly turned my head and gazed at the window to my left. The hands weren't there. They weren't anywhere. I exhaled long and hard. Then I felt a lurch under my bottom and moved forward. In horror I watched those horrid hairy hands grip the steering wheel and move about, turning and swerving me all over the road. I gripped the unlock mechanism and yanked, but as soon as I did, the hand reached over and flipped the switch, re-engaging the electronic lock. I panicked and frantically punched the window. It created a dull thud, but there was no fracture or crack. I pounded harder and harder, at one point even taking my shoe off and whacking hard. That only succeeded in the shoe's rubber sole causing it to bounce off and hit me in the face. I took off my watch and wrapped the band around my palm, smacking the window. This managed to fracture the window, and I pounded again, smashing it into a thousand tiny pieces. I struggled to fit through, and cut my stomach in the process. I landed in a heap of snow on the cold winter ground. I could see the traffic light of the intersection just ten feet ahead, and began to stumble towards it. I got closer and closer to the street of my salvation before that gruesome pair of horrid hands appeared and wrapped themselves around my throat, restricting my breathing and forcing me onto the ground. I felt my throat constrict, not just from the hands, but from the panic and terror I was experiencing. I felt my eyes squint, trying to contain the moisture within, before I let the tears fall. I slowly crawled backwards as my vision dimmed and I began to succumb to the fear and panic gnawing at my consciousness. Somewhere, though, deep in my subconscious, some primal instinct kept me going, long past when I had slipped into unconsciousness. Unbeknownst to me, I hit the road of the intersection, but the hands didn't. They vanished, gone-or at least until I returned. I woke up several hours later, to a young man shaking me gently. I slowly opened my eyes and gazed up at him. I realized that he was talking to me.

"Mister! Hey! Hey mister!" He said to me. My throat groaned for a moment, and then cracked. I coughed up some blood and his eyes widened. I slowly sat up, but I was too woozy to do much other than lie back down with his guidance. He pulled out a cell phone and called a buddy. They pick me up and carried me to a truck and laid me across the backseat. We drove for a while, though I don't know how long because I fell asleep on the way. I regained consciousness in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm. Two men in Scottish Yard uniforms were sitting near me in hospital chairs. I moved my head to look at them, and the motion seemed to startle the older man. He stood up quickly and approached me, pressing down on my chest and helping me lie back down as I tried to sit up.

"Son," he addressed me as older gentlemen do, "We need to know exactly what happened last night that left hand prints on your neck and a van with one broken window and another fractured near you."

I knew he wouldn't believe me if I told him the truth, so instead I replied, "Well sir, I was driving along at night when I saw a man sitting on the road. Stupidly, I pulled over and asked if he needed a ride. He told me yes, and I told him to climb in. He did, but it was at this time that he pulled out a gun. Paralyzed by fear, I had no idea what do. He told me to switch places with him. I climbed out of the car and stood in front of it while he climbed over. I began to run to the right, but he fired a shot through the window, shattering it. I began to run towards the intersection, hoping for someone to come along and see me. He dropped the gun and chased after me, grabbing my neck and choking me. I dropped to the ground and saw a light in the distance: a car. He gave one final squeeze and took off running, back to the van to retrieve the gun and then towards the forest to escape the rapidly approaching light," At this point I paused, trying to read his face in order to gauge just how much he believed of my falsified story. He nodded once.

"Young man, I am sorry for your troubles, and we will investigate as much as possible," He stated, before gesturing to his younger partner to rise and they both left. Shortly after they left, two younger men came in. One of the men was tall and thin, wore large, wire-rimmed glasses and an olive green overcoat, in the style that Sherlock Holmes might wear. He had brown hair in a bowl cut, a hooked nose, and thin lips. He looked to be the kind of man that had never looked at another human being with anything other than a silent intonation that they were competition, or inferior to him. With him was a black leather briefcase. The other man was short, slightly round, and had rosy round cheeks that emanated kindness and joviality. He wore a pinstriped suit with a lime green overcoat. He had the look of a man who considered all men equal and animal cruelty was should be abhorred. They sat down quietly, and the taller man pulled a clipboard and pen out of the briefcase. I pushed myself up against the wall behind me and sat up. I looked over at them, and the small portly man gazed at me with a twinkle in his eyes and kindness in his smile. Of the two of them, I instantly liked the portly man more. I waited patiently, and the taller man nudged the portly man. He waited a moment, and then spoke softly.

"I know of the hands."

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Hey guys! This is my first story ever so go ahead and tell me how it went! Thanks a bunch!