Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Proofless - Chapter 1 (A Poofless Horror Mini-Series)

A mini-series based heavily on Stephen King's "Misery." Please double-check the story warnings before continuing past this line - now it's on your head if you can't undream it.

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"Ugh..." The groan echoes in my throat and in my ears and it sounds like a bad sound effect in a free Steam game. I blink a couple of times in the bright light and it takes me a few seconds to figure out where I am. I look around and see that I am sprawled out on my back on Preston's bed in his condo with him passed out next to me, his mouth wide open while he snores gently. It wasn't his voice that I heard before. It was too high to be his voice, unless he's secretly living as a girl when no one is around to see him. I don't think that would surprise anyone at this point. I look around the grey and white room that looks familiar, but still off somehow. There is something about that it doesn't feel right, and I'm not quite sure what it is. Was it always this bright in here? Did it always smell like bleach? Does Preston actually know how to use bleach at all, let alone out of the laundry room or the salty side of the comment section? I try to sit up on the bed but the sound of clanking metal makes my muscles turn to stone and freeze. I turn to figure out where the noise is coming from, and I see that my wrists are bound with thick, silver manacles, linked together with a large metal chain looped around a steel bar built into the wall behind the headboard. I pull my hands closer defensively and I see that I can't move much farther away or put my arms all the way down. The clanging and crashing wakes Preston up and he reaches over and smacks me for making so much noise.

            "Dad gommit, Rob. Can't you ever sleep in like a normal man? Why you always gotta be so darude?" He awkwardly turns over on his side toward me and starts to fall back asleep, but I reach over and shake him on the shoulder. Whatever happened to us while we were out cold, he can't be asleep now. Waking up with your hands shackled in chains like a medieval prisoner isn't a normal, everyday thing. "Whaddaya want?! Can't you see I'm tryin' a sleep?" He slaps my hand away hard and glares at me before he slumps back down and buries his face deep in the pillow.

            "Preston, you really need to wake up, man. Some weird shit is happening."

            "What're you talkin' about you..." He trails off when I hold my wrists up for him to see, and he squints up at my face and back at my arms like he's trying to figure out what the magic trick is. He can't believe his eyes. "Why'd you do that?"

            "I didn't do it. Yours are like that, too." He slowly moves his wrists out from underneath the pillow so he can stare at them in sleepy wonder.

            "Huh. When'd that happen?" There is an earsplitting snap down by our feet and we glance at each other uncertainly as two small chains jingle on the other side of the door, followed by another loud popping noise. The door slowly opens and gives us a glimpse into the dark, unfinished cement hallway just beyond the perfectly normal, familiar doorway.

            "Good morning, sunshine. Glad to see you finally woke up." A middle-aged woman with light brown eyes and a bulbous nose pokes her head in through the door and pads across the floor, her red dyed hair pulled back in a messy bun and a sweet, motherly smile on her face. She looks like the kind of lady who would run a bed and breakfast, albeit not out of Preston's condo. He looks just as confused as I feel and I just pray to the gaming gods that he doesn't fuck this up somehow and cause her to snap. Normal people don't hold strangers hostage in their own homes after drugging them. "I'm so glad to see you awake. I thought I gave you a little too much and it'd kill me to kill the cutest face on YouTube. I'm your number one fan, Preston. I've gone to every event and meet-up you've done since August 12, 2013. You remember me, right?"

She pulls out a smartphone and scrolls to a picture of Preston posing with a teenage girl with cropped, mousy brown hair, bronze wired-rimmed glasses, and silver braces front and center, with her flaming red hair drawing my eyes to it in the top corner of the shot. She pulls up more pictures, sometimes with me or other members of the Pack standing to the side or behind them, but in every single one she is lurking somewhere in the background, stalking him like prey with a cheery smile on her plump lips. I have gone to nearly every one of those events with Preston and I don't recognize her at all. She is so nondescript and average that there must be a thousand women who take their kids to our events and who look just like her - everyone has bright colored hair now and red is pretty common. It just blends right in. She keeps scrolling, more and more, when it finally clicks and I relive the moment in my mind. It sticks out because it was weird at the time but I couldn't pick her out of a line-up. I can't remember her face at all. No, it's the homemade t-shirt she gave him that I remember, the one with the blood splatters and the chunk of boxy organs tumbling out of my character's stomach; not the most flattering fan art I've seen. I remember she signed the inside tag and stood there forever in silence while she waited for his response, but what was her name? Preston looks completely bewildered and overwhelmed. I need to cover for him. What was her name? What was her name? Wait, it was-

"Erica! Yeah, I remember her! She made you that awesome Poofless t-shirt you got in Ontario last September!" I plaster on the best camera smile I can and the red-headed lady looks thrilled, but Preston just stares at the side of my head like I'm somehow in on this lunatic festival going down in his condo. I look over at him and grin as wide as I can while I nod at him until it sinks in.

"Oh, yeah! I remember that! She joked about how it was almost 'Made in America' except her name is Erica. Yeah." Red seems appeased as she puts her phone away, and I watch carefully to see where she stashes it: in the right jacket pocket. She is relatively big and her clothes fit snugly, so it will probably be pretty difficult to try to get it away from her even if the chance arises. She seems more interested in Preston than in me, which is fine by me. I will probably be the one who has to get us out of this mess, and I could use the distraction.

"I'm so happy to hear you didn't forget about that. It took so long to draw it out and get it printed. I had to find someone on Etsy to do it because all of the printing sites sent it back and said it was too graphic. I try so hard to keep up with everything you do: it took a quite a bit of time but I've watched every video you've ever posted. You too, Rob. I'm so excited to finally have you here for a visit."

" 'Here'? Where are we, exactly?" Preston asks almost jokingly, trying to keep her from seeing how badly he is freaking out. I can see a line of sweat running down his forehead and his voice is starting to shake. The last thing we need right now is for him to start hyperventilating and hiccuping like a frog. I gently put my hand on his knee and he tries to jerk away before he thinks better of it.

"You're home, sweetheart. Don't you recognize your new condo?"

"My condo doesn't have these." He beckons down at the shackles on his wrists and she just laughs and bats her hand at him, like he just told a good joke. She turns and starts walking back toward the bedroom door with a smile on her face and a flash of steel in her eyes.

"It does now, Preston. This is your new-er condo, and it's even better than the last one because you don't even have to pay a mortgage!"

"Wait, what do ya-" With that, the door clicks shut and she's gone, leaving us alone in the room with the dimmed ceiling lights on. "What the crap is goin' on? Rob?" I shake my head and lean back against the perfect replica of the headboard, except this one is made out of metal instead of wood and it has cutouts for the chain links to hang out of. She obviously didn't want us to break it and make weapons out of it when she wasn't looking. I look over at him and look pointedly up at the two little black cameras staring down at us, watching our every movement and no doubt hearing every breath. We are beyond fucked and I have no idea how we are supposed to get out of here.

"We'll figure something out, bro. Until then, just play the game and smile like you're the happiest NPC in the fucking world. If you piss her off, both of us are done for. They would never even find our bodies." He stares at me with his big, brown Bambi eyes as I scoot back against the headboard so that I can put my arms down at my sides. My shoulders are already starting to cramp up and it couldn't have been more than a day since she locked us up here. Playing video games doesn't prepare you for being taken prisoner, but it sure as hell helps you strategize. "Pretend we're playing a sixty-dollar horror game on a livestream and start thinking."

For all we know, she might be livestreaming this.