Haunted: A Collection of Frightening Tales

Untethered

"I wish there was another way out, for you. "- Hollywood Undead

My tether to reality has snapped. At least, that's what my court-ordered therapist likes to tell me. She says that I need to come and speak to her more often, but in all honesty I have better things to do. I don't tell her that, thought. I don't tell her a lot of things. The less she knows, the better.

Since the incident, I've been avoiding her like the plague. My cell has been ringing nonstop and I haven't been able to get any sleep. Not like I could anyway, but that's beside the point. It's not really the guilt part that's keeping me away from Dr. Shelly, its... Well, it's complicated. Here, let me start over.

Hello, my name is Bob, or Robert, if you like the long way. I am what my therapist calls a "sick man." I'm not really sick though. Just mentally. I have a disorder called... Oh, I forget what Dr. Shelly calls it. Never mind its name, for now. It just means that I am very likely to kill people. And Dr. Shelly's not wrong. I have. I was just never convicted of it. I'll do it again, too. And again. And again. Until someone comes along on their merry way and stops me, which will never happen. Ever.

I'm too careful and smart to get caught. Those damn pigs 'ill never find him... sorry, I seem to have gotten off track. Oh, yes, of course. I remember now. We were talking about what is wrong with me. Well, other than a low resting heart rate, I'm fine. Just kidding, I know what we're actually talking about. I was being serious about the low resting heart rate, though. To get us back on track, here recently I've killed someone.

I didn't rifle through their things, so I have no idea who they were. They were so squishy and pink inside. He was filled with so much blood and when I popped him like a balloon, it went everywhere. I remember playing in it for a while, just staring at while it coated my fingers.

I can't remember the last time I was happier. It coated my gloved fingers and reminded me of how my favorite sugar-filled drink would stain my tongue when I was younger. I thought about tasting it to compare and contrast the two, but I had no idea what this man had, so I wiped my fingers off in his jacket and headed to a park about fifteen miles away. I concealed my gloves and my hammer as best I could until I got there. I tossed the gloves here. Then, I traveled another fourteen miles and deposited my hammer there. If these items were found anywhere near me, I could be jailed for life.

I was now forty miles from home. Did I mention I do this quite often? I go for a lot of walks so as not to raze a suspicious brow in my direction. Clever of me, huh? I dusted off my jogging outfit and headed for home.

Now that I think about, I am kind of messed up. Maybe I'll go pay her a visit. My new hammer needs to be broken in, if you catch my drift.

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