Horror

Greg part 5

My phone begins to hiss, that hissing sound that old TVs used to make when they went fuzzy...

"Rodney," I whisper. Nothing. "Rodney,"

The skittering's louder, but this time it's moving toward me. Then it stops. 'Fuck this,' I decide. I'll freeze. I'd rather freeze then have a fucking heart attack. Just then I hear it.

"Greg."

It's the sound that Bob described. Nope. Fucking nope. I run the fuck out the castle door into the snowy night, running at first, then slowing to a brisk jog as I realize I have no clue where the fuck I am. All I see are trees and white...and dark. My phone! I'll call somebody. I light up my phone screen. It's just blue, like the blue screen of death. Fuck my life.

Then an image flickers on for like half a second. Actually, not even that long. It's Rodney, it's his photo and number. He was trying to call me, and shit, I just left him there. And now I'm fucking lost. The flashlight peeks through the dark. "Help!" I yell.

"Greg," the voice chokes.

At first I'm comforted as the flashlight bounces towards me. And then I realized that the voice belonged to Ranger Bob. The figure running to me through the snow is Bob. then I realized something odd: the figure is moving, it's not natural. It's uncoordinated, and flappy is the best way to describe its motion. It's hard to make out because of the thick yellow parka it's wearing, but its neck it twisted, broken. It looks only kind of like Bob, its jaw isn't set right, and the skin is twisted on the bones.

"Greg," it chokes again in that god-awful voice. It's Bob's voice but imitated poorly.

I fucking run. I run like a bitch.

It's following me, but it's having difficulty. I'm slowing gaining a lead on it. My lungs sting with the cold air. Can't stop. If I stop I'm dead. Can't stop.

After some time I reach the trail. I can't tell if it's following me anymore but at least it's clumsy and I'm on the trail again. I slow down to catch my breath. Basically I'm power-walking at this point. Then I reach the falls.

The fire is going again, and I can see Christian. He is standing near it in his pink jacket, his back is facing me, his fur lined hood up. Thank God it didn't get him, but I have to warn him. I'm jogging up to him, there's still some distance between us. "Christian!" I call out hoarsely through stinging lungs. Its contorted body twists around in that jerky awkward motion to look at me. I don't want to see its face again. I take off down the cabin trail towards the cabins. Gotta reach Andy. His is the first stop on the way.

"Greg," it chokes. I can hear its twisted body hobbling several feet behind me. Not gonna look, not gonna. I put on the speed again. putting some distance between me and it. I can still hear its awful gurgling noise. "Greg,Greg."

I reach cabin 7, and begin pounding frantically. "ANDY, ANDY!!!, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!! JESUS CHRIST!!!" I look back down the trail. They are both hobbling this way, the not-Bob and the not-Christian things. I pound faster and yell louder: "WAKE THE FUCK UP ANDY!! ANDY HELP ME!!" The door opens.

Andy is standing there sleepy eyed and slightly pissed in his gay as fuck pink ladies nightie, with his hair in rollers. "What the fuck..." is all he gets out of his mouth before I throw myself in and slam the door shut behind me and dead bolt it.

"What's goi-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I interrupt him, putting my hand over his mouth and restraining him. We are both kneeling on the floor.

"There are fucking things outside man, ssh!" I whisper. His yells for help are muffled by my hand. "Listen, if i take my hand off you have to promise to whisper or I'm going to punch you in your fucking mouth, you hear me?" I whisper. He nods in understanding.

"Listen motherfucker, there are two things outside. Two- I don't know- monsters. They are impersonating Bob and Christian. I think they are dead."

"What? Christian is my bed right now," Andy whispers back.

"Are you sure?" I ask, in hushed tones.

"Yeah, when I got out of the shower he was already in the bed, all covered up. He must-" I cut him off.

"We have to get the fuck out of here."

"Why?"

"That's why," I whisper and point in the dark of the room to the open doorway to Andy and Christian's bedroom. One of the twisted things is standing in the doorway watching us. Its neck broken, it starts doing a poor imitation of Rodney; it chokes, "AAAAANNDDY..." slowly out of its misplaced jaw. Andy screams.

Goddammit.

It jerks itself freakishly towards us. I run for the door, trying to undo the deadbolt. I hear it grab Andy and hear Andy's screams. I fling the door, open snow blowing in. The not-Christian and not-Bob were waiting for me. I bullrush out, knocking them both aside, and sprint.

I find myself running for the third time tonight. It's still a mile until I reach Joey and Jenny's cabin, but their cabin was near Ranger Bob's and if they got Ranger Bob, does that mean they got Joey and Jenny? Fuck, it doesn't matter. I need the keys to the van and Joey fucking has them. Gotta find him. Please let him be alive. Please let him be alive.

Then a thought occurs to me. They keep a fire axe in every cabin. If I got one of these axes I could get the keys from him, even if one of these things got him.

Done passed most of the cabins. Cabin three is the last one on this side of the trail. I'll stop there.

I see cabin three. Fuck, the door is locked. Of course it's fucking locked. I run around the outside looking for a window in the night. I find one. I throw myself recklessly through it. I bust the glass on the emergency case for the fire axe. Fuck. It set off the fire alarm. They are going to know right where I am. I grab the axe. If I get out of here fast enough maybe the alarm will be of use. It could draw them away and distract them while I get the fuck out of this park.

So I head back out the broken window, and down the trail to cabin one. When I reach cabin one, the door is wide open and there is blood everywhere. I run inside. The cabin is trashed. Shit. I see Joey's body; it's mangled to hell. I search it for the keys. No keys. Fuck. Jenny, Jenny isn't here, she either got away or she is one of them. If she got away maybe she has gotten far and maybe she has the keys.

I take off for the parking lot. It's not far. I see it. It's empty except for our van. The headlights are on, and it begins to pull out.

"Jenny, stop!" I yell. "Wait!"

The driver side door opens and I see her in her green hoodie scoot over to the passenger seat. "Greg, drive," she says. I hop in and speed the fuck out. Neither one of us say anything. I just drive. Drive.

All you can hear is the hum of the van, and both of our heaving breathing. We've been driving for at least thirty minutes when I finally decide to say, "What the hell was that, what were those things?"

Silence. Then I realize that she didn't say drive. She didn't say, "Greg, drive." All she said was "Greg." and her hoodie was up...how could I have been so fucking stupid?

"Greg," it chokes. I stop the van, and put my hand on the fire axe.

"What are you?" I ask it.

"Greg," it chokes.

I open my door and get out of the van. I walk to the around the front to the passenger side door, only looking up once while passing the headlights. Its sickly distorted face. The face of Jenny, but not-Jenny, twisted fucked up Jenny.

I open the passenger side door, and lay into the bitch with the fire axe. It's a fucking mess. When I'm done I brush the parts of it out of the seat and on to the road. Some of it twitches. Some of the pieces skitter away off the road into the brush and snow. I shut the door and get back in the driver side. Bloody. I just drive. Drive.

When I finally get back to town and to my apartment complex, my neighbors and the other tenants just stare at me. I must look like a monster to them. They all react in horror and shock upon seeing me. The police have my apartment taped off. There are nine police cars. All of them have their guns drawn on me. I stand, bloody, with my axe.

"Jessie Kirkman, you are under arrest for domestic homicide. put the axe down," the fat cop with the stupid mustache speaks into the bullhorn.

"Greg," I choke.