Tales Of The Macabre

P.T.S.D

It's been a month now since I was left home from the hospital. And it's been over a year since my deployment to Iraq was cut short by an IED. My memories of that day are strange. After it happened I think my brain was trying to make sense of the carnage. I could never remember the initial explosion, just the minutes leading up to it. I get a ringing sensation in my teeth, then my brain goes right to the carnage and I pass out.

Whenever my brain went back to that day, to me I was right back there. To the people looking after me, I was just convulsing in my hospital bed. The doctors said this was normal for me to have severe PTSD. They said it's my body's way of dealing with the devastation and with a lot of therapy, it would get easier. 

For me, it wasn't getting any easier. As the months progressed so did my P.T.S.D. I was blacking out regularly. I was constantly losing track of time.  And when I started missing days from my life I started to worry. Not that I had much off life to begin. 

About a week ago, things changed. I started having strange dreams, nightmarish dreams, dreams of fear, torture and death. Then the dreams started happening when I was awake, like really intense daydreams that felt as real as you or me. 

In these dreams, it felt like me, but it couldn't have been me. I was a predator that preyed on women. Stalking them as they went about their business.

At first, I thought it was my brain playing tricks on me until women from my area started going missing. Every day when I turned on the news some poor soul was missing or a body was turning up. That's when I made the connection, every time I had an episode another person appeared on the news missing or dead.  I could even describe the person missing before I even turned on the news.

As my nightmares and blackouts intensified so did the murders happening in the town. Something inside me felt like I was responsible.

As I came around from one of my blackouts I had an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. I felt blood trickle down my face and it stung like hell. I looked at myself in the mirror and was shocked to see deep, raw scratch marks on my cheek. 

Something inside me was telling me to turn on the news. There was a breakthrough in the case. Someone had escaped the killer and was able to give a detailed description. 

"It's can't be, that's impossible," I thought to myself as the photofit that was flashing up on my t.v screen looked eerily like me. 

As I laid there trying to make sense of the situation the police kicked in my front door. The nurse that was looking after me nearly lost her life. They came in screaming and guns drawn. But the initial shock of seeing me in the bed was enough to quickly silence the entire room. 

As the swat team stood there in perfect silence. A detective named Steven lowe came swooping in behind them. With a warrant in his hand, he asked my name.

He looked at me in pure disbelief 

"How is this possible, " cried the detective.

He told me they traced me from fingerprints left all over the crime scenes. They had D.N.A that he could be guaranteed would match mine. And they had me on C.C.T.V stalking one of the girls. And the woman who scratched my face trying to get away from me. 

"Unless you have a twin brother it has to be you. I don't know how you're doing but I know it's you, " said the detective. 

I laughed and shook my head.

"It couldn't be me, look at me, I can't even walk to the front door. I'm a quadruple amputee.