Jackson saw something that he couldn’t. Something that neither his brain nor his eyes could process, yet he was able to, somehow, by some curse from whatever gods there were above, he saw it. Eyes as dead as those of a crow that somehow simultaneously looked into Jackson’s soul and the nothingness of the void. Its body moved like a marionette, a husk that moved to the whims of something greater, something powerful.
But what was he talking about it was just his friend Michael.
“Hey Jackson, are you alright?” Michael said with concern. Jackson stared at him with a mile long gaze before vomiting on the floor. He tasted stomach acid. The other man jolted from his seat, went over to his friend and rubbed Jackson’s back in the hopes of making the vomiting more bearable.
“Jesus Christ Jackson, what happened to you?” Michael said with concern.
“I-It’s, uhm…” Jackson racked his head for an answer, he knew that there was one, one that shook him to his core. But was there? Or was it simply something else, something more explainable. There was a silence for a while, the only audible sound being Jackson’s heavy breathing. “I-I don’t know.” He finally said between bated breathes. Only then did Jackson notice that his heart was pounding out of his chest, that there was cold sweat dripping from his nose, and all the hair on his body was standing on end.
“Are you ok now? You look terrible.” He continued to rub Jackson’s back. The other man simply nodded while attempting to take deep breathes.
“What happened to me?” He finally asked. Michael looked at him oddly.
“You’re the one who should know, you just suddenly froze up for a half a minute before you vomited. Weirdest thing I’ve seen all year.” He said the last sentence with a small, unsure chuckle. There was again a pause that followed.
“I think I’ll be ok” Jackson said tentatively. Michael nodded and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and for a short time, Jackson was left to ponder what just happened. He knew he saw something, but what was it? Was it a hallucination? Perhaps it was food poisoning. Or was it happening again? Good God he thought, even after what he did to get rid of it, it was coming back. Before he could continue to follow his train of thought Michael came back with a glass of water.
“You should go to bed, I’ll clean up the table.” Michael said. Jackson, although disheartened that his meal will be left unfinished, decided to comply with his friend. He took a small sip of water, it dropped heavily into his stomach.
“Do you think you can get up there by yourself?” Michael said with concern.
“I’m not elderly, I’m just a bit sick” he said with a smile, Michael returned the expression.
“Well take care of yourself alright. I’ll lock up as I leave, try not to worry about anything, I’ll handle it. But you’ll still owe me a favour after this.” They both laughed.
“Take care of yourself too Michael” he said as he went up the stairs, his footsteps heavy on the wood, he washed his face using the bathroom sink while he stared at his bloodshot eyes for a while. Then he simply shook his head. He opened the door to his bedroom and entered, although it was pitch black, he memorized the layout like the back of his hand so navigation wasn’t a problem. He crashed onto his bed and tried to sleep.
But that’s when the silence hit him. The never ending silence of the night suddenly burdened him with a deep sense of tension and dread. Suddenly everything became cold. Jackson covered himself with the blanket but that wasn’t enough to dispel the creeping chill. The freezing silence seemed to wrap their arms around him, filling and observing every crevice of his body, like how the eyes of a plague doctor would appraise an infected victim.
All the while cold sweat formed on Jackson’s forehead. He began to shake, not only from the cold, but also from fear, fear of what was happening. This was unnatural, he knew that much. He tried to keep a level head. He was confused and afraid of everything that has been happening lately, something was happening, but he didn’t know how it was possible, or even what it was. Dread and fear piled up in his chest.
Suddenly, the molesting cold retreated. As if it were done with his body, like his body was a used cigarette. He breathed a sigh of relief and held the blanket tighter. Everything seemed a little more normal. He looked up at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
Despite how tired he was, he still couldn’t sleep, it’s been like that for the past two days. The odd things that were happening to him kept his mind on edge. But what just happened with Michael was the most disturbing thing he’s seen. It was like something was supposed to be seen, something was supposed to be processed, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. It felt like remembering a dream right after you wake up except ten-fold more confusing and hard to remember.
He continued to try and remember but he still can’t, no matter how hard or how long he tried. Then that’s when he noticed that the sun was coming up the horizon, bleeding red like an open wound. Jackson’s heart sank. In silence he sat up and prepared for another day.
By around 10pm he was at a nearby café at Lokmar square. The square was the pride of the small town, stone tiled pathways, lush trees and greenery, and beautiful store fronts. At the centre was a small obelisk around 8 feet tall with a plaque that was inscribed with a paragraph about the history of the town. It was fairly busy with a people meeting up with their friends or spending some alone time with a cold drink.
Jackson waited for his friends at the café. He wore a beanie that covered his black, tousled hair, a blue flannel shirt, black pants, and a pair of black converse shoes. He looked down at the coffee cupped in his hands and he realized that it had gone cold already. He sighed as he rubbed his red eyes, his friends were late again, but all that meant was that he had more time to think which he never really minded.
He drank up the coffee in a few disgusted gulps just to wake up his numbed senses. Jackson looked at the crowd nervously, trying to spot something, anything out of the normal. It’s not a question of whether or not it will happen, but rather when it will happen and how bad it will be. He started to tap on the table and rock back and forth on his chair. His heart slowly began to pound harder and harder. Then he was somewhere colder with his head down and arms cushioning it on something smooth.
He jolted up, adrenaline coursing through his weary veins, his ragged body moving like a doll being kicked around in a gutter. His now owl like eyes looked at his surroundings the ceiling was covered with bright white lights, the walls were the colour of light oak, and there were rows of wooden blocks with holes cut into them. And inside those holes were things covered in sheets that looked like leather. Faces were looking at him. He was in a library. Releasing a shaky breath, warm tears began to escape his eyes, it almost felt like it burned his frozen skin.
He was lying on one of the rows of tables inside the building. People were looking at him weirdly, not odd seeing as he was standing, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Cold sweat was running down his face again, slowly dripping off his chin. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. People were still staring at him. “Excuse me.” He silently breathed out before quickly walking to the nearest exit.
The oppressing warmth hit him as soon as he opened the door. He shielded his eyes from the sudden glare of the sun. He was in Lokmar square again. The unmistakable obelisk at the centre remained unchanged since he last saw it, the only difference being it was now smeared with a red liquid. Judging by the way the red lines looked, the red liquid was smeared on the stone with human hands.
People populated the square. Jackson looked behind himself and he saw a store front for a café. Sitting by a nearby table was his friend, Michael.
“Jackson, how have you been?” he said with a cheery voice. Jackson simply stared with bug like eyes. “Go ahead then, take a seat.”
“Uhh…” He was at a loss for words at that moment. “Th-this isn’t a good time now Michael, I think I’m just going to head home” he said nervously.
“Take a seat.” His friend said sternly. Jackson stared at his friend for a while before slowly and cautiously taking a seat across from him, heart pounding again all the while. “Good.” He smiled slowly. Michael slowly leaned in, his hands intertwined until his head was halfway across the table. “Do you want to know a secret Jack? This secret will explain everything that’s been happening to you” Jackson’s heart skipped a beat. Excitement and hope began to build in his chest, and again he was too shocked for words. Everything was happening so quickly. He was so confused and he didn’t know what to do. Could this be a chance to get out? “Listen closely” Michael said, Jackson leaned closer while focusing on his friend’s lips.
Then the wind died down, the people around them stopped chattering and stared at the pair, Jackson’s ears began to ring. He looked around anxiously. “Listen.” Michael said. “The world stops around us while the truth verges on a new ocean.” Jackson’s anxiety began to mix with the hope and excitement. “Don’t let this pass by you Jackson.” He leaned closer to Jackson and whispered silently, it seemed quitter than the silence in the square, yet somehow it was audible. “You will never leave this place” then he laughed, he laughed and laughed, his smile widening to a grotesque grin reaching from ear to ear, eyes dying slowly into a shade of black. Jackson screamed with all he had, his scream was one of false hope, the fear of death, and the fear of pain. Then he was falling, falling sideways into a store front a violent wind blasted him into glass.
Then he woke up on his bed screaming at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face. Then he stopped. He looked into the darkness of his room and it seemed to stare back at him, its gaze crushing him. He was never going to escape this.
Jackson’s mind and body was numb to it all. Whimpering in the dark, he covered his face with his hands. He didn’t know what to do anymore, he couldn’t live his life, he couldn’t take another second of it. Jackson sat up and turned on the lights. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, he realized that there was nothing he could do. Even ending his life didn’t work. It only ended with him waking up to more torture.
With his head down he cried silently, the cold night air caressed his skin. Slowly, his face morphed into a passive one, as if nothing was wrong with the world, tears still streamed down but he didn’t look distraught, only burdened.
He got up from his bed and went downstairs. He saw Michael washing the dishes in the kitchen. “Why are you up?” Michael asked, concerned. Jackson simply looked at him. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked Jackson. Ignoring the man’s questions he headed into the kitchen. Then he picked up a knife. “Jackson?” Michael said in a quiet, nervous voice.
Jackson saw it now. After all the weeks or maybe years he’s been going through this, he finally saw it smiling at him, staring at him. Its eyes were as dead as a crow and skin darker than midnight. He sees through its human façade clearly. “I don’t think I can handle it anymore Michael. I’ll be here until I forget what it’s like to be alive.” He took a step closer to Michael.
“Ja-Jackson? What are you talking about?” he began to become more and more frantic as Jackson came closer and closer.
Jackson looked longingly into the knife, as if staring at it will set him free from whatever was happening to him. Slowly he felt the edge of the knife, letting a small cut form on his thumb. “You wouldn’t get it.” He finally said. Then he ran towards the man, Michael screamed and hid his face under his arms. Jackson began to stab at him. He stabbed everywhere, the arms, the body, the legs, and the face. Blood pooled around Michael as he screamed and tried to fight back but Jackson was too strong as if he was fuelled by something more than just adrenaline. Jackson slowly stopped once he noticed that Michael had stopped moving. The pool of blood grew to touch opposite walls.
Jackson, with his head down smiled. He’s done it, the weight on his shoulders was lifted. Overwhelming joy filled him, every single fibber of his body shook with ecstasy because of how the air stopped crushing him, how the silence stopped crippling him, and how his soul stopped withering. Then he began to laugh. He laughed and laughed at the top of his lungs, he fell to his knees and then onto the floor. While crying tears of joy he stood up, still laughing, and began to kick the corpse relentlessly.
The next morning Jackson Mallory, a 26 years old man living alone in #48 Mason street in the town of Lokmar, was arrested by local authorities for the murder of Michael Robinson in August 4, 2020 at roughly 8:40pm. Authorities were alerted of the event after the next door neighbours reported loud laughing and screaming originating from the house. The victim was found with roughly 67 stab wounds on the body, arms, legs, and head. The face was disfigured because of multiple bruises and cuts. The suspect was thought to be insane by first responders. Another subject for our lord.