Page 10 - World of Darkness

He was in my face before I could turn away. “It’s too late,” he yelled. He grabbed my shoulders. “It’s too
late! You’re in it now. You know things. You’ve seen things.” He relaxed his grip, then let go. “You can’t go
back once your eyes are opened. Please—” His eyes became soft and watery. “Please. I’ve been doing this
for so long. I can’t keep it up. I need someone to take it off my shoulders—”
I cursed at him as I shoved him away. When he hit the floor he made a pathetic gasp, then sucked in a
gulp of air. “You don’t understand,” he wheezed.
I pulled out the gun. “My father bought me this when I left for college. He taught me how to shoot. If I ever
see or hear from you again, I swear to God I’ll kill you.” I was crying. “I’m not going to play your stupid
game.”
He flopped onto his chest for a moment, then started to push himself off the floor. He turned his head and
looked at me. And suddenly the position of his body, the angle of his head, sent me somewhere else. I was in
the alley again, staring down into the sewer, feeling the bile rise in my throat as I forced myself to count body
parts. One hand, two hands, a foot, small like an infant’s….
Then another form moved into view. It slid out of the shadows and hovered over the dismembered body
parts. It was dressed in rags. Filthy, tattered cloth that made it hard to see what was happening. A fat, greasy
arm slithered out and grabbed a shapeless chunk of organ meat. There were noises. Slapping and smacking
and sucking noises. The shadowy figure shifted position. There were crunching sounds. I pressed both hands
to my mouth and held tight, but a desperate gasp still escaped my lips.
And it looked at me.
It rolled its shoulders and cocked its head and looked up at me. Even though I was on the street and it was
underground, I felt as though I was an ant and it was towering over me. There was blood running down its
chin and a mustache of human fat across its upper lip. Its mouth was open wide, so wide, jaws unhinged like
a snake’s. Its head had strange bulges. Its eyes were human, so human as they fixed on me, burned into me,
tried to obliterate me the way the sun obliterates the night.
Then I heard the gun go off, and I was staring at Mummer’s corpse, watching his blood stain the carpet.
After that, I wandered through the house in a kind of daze. There were more rooms. Many more. An attic.
A basement. They were all filled with more stories. Towers of notebooks, mountains of folders, oceans of files.
Stories written on cocktail napkins, the backs of envelopes, on box tops and strips of torn-up clothing. Stories
written on the walls themselves, the floors, the windows.
I knew what would happen if I left them intact. I knew that sooner or later I’d make myself read them. All
of them.
I couldn’t let that happen.
*** SECTION MISSING ***

By the time I was out of state, I was the chief suspect in both the fire and the murder. I don’t know what the
“evidence” they found in my apartment was. Someone probably planted something. Anyway, I know how the
police work. I’m pretty sure I can stay one step ahead of them.

*** MY SOURCE IN THE P.D. TELLS ME SHE REMAINS AT LARGE. WHO’S HELPING HER? THE
ENEMY? ***
Everywhere I look, I wonder what I’m seeing. I wonder about the guy in the alley who follows me with his
eyes as I walk by. I wonder about the two bald guys sitting in the back of the diner, wearing strange medal-
lions around their necks. I wonder about the huge dog I see walking along the side of the road, vanishing like
mist before he’s fully in my headlights.
I wonder what will happen next.
I hope this letter gets to you. It feels like we haven’t spoken in years. I’m not even sure where you’re
teaching these days.
I hope I have the courage to mail this to you.
Don’t come looking for me, Dad. Please.
Destroy this letter after you read it.

*** END TRANSCRIPT ***

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