05-11-2020, 04:21 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-11-2020, 05:21 AM by Marcus DuBois.)
Marcus pressed up against the stand, trying to hide. The smell of oil from the corn dog fryer filled his nostrils, forever overlaying his memory of it with pain. The dark night was lit up by the noise of the rides, the laughs and whooshes of the cars and their occupants punctuating over the hum of park visitors.
The people seemed oblivious, almost see through. As if they were imagined. The smell of pop corn and concrete and cotton candy and grease were real, though. The stink of fear and terror.
He was here, somewhere. Who, he didn't know. But someone waited for him. Hunted him. He hadn't been this afraid since....ever. Not at Mamma Lawsons. Not at the Van Pattons. Nowhere. Ever.
He tried to get his breathing under control. It was one of the first things he'd learned. Be calm. Go somewhere else.
But for some reason it was gone. He couldn't. He felt naked and exposed. He looked down and saw...
A child's hands, small and helpless.
A new horror washed over him as he carefully rose, standing on tip toes so he could see his reflection in the glass of the stand.
Warped and distorted, but unmistakable. His face, it was true. But baby fat and roundness was the most noticeable. He was nine or ten.
His eyes widened, the feeling of helplessness overwhelming him.
He tried to reach for the power but nothing came. His stomach lurched, in time with the screams of the occupants of the gondola at its apex, dropping to swing the guests in a parabola described by the arm, squeels of delight and laughter at the release.
Not for him.
He covered his ears, unsure what to do.
A voice came to him, despite the hands. Not his stalker. There was desperation.
And Marcus didn't want to be alone. He was so scared. He peeked around the corner and didn't see his hooded hunter. His heart thundered in his ears and he was paralyzed.
Still, he forced himself, the first step the hardest. He ran, faster and faster, waiting, expecting the feel of invisible hands to draw him up and hold him, a fly in an unseen web where the spider slowly manifested, licking fangs filled with poison to liquidate his insides in a bath of acid, to empty him from the inside out.
He ran toward the voice, praying to no one who would hear; that he would find help....
The people seemed oblivious, almost see through. As if they were imagined. The smell of pop corn and concrete and cotton candy and grease were real, though. The stink of fear and terror.
He was here, somewhere. Who, he didn't know. But someone waited for him. Hunted him. He hadn't been this afraid since....ever. Not at Mamma Lawsons. Not at the Van Pattons. Nowhere. Ever.
He tried to get his breathing under control. It was one of the first things he'd learned. Be calm. Go somewhere else.
But for some reason it was gone. He couldn't. He felt naked and exposed. He looked down and saw...
A child's hands, small and helpless.
A new horror washed over him as he carefully rose, standing on tip toes so he could see his reflection in the glass of the stand.
Warped and distorted, but unmistakable. His face, it was true. But baby fat and roundness was the most noticeable. He was nine or ten.
His eyes widened, the feeling of helplessness overwhelming him.
He tried to reach for the power but nothing came. His stomach lurched, in time with the screams of the occupants of the gondola at its apex, dropping to swing the guests in a parabola described by the arm, squeels of delight and laughter at the release.
Not for him.
He covered his ears, unsure what to do.
A voice came to him, despite the hands. Not his stalker. There was desperation.
And Marcus didn't want to be alone. He was so scared. He peeked around the corner and didn't see his hooded hunter. His heart thundered in his ears and he was paralyzed.
Still, he forced himself, the first step the hardest. He ran, faster and faster, waiting, expecting the feel of invisible hands to draw him up and hold him, a fly in an unseen web where the spider slowly manifested, licking fangs filled with poison to liquidate his insides in a bath of acid, to empty him from the inside out.
He ran toward the voice, praying to no one who would hear; that he would find help....