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Jackson's Descent

A boy who's legs work against him in his time of need.

By SoftyPublished 7 months ago 4 min read

Sanilla Tennesse is the type of place you settle once you've given up hope or had kids too early. It's cracked roads are home to speed demons and spinsters alike. It's easy to get lost there, both physically and spiritually. Most try to leave the second they can.

That's what Jackson did, he tried. He had until his legs started hurting with every step. When he woke up and couldn't get out of bed one morning he knew it was time to pack up and go back to the town everyone from hated.

He moved back in with his dear mother and 13 year old sister. Jackson had his own room which he would spend days in never leaving. The smell of depression coupled with his blackout curtains worried his mother. It only took a year of his wallowing for her to propose a trip to the mountains to get their minds off of things.

She had rented a cabin near the base of the Smokey's. Far enough to not hear traffic and it was wheelchair acessable for her son. She truly thought of everything when she packed her family up for the three day excersion to the mountains.

The first thing Jackson did when he left the car wasn't go look at the cabin, his eyes were drawn to the woods. The second Jackson could, he grabbed his canes and went in as carefully as he could muster. Before completely merging with the woods, he called back and let his family know he'd be back well before night fall.

The forest was beautiful. Jackson had missed this. The hiking, the independence, the woodsy smell, all things that eluded him in his room. After an hour of following the path, a glimpse of white caught his eye.

There, slightly off the trail, Jackson could swear he saw a woman in a gown. Before he could call out to her though, she flitted away. Naturally, he wished to follow. Carefully making his way passed the bushes and roots, he carried persuit after the woman in white.

Half an hour passed and the sky slowly darkened as it went. Jackson finally decided to head back when he heard it. Stomping through the woods coming fast towards him. Then, he saw her.

Her face was twisted in what could only be known as pure rage. She ran so fast it looked as if she was flying through the woods. He dress billowed around her and showed her bare, bloody feet. Jackson took a step back and fell onto the forest floor, one of his crutches rolled down the hill and he heard the other make a sick snap. The woman opened her mouth and screamed. An ear peircing sound that reminded Jackson of war and heartbreak. As she got closer, she jumped at him.

Jackson braced himself and closed his eyes. But there was nothing. Opening them, he looked around. There was nothing in the woods but him and a broken crutch. Shaken, he looked around for a second before calling his mother. After a few rings, it went to voicemail. He tried again. Voicemail. Sighing, he rolled onto his stomach and began army crawling his way back home.


It was well past midnight when he finally made his way back. All the lights in the cabin were on, which he didn't find perculiar. Seeing as he'd been practically missing since this afternoon.

Opening the door, he dragged himself in. He gasp at the sight before him. His mothers head was on the floor, inches away from his. Looking up, her body hung limply from the rafters. A few feet from hers hung his sister, also headless.

Jackson screamed at the top of his lungs, stopping when he felt something hit his leg. Looking down, he saw his sisters head with a boot mark covering her eyes.

Then he saw him. A man dressed in simple clothes covered in blood. His face was mashed up in pantyhose but Jackson couldn't reach up to rip it off. The man looked down at him and laughed before picking up Jackson's mothers head and throwing it at him. All Jackson could do was curl up into a ball, cry and pray it would be over soon.

"You're not worth the chase," the cruel man said before stepping over him and walking out.

fictionmonsterslashersupernaturalurban legend

About the Creator


From a town similar to Sanilla, Softy has always had a flair for the dramatic and horrible; often writing gore for their school papers. Now they live in Colorado where their flair is encouraged and well respected.

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Good effort

You have potential. Keep practicing and don’t give up!

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Comments (1)

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  • Gene Lass7 months ago

    I like that you've created your own locale, and you have a distinct voice. You're also very good at setting the mood of a piece.

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