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Living Nightmare

Greed takes a toll

By Brooke JacksonPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
2
Living Nightmare
Photo by Trevor Brown on Unsplash

Running through a demented house. I try to escape, but there’s no clear exit. The house smells of burning flesh. Something is up ahead, a box. A rusted-out ammo can. I lift the lid, slowly, hoping nothing jumps out at me.

A little black notebook. Suddenly the floor opens up below me and I’m free falling through a darker than night pit. I hit bottom, somehow still intact. No broken limbs of any kind. A man devoid of features is fidgeting before me. I try to scream but my mouth became sewn shut. The man is running towards me now--his hands are around my neck in the blink of an eye.

I wake up.

The sun is peeping through the windows shining through the September fog, making ghost like figures float around the room.

It’s Saturday morning, time to get out of this bed and meet up with Matt at the local spot.

I grew up as an only child. I lost contact with my parents a long time ago when I joined the service. They told me that if I signed my life away then I’d also be signing away my life with them. So here I am, no parents, no family. Just Matt.

I pick up the stale cigarette from the kitchen window that was left out from the night before and light up, letting the anxiety leave my body.

I grab my stuff and head out the door.

Every Saturday we meet up at the local pub for some homemade biscuits and gravy made by the lovely Jen herself.

I pull up to the pub and see that Matt is leaning up against his car, like he’s been waiting a century for me to show up.

“bout time you show up.”

Wow, haven’t heard that one a million times.

“Hey man.. sorry I’m late… I just had the weirdest dream…”

Matt is the only family I have left. He’s always been the older brother I never had.

“Ahhh, another one of those huh? The faceless man get you again?”

“Ya… he was there… anyway, lets get some food. I’m starved.”

“I’m sure Jen has it hot and ready.”

He gives me a friendly little shove on the way in, typical older brother type.

Sure enough, Jen had just taken our food off of the stove and had it headed our way.

“Anything else for you handsome men?”

Matt beats me to the punch, “Maybe a couple coffees, black if you don’t mind. You are as beautiful as a flower my lady.”

Jen blushes, Matt has always been the biggest flirt around. She knows it too, but still loves the attention as most women do.

Matt breaks the silence first, as always.

“So, Clay, I have an idea… ever been geocaching?”

“I haven’t… but I know what it’s about, why?”

“I got a tip from another buddy of mine I met in the service. Wanna check it out with me? Apparently it’s extremely hard to find, but with our special resources from the good ol’ Army, I think we can handle it.”

“Sure man, I could use a break from my routine. When and where?

“I was thinking we could start early tomorrow, pack a ruck sack for about a week trip? Work has already given me the time off, and I know you’re between jobs right now while you transition out of the Army. What do you say?”

“Why not, pick me up around 0530?”

“Perfect.”

We finish our breakfast and say our goodbyes. Geocaching… I’ll have to do a little research on it, but am completely ready for a change of pace, starting with an adventure.

The day has blown by. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Packing for this little trip took me down Army memory lane of all the ruck marches I went on with friends that I’m hardly in contact with anymore…

I found a handful of almost expired MRE’s and all my ruck gear in the attic. All packed and ready for tomorrow.

I heat up some chili and take a seat on the couch to catch up on the latest news. Nothing of importance. I end up falling asleep, pot of chili still on the end table and TV still on fox news.

Demented house, fire burning everywhere. The black book, free falling, faceless man. He reaches for me but I dodge this time. An echo in the pit pierces my ears, I can’t make out the words, almost sounds like sirens. I feel the cold hands around my neck.

I wake up.

Matt is beating on my door. I open up the door with a whirlwind of apologies. I gather my stuff and head out for the first location.

It was about a 3-hour drive to the first location, and the silence was only broken once. We’re not big on small talk.

“Drink too much last night?” Matt finally says.

“No…. faceless man again.”

“Come on buddy, maybe you need a therapist… past trauma maybe?”

“I don’t know what it is bro… it’s only maybe happened a handful of times over this last month.”

“Well, if it gets worse, lets get you in to talk with someone.”

“Alright..”

Silence fell upon us until we made it to our first location.

We were stunned.

The box was here… at the first location, up in the Cascades. The map says there are a dozen plus locations to get to the geocache box. We packed for a whole week trip and this was it? Five hours into the day?

Matt opens up the box and I begin to have an instant panic attack.

The little black notebook…. Along with $20,000.

“Clay, what’s the deal man?? You’re freaking me out!!”

“Matt, don’t touch that money. Who did you get this map from? I thought you said this was an impossible find?? Why is it here??”

“Clay… breath.. I don’t understand it either… and I lied…”

“About what??”

“How I got the map… I found it.. just sitting in plain sight at the pub we go to.”

“Matt, that book…. It’s the exact same one from my nightmare…”

“Don’t be senile. Those are just dreams, probably PTSD from your parents abandoning you.”

“Don’t you dare bring that up!”

Matt grabs the money and opens up the black book.

The book had a list of names in it, probably other geocache hunters claiming their victory. This doesn’t feel right at all.

I’m nervous the whole drive back home.

Matt makes it to my driveway and offers me half the cash. I declined and reminded him once again that this doesn’t feel right.

He became furious about the doubting, frightening even. Matt kicked me out of the truck and left.

That wasn’t like him at all…

I ran inside and jumped on the laptop. I had taken the notebook to research the names of people written in the book.

James Edward Jr. – Dead, violent robbery.

Kevin Williams – Missing.

Josephine McNab – Life flighted, dead in transit.

Parker Garcia – Dead. No context.

Martin and Louis Jensen – Missing.

I flipped through the pages, all these geocache hunters have gone missing or have died… within the last month…

My nightmares.

I turned to last page, that’s when I lost it.

Matthew Quincy – Missing.

Matt…

I fumbled for my phone. Dialed his number, straight to voicemail… again, again, again… voicemail.

I grab my keys and sped to his house.

His truck is in the driveway, but his front door is wide open. The sun is setting in the distance and the entrance to his house is pitch black… like the pit.

I slowly creep in past the door and whisper his name.. no answer.

A putrid smell wafts by me.. as if I am walking through a building full of freshly burned souls. Burning flesh and the smell of burnt hair lingering in the halls.

I turn the corner to head upstairs. The smell is getting worse, I am losing my mind.

I get to Matt’s bedroom, and then I see him.

The faceless man. It’s Matt.

His face has been burned into nothing… I run downstairs to get out of this house before I puke and add to the evidence. I call the local police and withing minutes they have the house surrounded.

Just as fast as they came, they were leaving, without a body.

I rush towards them and demand answers.

“There wasn’t nobody in that house kid, you on something or what?”

“Like drugs?? For christ sake, get back in that damn house and get my friend the care he needs!!”

“There ain’t nobody in there pal… and we ran the name in the system, there is no such existence of a man named ‘Mathew Quincy.’ Either leave it alone and quit wasting our time, or we will be taking you where your type belongs.”

I fall to my knees, hands fold over my eyes. Matt’s melted body will not escape my sight, closing my eyes only makes the image of him melted to the walls in the corner of the room more vivid.

I slowly collect myself, and walk back to my truck. I put it in drive and head back to my house.

“I have to get that book from my table at home, that’ll be enough proof for them to believe me!”

I park in the driveway and run inside to retrieve the book.

There it is, right where I left it. Bookmarked to the page where I found Matt’s name in it. I thumb the page open, empty.

How is that possible?

I thumb through the previous pages, they’re all empty. Like it had never had any ink tap the page in its existence.

I must still be in a dream; this can’t be happening.

I head to the bedroom and lay down on the bed, in hopes that falling asleep in this dream will awaken me from this nightmare.

I end up falling asleep.

I’m back in the demented house, this time it’s different. No burning flesh smell, no darkness creeping the halls. The house feels warmer and there are warm rays of sun piercing the windows. This is Matt’s house.

I walk up the stairs and head for his bedroom where I had found him burned alive earlier. In the corner of the room the faceless man reaches for my hands instead of wrapping them around my neck.

“Clay… help me… “

Matt…?

fiction
2

About the Creator

Brooke Jackson

“I don’t want smooth sailing; I want a rainstorm. ‘Ordinary’ is something we all should be running from” -s.r.w

I enjoy writing more than anything in this world. I love writing sad poetry or fictional stories! Thanks for looking!(:

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