Every time I shut my eyes, I see the mangled corpses of my parents laying in a slick pool of their own blood on the kitchen floor. Their faces stricken with shock as even their best efforts and skill in close combat have been useless against what had come to invade our lives and destroy us.
The fire happened as a result. It engulfed everything we had built up until then. All the food, toys, clothes, accessories, knickknacks, furniture, and memories in our home went up in a flash of red-hot heat. That’s something I will never forget.
It still haunts me. That dark, unsuspecting night replays itself on a loop in my mind.
The tears. I remember the tears of frustration and extreme sadness escaping from my eyes, blurring my vision, and rolling down my face like rapidly flowing streams. For I, being the meek little boy I was, could do nothing to save my parents, no matter how hard I wanted to try. But the fear. The fear overtook my body, mind and soul, preventing me from moving at all. I was helpless to only watch my strong, kind, beloved parents get slashed up and bleed to death before my very eyes.
With their dying breaths, they told me to run, and with a burst of newfound adrenaline, I did. That was all I could do. Run far, far away from home without looking back and never letting them find me or they’d kill me, too.
I ran so fast and so hard that I could barely breathe correctly, and I eventually felt a sharp pain in my gut begging me to stop and rest, but I pushed through it. Hot sweat rolled down my cheeks mixing in with my tears. I was barefoot, so I kept stepping on sharp rocks and broken things in the desert making my feet bleed in my tracks.
Once I distanced myself far enough from them, I tripped over my own feet and fell face first into the sand. I soon got to my knees, and then I let out a vanquished scream of regret, worthlessness, grief, loneliness, and feeling totally powerless that resonated throughout the California dawn.
Someday, I will find them. Those evil, conniving, inconsiderate bastards. The ones who stripped me of everything that was important to me.
They’re still lurking out there in the shadows. They’re still scheming. I can feel it. They haven’t made another appearance since then, and they’re keeping very quiet. But just know that no matter what it takes or how long it will be, I will find them, and I am going to make them pay…
Brady Aristouné was rattled awake by another bad dream. He gasped, sat up quickly while reaching one hand out in front of him as though trying to grab something, and opened his eyes. His whole body was shaking like a leaf. This didn’t surprise him, though. For years, practically every night for him had been filled with recurring restless nightmares. He often woke up several times in the middle of the night as a trembling and sweating nervous wreck. He lifted one shaky hand to his forehead to try and ease his migraine. Then as he was rubbing his head, he found what felt like a bump on the side of his head that hadn’t been there before.
A chilly breeze caressed the left side of his body. That was only the first indicator that he wasn’t in his bed, which was the last place he remembers being. The wind felt too cold on his skin where multiple tatters and holes had been ripped in his clothes. Small cuts into his flesh revealed his own blood that was still dripping out slowly. His entire body ached, and he fell backwards; the back of his head hit the base of a large tree trunk. There was a loud THUNK! on impact, and it didn’t help his splitting headache. He couldn’t move for a few moments, as if he were paralyzed. That only agitated him even more. His throat was parched dry and he felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, but there wasn’t much he could do about either problem right now.
After several minutes of cursing at himself and the world around him, the pain simmered down. Without getting up, Brady began rolling his eyes in all directions to survey his surroundings. There were innumerable trees towering over him. He was laying down in wet mud, leaning against the base of one of the trees. It was nighttime; that much was clear due to the glowing white moon floating in the sky above and the sound of crickets chirping.
What time was it? He didn’t know. All he knew was he shouldn’t be here.
“The fuck? How did I get here? What the hell happened?” he asked himself.
Before he could presume any plausible answers, somewhere nearby, he heard a twig snap. It wasn’t done naturally. His superb hearing picked up on that easily. A creature must’ve stepped on it, but it sounded way too big to be one of the smaller woodland critters. And it was coming towards him.
Without a second of hesitation, Brady stood up wobbly and kept his ears strained to listen out for whatever might cross his path as he tried to make his way out of this forest. He moved carefully, trying not to make a sound, and he was getting increasingly suspicious of the mysterious entity. It was stepping on dead leaves and pushing aside tree branches, and each noise was closer than the last.
Wondering if he was being following, he looked back dozens of times to make sure he was not leaving footsteps or other visible traces behind him. While moving forward, he also pondered as to how he could’ve ended up unconscious in the middle of the forest. He searched through every crevasse of his memory but came up with nothing.
Suddenly, a low growl echoed from within the brush on his right side. It was unlike any creature he’d ever heard before. He’d encountered way too many different kinds of creatures in his lifetime, most of which were, of course, supernatural. He eventually deduced the beast following him must be of the supernatural nature, and so his survival instincts instantly turned on. Looks like why he found himself here is going to have to wait.
He moved quicker. Whether he’d end up the prey or the predator tonight wasn’t important, though. His top priority was to make it back home as safely as possible. Hopefully, the creature tailing him wouldn’t strike before daylight, or worse, follow him and find out where he lives. He was already quite beaten up and tired, and his muscles felt as heavy as lead. Extreme hunger stirred in his gut, causing him to be sluggish, but eventually he came across a small stream of water pouring out of a rock wall. At least he could quench his thirst, and he took more than ten big gulps as he leaned his lips into the running water. Once he could feel the inside of his throat was wet again, he resumed walking almost aimlessly.
After thirty minutes, which felt like much longer, of cautiously walking through the dark thicket, he saw something flashing in the distance straight ahead of him. A bright yellow light was blinking on and off at the edge of the forest.
“Finally.” He muttered to himself out of frustration, thinking civilization must be close.
But saying that one word was a mistake. For not even a moment later, the beast that had been stalking him charged forth with the speed of lightning. It jumped out from behind the trees to his left and tackled the boy before he could have time to react. The beast had large, razor-sharp claws, and they were digging into the flesh on Brady’s shoulders as soon as his back hit the muddy ground. More blood began to gush out of his wounds as he struggled to break free of the beast’s grip. He grabbed onto its forearms to try and pull out the claws, but it was extremely painful.
Then he got a whiff of the odor emitting from the beast’s wrinkly ragged body, and it made him want to vomit. A rancid stench of decaying flesh and something rummaging through hot garbage. It was horrible yet somehow familiar, like he’d encountered this kind of monster before. However, it was unlike any monster known to man, with an insatiable bloodlust to boot.
Damn it! Now’s not the time to overthink things! He thought in his mind, which only made him more agitated.
The beast saw Brady as fresh meat, and it wasn’t about to pass up a chance at the delicacy of human flesh. Disgusting and smelly drool was forming in its mouth, falling from its lips, and onto Brady’s face. It leaned its face in closer to Brady’s, and he could clearly see into the beast’s two unblinking, shiny black eyes, and they seemed to be staring straight into his soul. Then the beast opened its mouth wider than any animal ever could, revealing four rows of long, jagged, and slimy fangs, ready to take a bite.
Suddenly, Brady used both his legs to kick the beast in the abdomen with enough force and sent it flying in the air. It tumbled backwards twice and then landed on its feet, only to bend over in pain, realizing there was a sharp agony where Brady kicked it. Black blood poured from a large opening in the beast’s gut.
Brady managed to stand back up, just after he morphed his legs back to normal. He’d shifted their shape into dual-edged swords, and then he dug their sharp tips deep into the beast’s closest weak spot. Brady glared at the beast with murderous intent in his eyes, thinking it got exactly what it deserved for trying to eat him.
Just then, the beast reared its head and shoulders back and let out an ear-piercing, shrilling roar. Despite its nearly fatal injury, it wasn’t going down so easily. Not without a fight.
Brady wished he didn’t have to kill to survive, but fate had tempted him yet again. The world was never fair to him to begin with. It was never kind to him, either. So, the only way to live was to be even crueler and more deceitful. His whole body was tired and achy, and his stomach roared for sustenance. His shoulders were gashed and bleeding, adding to the burden taking its toll on him. However, adrenaline rushed through his veins, giving him the burst of energy he needed in the moment. But he knew he had to act fast.
He rolled up the sleeves on his green jacket to his elbows, and he repositioned himself as the beast leaped at him. Dodging to the left and again when a long arm with claws at the tips of its fingers swiped at his face and torso, Brady then took a step back. Simultaneously, he stretched his right arm back and transformed the length of his forearm into a long pale metallic blade tinted the same color of his skin.
Once he’d distanced himself with a wide enough gap, he took a quick and deep inhale, filling his lungs with the forest’s oxygen to fuel his body with the stuff he needed to counterattack. Next, he darted towards the beast, zigzagging along his path to add some confusion, and as soon as he was close enough, he slashed his blade in three various directions. It was hard to pinpoint where he’d strike next because he was moving so fast, but each attempt only scratched the surface of the beast since it moved unbelievably quick, too, leaving behind only small slits in its disfigured and clumped up skin.
Brady could barely see. The dark of night had enveloped everything around him and the treetops blocked out any bit of moonlight shining above the foliage. To add insult to injury, there were the spurts of blood flying through the air from each attack that landed on either himself or the beast, and those bloods also kept getting in his eyes, blinding him for minutes at a time. Therefore, he had to rely on his other senses, which were keen as he had been training and building on them over the years.
With every touch, he dodged. With every smell, he leaped inward. Every sound he got is a sign to respond, though there was a mesh from mixing together with other sounds in the forest around them. But for every action, there was always a reaction, which resulted in the beast countering Brady’s attacks with one of its own. It jumped, kicked, thrusted, and swiped its long limbs and claws at the boy again and again. He thought he may have to grow a second blade just to keep pace with this creature.
In a sheer stroke of luck, their weapons soon collided, and the beast shrieks a cry of agony when its hand got chopped off, flew through the air, and then landed on the ground ten feet behind it. Blood spurted from its skinny stump and sprayed along the forest floor.
Now’s my chance!
The beast was still slumped, stumbling, and distracted by the pain, and Brady stepped back a few feet, and then charged at it with mighty force, thrusting the tip of his blade into the center of its chest where its heart was. As it let out a small yelp on impact, all that followed was silence.
Everything was silent for a while. Brady kept his blade pierced into the beast, waiting for a response, and staying on high alert.
Then the beast’s head and upper body exploded without warning. The many bits and pieces of its wrinkled and lumpy reddish-brown skin and disgusting entrails flew into the air and scattered on the ground. Though its legs and lower body were still intact and standing upright, it was an utter awful mess. Some of the blood and guts landed on Brady, too, and the smell was unearthly rotten. He took one whiff of his arm coated in it, and it was enough to make his eyes widen then shut them as soon as they watered up. He pinched his nose with two fingers on his normally shaped hand before gagging on the rancid air.
He soon shifted his blade arm back to normal. His serious demeanor and the death glare on his face had been replaced by that of nauseating disgust and trying to hold back the bile coming up his esophagus. All he wanted to do was go home, patch up his wounds, take a shower, and go straight to bed.
But as soon as he turned away and was out of sight, the fingers on the beast’s severed hand twitched, slightly but noticeably.
Brady stumbled while jogging, wiping off the beast’s blood and intestines from his clothes and face. He was heading toward the light shining into the thicket. Then, just as he reached the borderline of where the forest met the outskirts of a small neighborhood, he almost collapsed. He caught himself, though, and slowly straightened back up. He couldn’t stop now.
He stood beneath the flickering yellow glow of an old streetlight. The sidewalk below his feet was all cracked up from tree roots bulging up from underneath. Panting like a dog on a hot day, he glanced from left to right and left again. He gets a better look of the neighborhood he’d arrived in. Rusted little kids’ tricycles and empty food containers littered the front lawns. Wooden fences had been reduced to meek few planks sticking out of the ground. Windows in every dwelling were as dark as black. Even at nighttime, he could tell the grass was an ugly brown color with a limp wilt.
Then he spots the street sign on the corner toward his left and immediately recognized the name: Pinecrest Way. Brady tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “Of all the places in this crazy world, I wind up waltzing back to my old childhood neighborhood?” he asked aloud.
As if that wasn’t enough, he found that he was standing on the other side of the street directly adjacent to a Victorian style dwelling with the structure falling into shambles. When he read the house number on the mailbox, he felt sick to his stomach.
Six hundred fifty-one. That was his old home address. “You have got to be kidding me.” He said.
There had to be some reason for this. Why else would he crawl back to the place that brings the most pain and trauma for him? But every time he tried to remember, his mind went blank. His eyebrows wrinkled, and his teeth started grinding; a really bad habit for when he gets annoyed.
Then an idea came to him. It was a stupid idea, but he couldn’t shake it off. Could it be there were clues inside his old home? Clues that would lead him to his targets?
As much as he hated the thought of returning to where it all started, Brady soon found his own two feet—which were now barefoot due to shapeshifting them earlier ripped his light green sneakers to shreds—walking towards the house. Once he reached the front entrance, he kicked down the door. Pieces of rotting wooden with chipping faded red paint flew inward into the living room. The doorway let in beams of bright white moonlight to illuminate the darkness inside. He strolled into the living room, which was the first room anyone was in when entering the dwelling.
Everything was as he last left it over ten years ago. The sofa was decimated and scorched from the fire. A thick layer of cinders coated the carpet that used to be midnight blue. Shattered glass from the broken TV screen was scattered on the floor in front of the table it sits on. Peeling beige vertically striped wallpaper exposed the plastered drywall behind it. He slowly walked to the center of the room where he wiped his index finger across the top surface of the coffee table. Dust and ash from a decade of wear and tear gathered on his fingertip, and he just stared at it for what felt like three minutes.
The headlights of the only car passing by shone through the large window in the room. A flash of yellow light swiped across the room. That was when he noticed a clean white envelope stamped with a fancy red imprint on the seal of what looked like a wolf’s head howling at the moon was resting on the coffee table atop all the cinders. It looked fresh, as though it hadn’t been long since someone just dropped it off here.
“No way this survived the fire,” Brady said, “Who left this here?”
The thought of a stranger strutting into his old home only to leave behind a clean sealed envelope sent shivers up his spine. He turned it over and saw the letters B-R-A-D-Y written in all caps with a bold black pen. It also looked like the penmanship had a shaky hand while writing his name and thus the letters were misshaped and squiggled.
“Okay, that’s weird.” He pondered over it for a while but ultimately decided to tuck the envelope into his pants pocket. “This better not be some kind of trick.” He said quietly.
He then heard a scrabbling noise like a rapid CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK from behind him. He ignored it at first until out of the corner of his eye leaped the beast’s severed hand. With no time to react, the hand latched itself onto Brady’s face, blinding him. It then gripped the top of his head and started digging its claws into his scalp. Blood got in his eyes as he struggled to pull the severed hand off of him. But even without a body or brain to command it, the hand fought back formidably.
This thing is way too dangerous!
Brady had never encountered anything like it before. There was no way he could leave it still moving. But no matter how hard he tried to remove the severed hand; it had immense strength. It was trying to rip his head off. Brady screamed in pain as he stumbled backwards out the open doorway, down the front path, and into the middle of the deserted road. He didn’t even notice where he was going. Trying to yank the hand off proved to be a fruitless effort, and every passing minute, he was losing more blood. Dizziness and fatigue soon washed over him, and he was about ready to succumb to sleep once more.
It wasn’t until a loud bang rang in his ears badly. A bullet flew through the air straight at him. It pierced through one of his hands as he still tries to pull off his attacker, and it hit the beast’s severed hand. The hand lost its grip on Brady’s head and landed on the concrete road several yards away. Brady fell to his knees, clutching his injured hand with his non-injured one as blood spurts from a bullet-sized hole in his palm. He held back a scream and then looked in the direction of where the bullet came from.
A man in his early thirties with unkempt, red-dyed hair and a pistol in hand slowly stepped closer to Brady. This man was wearing a light gray trench coat over a black suit and blue necktie. He soon grinned at Brady and became a little more relaxed once he recognized the boy through all the blood. “Brady? Brady, is that you? Sweet Jesus, you gave me a real fright there. I almost had a heart attack.”
“Well, well, if it isn’t Randal.” Brady said, his face turning up with a sour look. “Why are you here?”
“That’s Detective Gibson to you; and I could ask you the same thing, little man.” Little man was something that Randal called Brady ever since he was a small child, and Brady hated it. “You know, your brother has been worried sick about you. Where have you been all this time?”
“What do you mean?” Brady asked, still clutching his hand with a hole in it.
“What do I mean? What do I mean?!” Randal questioned in a teasing tone at first, but then he got serious. “Young man, you’ve been gone for a whole two weeks, doing God-only-knows-what, and now you have the nerve to interrogate me on what I’ve been up to?”
Brady’s eyes grew wide, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. He had been away from home for a few days at a time, all while in pursuit of his revenge, but two weeks was the longest he’d heard of by far. And this time, he didn’t even remember going out on a chase for clues. All he could recall is the intoxicating scent of home wafting into his dreams as he slept, then the forest, the beast, and now this.
That’s when Randal took a few whiffs of the foul odor emitting from Brady. “P.U.! You sure do stink, though. Did something crawl on you and die?” He said as he noted that Brady was drenched in some kind of black and purple monstrous bodily fluids. He immediately recognized what it was from but didn’t dare say it out loud.
Suddenly, the severed hand on the ground behind him started twitching again. Despite having been shot pointblank, it got back up, standing on all five fingers, and began scurrying towards Brady and Randal. Only a moment after the two men noticed was when a fancy black shoe stomped on the hand, squashing it into pulp. Black blood splattered on the road.
When Brady looked up, scanning from foot to head, he saw that the shoe belongs to his adopted older brother, Benjamin Anderson, who was staring back at the boy with a gravely serious look. Benjamin just stood there for a while, then he looked down at the mess in the road. He lifted his foot to see the hand completely crushed as if it was nothing and muttered to himself, “That makes the fourth one this week alone.”
“What’d you say?” Brady asked, wondering if he knew something about the beast.
“You don’t need to know.” Benjamin said as he walks towards his little brother. He then grabbed Brady by the arm, gripping him hard and started pulling him in the direction of his ten-year-old dark mustardy yellow Sudan parked at the end of the road. “Are you coming, Randal?” he asked his partner.
“Uh, yep, I’m right behind you.” Randal responded, sprinting to catch up.
“Ow! What is going on here? You know something, don’t you?” Brady asked. His brother remained silent and angry, though. “Hey man, say something! Where are you taking me?!” The boy demanded answers.
“You are in no position to be bossing us around. You’re coming with us down to the station,” Benjamin finally replied sternly. He knew what his duty told him he had to do, but he wasn’t at all happy about it. “You need to answer for the crimes you committed while you were on your latest little escapade.”
ns216.73.216.98da2
and then Add to home screen.