IMAGINARY

Genre: Horror  

 

 

 

IMAGINARY

By Randy Romero

 

 

Chelsea Greene was preparing dinner when her son walked into the kitchen. Of course, Greene was actually her maiden name. She started using it again once the divorce was finalized. Thomas had kept his father’s name, Wentz. But Chelsea didn’t mind as long as Thomas was happy. And Chelsea was just happy to be Chelsea Greene again.

The name Wentz brought her nothing but bad memories and filled her with regret. Nothing could dissolve the years of verbal and physical abuse. But when her ex-husband smacked her in front of Thomas, she vowed it would never happen again. Her life started over the second the divorce papers were signed. Nobody would ever raise a hand to Chelsea Greene again.

Thomas greeted her as he walked in, then sauntered over to the fridge to look for a snack.

“Don’t even think about it,” Chelsea said. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. I’m not going to let you spoil your appetite.”

Thomas sighed and closed the fridge.

“Mom, is it okay if Frank sleeps over again tonight?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she smiled benevolently. “As long as it’s okay with Frank’s mom.”

“He says it is.”

“Well that’s splendid. I hope he doesn’t mind spaghetti for dinner.”

“Frank will eat anything, mom.”

“I’m sure he will. Now run along. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Frank was Thomas’s imaginary friend. Chelsea imagined that the divorce was tough on him, and she wasn’t at all surprised by the development of Frank. Lots of kids have imaginary friends, especially at Thomas’s age, and especially children with separated parents. It was just a phase. Thomas would grow out of it eventually. In the meantime, Chelsea didn’t see the harm. She assumed it was Thomas’s way of coping with the divorce.

Chelsea called Thomas when dinner was ready. She made linguine with marinara sauce because it was one of her son’s favorites. Thomas loved her homemade sauce with the sautéed onions and garlic. Shockingly, Frank didn’t join them at the table. They ate together and talked about their day. Thomas talked about school, about his classes and his friends. Chelsea bored him with talk about her job.

“Can we go to the movies this weekend and see the new Avengers movie?” Thomas asked.

“Which Avengers movie is this one? There’s so many of them.”

“This is Infinity War.”

“We’ll see,” Chelsea said.

Thomas sighed. “That means no.”

When his plate was clean and he couldn’t possibly eat another bite, Thomas asked his mom if he could take a plate upstairs for Frank. Chelsea humored him by fixing another plate of spaghetti for Thomas to bring upstairs.

Thomas went to his room and Chelsea washed the dishes with the television on in the background. She could just make out what the reporter was saying.

In other news, the manhunt continues for escaped serial killer Francis Horner. Horner has been able to evade capture at every turn and police still have no leads as to the whereabouts of this deranged individual. Horner is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous. Any sighting of Horner is to be reported directly to the police. If you see him, do not attempt to approach or apprehend him.

“Francis Horner?” Chelsea repeated. “Francis…Frank.”

Chelsea thought for a moment about Thomas’s strange request. This wasn’t the first time Thomas had asked to take food upstairs for his imaginary friend. And he often came back with a clean plate.

She rushed up the stairs to her son’s bedroom and flung the door open.

There he was. Perched on the windowsill. That’s how he’d been getting in and out. Who knows how long he’d been using her home for food and shelter?

Chelsea had read about him in the papers. Francis Horner killed over a dozen people before the police captured him. In some cases, he stabbed his victims. In other cases, he strangled or suffocated them. There was no pattern, no motive, no specific type that he targeted. There was no reason or explanation for his actions. He killed for the sheer thrill of it.

“Mom, this is Frank. Frank this is my mom. I’ve told him so much about you.”

“Thomas, get away from him!” she cried.

“But mom, Frank’s my friend. He could be your friend too if you let him.”

The boy had been corrupted, brainwashed by this psychopath. Who knows what he had told the boy in confidence? Who knows what dark thoughts he embedded in his fragile mind?

“Thomas, this man is not your friend. He’s very dangerous. Now step away from him before he hurts you.”

“Frank would never hurt me, right Frank?”

“That’s right, Thomas,” Frank said, his voice deep and raspy. “My apologies for the intrusion, Mrs. Wentz. Oh I’m sorry, it’s Ms. Greene now. I forgot. Thomas has told me so much about you. He’s a good kid. I like him. So let’s be calm about this situation. I’d hate for anything to happen to him.”

That was all Chelsea needed to hear for her maternal instincts to kick in. She rushed over and an intense struggle ensued. He tried to strike her, but she grabbed hold of his wrists, digging her fingernails in deep. She got one foot up to try and kick him, but Frank used his knee to block it. He wriggled free from her tight grip and wrapped his massive hands around her throat.

“Stop it!” Thomas screamed. “You’re hurting her, Frank!”

Frank swatted him away with one of his giant paws, and Chelsea clawed at his face, freeing herself from his grasp. She shoved him and he stumbled back, bumping into the windowsill. One more push was all it took.

Francis “Frank” Horner went tumbling out the second-story window and snapped his neck on impact.

Thomas checked on his mother, then walked over to the window. He stared down at the man he genuinely thought was his friend. He had a look on his face his mother couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t shock or terror. It wasn’t anger or sorrow.

It was the absence of emotion.

“I’m sorry Frank hurt you,” Thomas said. “He promised me he wouldn’t. He told me about the other people that he hurt. He told me that they all deserved to die. He told me their names. Told me everything about them. He told me lots of stories…I really enjoyed them.”

“He’s gone now, sweetie. He can’t hurt anyone. Not anymore.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, so calm and cool it chilled Chelsea to the bone. “He’s not really dead. Frank lives on…in me.”

SLEEPLESS

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

SLEEPLESS

By Randy Romero

 

The sky lit up outside Selina Carver’s bedroom windows, and right on cue, the rain followed, beating down against her roof like a snare drum. Autumn leaves rustled in the wind outside her open windows. She got up and closed them. Then she shut her curtains so she wouldn’t have to see the thunder and lightning.

On that stormy autumn night, sleep eluded her. As an insomniac, Selina had more than her share of sleepless nights. She had given up on over the counter remedies. She had tried a plethora of nighttime sleep aids, everything from liquids to pills and gel capsules. But none of them seemed to work for her.

She tossed and turned in her queen size bed, trying to find the most comfortable position. She was just starting to get comfortable when she realized how warm she was with the windows closed. She pulled her quilt down and rolled onto her right side.

But in a few minutes, she was cold again and covered herself back up. Then she flipped her warm pillows over to the cool side. She tossed and turned again, ending up on her left side, now facing the long, narrow mirror affixed to her closet door.

She gasped when she saw it. She bit her lip to stifle a scream, hard enough to draw blood.

In the reflection of the mirror, under her bed, she could just make out a nose and a mouth. The nose was long and crooked. But the mouth disturbed her the most. It was grinning widely and showing its sharp teeth. All jagged and crooked and filed down. It was like staring into the mouth of a shark.

Then she saw it eyes, green and glowing like a cat’s eyes.

When she was a little girl, Selina stayed up past her bedtime and watched A Nightmare on Elm Street without her parent’s permission. She was afraid to sleep for a week after that. Her parents warned her not to do it again. But she couldn’t help herself and watched Halloween on television one night after she went trick-or-treating. She spent the next month checking her closet and under her bed every night for Michael Myers.

But as an adult, those movies didn’t faze Selina. Michael and Freddy and Jason didn’t scare her anymore. And she was way too old to be checking under her bed for imaginary boogeymen. But this thing hiding under her bed was not imaginary.

She had to get down the stairs and out the front door. But first she had to get out of bed before that thing could grab her. If she was quick enough, she could make it from the bed to the door before it even had a chance to budge. But she only had one shot at this.

On the count of three, she said silently. One…two…three!

She rolled to the edge and sprinted from her bed. She made it to her bedroom door as the thing started crawling out from underneath, claws digging into the hardwood floor. She dashed through the hallway and flew down the staircase. She twisted the top lock on the front door, then the bottom lock. She grabbed the doorknob and thrust the door open. Then she ran faster than she ever ran in her life.

She ran to the end of the block, the Henderson residence. She knew Mr. and Mrs. Henderson would be home, and she knew Mr. Henderson always stayed up late watching television. She pounded her fists against the door in a frenzy. Old Mr. Henderson hobbled from the living room to the front door and let her in. Henderson let her sit and catch her breath while he called 911.

911 notified the local authorities and two police officers searched Selina’s house from top to bottom. They checked every room, they looked in the attic, searched the basement. They even checked the bathroom. And at Selina’s request, they took a peek under the bed, and found nothing.

But there were unmistakable claw marks left behind in the hardwood floors.

“The house is clear,” the younger officer said to Selina.

“I’m telling you, whatever it was, it was right here. Look at the marks on the floor. I’m not making this up. You’ve got to believe me.”

“We believe you,” the younger officer said. “But we searched the whole house. Whoever, or whatever was here, is long gone. They must’ve gotten spooked when you ran and they probably took off. But just to be safe, my partner and I are going to sit outside tonight and make sure they don’t come back. I’m Officer Briggs. This is my partner, Officer Robinson. If you need anything, call our precinct directly and have them radio us.” He gave her a card with the number to call. “Keep your cell phone handy just in case. We’ll be right outside.”

Selina crawled back into bed. This was going to be another sleepless night. But she shut the lights and turned the TV on, hoping maybe she could get just a few hours of rest. She felt much safer having the officers parked outside her house all night.

She rolled onto her side and noticed that the closet door was slightly ajar. She got up slowly, quietly. She felt like she was a little kid again, checking her closet for Michael Myers.

There’s nothing there, she told herself. The cops probably left the closet door open when they searched the house. But she had to be sure.

She crept to the closet and opened the door all the way. She peered in and saw two green eyes staring back at her. Then she saw its long, hideous nose. The last thing she saw was its teeth.

UNDER THE SKIN

Genre: Horror

UNDER THE SKIN

By Randy Romero

Marc Warner hadn’t felt like himself in days. It was as if something had drained him of all his energy.

He was weak, tired, and sluggish. His head ached and his temples throbbed. He couldn’t concentrate. He had zero ambition. He didn’t have much of an appetite, either.

As far as he could tell, there was nothing physically wrong with him. He didn’t have a temperature. No sore throat or stuffy nose. His doctor ran a few tests and they all came back negative. No cold or flu, no viruses or bacterial infections. Blood pressure was normal. And his doctor told him he had the lungs of a professional athlete, which Marc attributed to being a non-smoker, as well as his daily exercise routine.

He never touched a cigarette in his life. He wasn’t really a drinker, either. His friends called him a fitness freak, but he didn’t view it as an obsession. He was just trying to stay healthy and was always careful about what he put into his body.

His dad used to smoke Pall Malls, the ones that came in the short red pack. A pack a day for thirty-five years. He saw the irreversible damage it had done to his old man and he vowed to never smoke a single cigarette.

But just because he lived a healthy lifestyle and everything appeared to be fine, that didn’t mean Marc was okay. Something wasn’t right. Something was off. It was a strange feeling that Marc couldn’t decipher. But he knew something was wrong. His doctor hadn’t ordered any X-rays or scans. What if there was something wrong internally? Something they missed or hadn’t considered?

Myriad scenarios ran through his head on the occasions where he was able to focus and think. Was it cancer? Did he have a brain tumor? That would at least explain the constant headaches. Was it an autoimmune disease? Diabetes? A central nervous system disorder?

Each day was worse than the last. He couldn’t even function at his job. He left work early again that day and went straight back to his apartment. He sat, exhausted, his body practically melting into his brown sofa.

On top of his fatigue and mental fogginess, his right arm had been itching him like crazy.

He rolled up his sleeve to take a look, and that’s when he saw it for the first time.

Bumps on his skin. Thick and red.

He fought against the urge to scratch it. Scratching had only exacerbated the itch.

He reached for the remote and turned on the TV. He glanced back and forth between the television and the hideous red bumps on his arm.

Marc gasped. “It can’t be…” he whispered and trailed off. For a moment, he thought somebody had slipped something into his afternoon coffee and he was hallucinating. No way he could’ve seen what he thought he saw.

It was five o’clock on a Thursday in December, and already dark outside. His apartment was even darker. 

He got up and ran his hand across the wall, found the light switch.

He gasped again, bit his lip to stifle a scream. Now that he could see it in the light, it was undeniable. The bumps on his skin were moving.

Something was shifting and writhing and wriggling around underneath. His muscles tensed, then spasmed as these anomalies twisted and turned under his skin.

The bumps took form and became more defined. It looked like worms squirming around inside of him.

Whatever it was, it was alive. And it was trying to escape.

He reached for his phone, not even knowing who to call. His doctor’s office was closed by now. His family all lived in other states. And his friends all lived in other boroughs. 911 was the only number that came to mind.

Before he could punch in those three lifesaving digits, a sharp, sudden pain caused him to wince and drop his phone. Those things were digging around in there, moving closer to the surface. The pain was maddening.

He felt flesh being torn away. He felt them gnawing away at his skin, trying to force their way out.

Blood spurted across the living room in thick jets as they burst through the skin of his arm. Black wormlike creatures. Bigger than he could’ve imagined. No eyes. But their teeth were on full display. Jagged, needle-like teeth.

He screamed; a brief, weak, muted scream. Then his whole world went dark.

Marc didn’t show up for work the next day. Or the day after. He wasn’t answering his phone either. Every call went straight to voicemail. His family and friends were frantically trying to reach him. Finally, his mother alerted the local police, who were summoned to his apartment.

The officers had to get the landlord so he could use his keys to unlock the door. They searched Marc’s apartment and found him in the living room.

The two officers covered their mouths at the gruesome sight. His right arm was mangled. Something had eaten away at most of his flesh. And what remained of Marc’s face scarcely resembled a face at all.

Those black, parasitic creatures had slithered away, moved on in search for fresh victims. But they had left something behind. Something still growing inside Marc’s decaying body. In the pit of his stomach, they had nested their eggs…

THERE'S SOMETHING OUT THERE

Genre: Horror

THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE

By Randy Romero

Darkness was all Douglas Jones could see.

It took him a moment to realize he was upside down in his black Dodge Ram. There was a huge spiderweb crack in the windshield. The passenger window was busted out.

He tasted copper. Like sucking on an old, dirty penny. Blood from the gash on his forehead. He was still buckled in but he lacked the strength in his hands to reach up and unbuckle himself. He didn’t know if anything was broken, but his left arm sure felt like it. His legs were useless. He couldn’t move them at all.

The last thing he remembered was swerving to avoid hitting that dog that darted out into the middle of the road. And a big dog, it was. He skidded off the road and rolled into a ditch. He must’ve passed out after that from the pain.

He was awake and alert now, and feeling every bit of the pain.

It was a full moon but no light seemed to touch that pitch black ditch. There was little chance any passing drivers would see his dark truck from the highway. Not at this time of night.

He needed to call for help, but he couldn’t remember where he put his cell phone. He wasn’t exactly sure where he even was. Somewhere near Exit 53 on Sunrise Highway. But if he could get to his phone, he could call 911 and have them trace his location.

Stay calm, he thought. You’ll get through this.

Vickie is probably wondering where I am, he thought. Maybe she’ll call the police when I don’t come home. Maybe they’ll come looking for me. Douglas, or Doug as he preferred, was trying to be optimistic. But he’d heard stories about people being trapped in their cars for days. It was mid-December and the weather was unpredictable. One surprise snowstorm was all it would take to make his truck invisible. Terrifying scenarios were running through Doug’s head, and he couldn’t make it stop.

He tried his best to take his mind off of it. He thought about Vickie. Thought about the guys back at the office. They always called him Dougie which he hated. But he still enjoyed grabbing a beer with them after work and playing a few rounds of pool. He thought about his mom and dad in Fresno. His sister in San Jose. He thought about Madeline, his secretary.

What a mistake this had been. He had never cheated on Vickie before. Not until tonight. He skipped the after-work beers with the guys and met Madeline in a cheap, seedy hotel off exit 45. She wanted him to spend the night. But he didn’t want Vickie wondering where he was all night. What must she be wondering now, he thought. How am I going to explain this to her?

The glove compartment. That’s where Doug’s phone was.

With his one good arm, he tried to get to the glove compartment, but it was just out of reach.

Through his shattered passenger window, he heard sounds emanating from the nearby woods. A rustle of leaves. Twigs snapping. Footsteps.

There’s something out there.

Then he heard growling.

The dog, he thought. But this didn’t sound like any dog he had ever heard before. The sounds were deep and guttural.

A prolonged howl echoed through the woods, and it chilled Doug to the bone.

He could barely see, but he could hear something approaching rapidly. He caught just a glimpse of the hairy, bipedal creature through the passenger window. It dug its razor-sharp claws into the passenger door and ripped it from the hinges with ease.

Its eyes were yellow and glowed like the moon. The last thing Doug saw was its wet, dripping snout and two rows of jagged teeth.

INTRUDER

Genre: Horror 

INTRUDER

By Randy Romero

Tracy Myers snapped awake, shaken from her slumber by a chilling nightmare. A cold sweat trickled down her forehead. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was dripping wet, her sheets soaked with perspiration.

“Just a dream,” she whispered to herself, breathing deeply. “Just an awful, terrible dream. But you’re awake now. You’re here, at home, in your bed safe and sound. There’s nothing to fear.”

The red glow of the digital alarm clock got her attention. It was a quarter to four. She still had three hours before she needed to get up and go to work. But she felt wide awake now and wondered if falling back to sleep for a few hours was a possibility.

In her dream, she was being pursued by an unstoppable maniac, brandishing a butcher knife. It was so vivid, so real. But no matter how real it felt, Tracy knew it was only a dream. And dreams can’t hurt you.

She breathed a sigh of relief and rested her head on her pillow, closed her eyes, and tried to go back to sleep. But soon, she felt the cold air circulating around her, biting at the exposed skin of her face and neck. She felt a draft coming from the left side of her bed. She rolled over and saw that the window was open halfway.

That’s odd, Tracy thought. I don’t remember living the window open.

The reason she didn’t remember was because Tracy hadn’t left it open. The window was closed when she went to bed, but she had neglected to lock it.

The room was dark and cold, and the only light came from the red glare of her alarm clock and the dim glow of the moon. She was about to get up and close the window when she felt an unmistakable presence. Someone was in the room with her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them. A tall, dark figure standing at the foot of her bed. She gasped, bit her lip to stifle a scream. She closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

A robber, was first her first thought. Just lie still and pretend to be asleep. Maybe they’ll just take what they want and go.

But the figure didn’t budge. She could feel them looming over her, hear their laborious breathing. Still on her side, she opened one eye and got a glimpse of the mask covering their face. A creepy white clown mask with a bright red nose, black lips, and blue diamonds for eyes.

The blade glistened in the moonlight, reflecting her face, which was a mask of its own. A mask of terror.

Dreams can’t hurt you. But this was no dream. This was reality. Cold, harsh, terrifying reality.

She opened her mouth and let out a hideous, high pitched shriek. It was a momentary outburst. Her screams ended almost as soon as they began, and then the room was quiet again.

DR. DERANGED

Genre: Horror

DOCTOR DERANGED

By Randy Romero

“Do you think I’m crazy, doc?” It was a very difficult question to tiptoe around when your patient had a loaded gun pointed in your direction.

Frank Bloom’s patient had followed him hundreds of miles to Bloom’s secluded upstate New York cabin. Bloom was alone. He never married or had kids, and he didn’t have a girlfriend. He was married to his work. He’d treated hundreds of patients over the years. But he’d never encountered a patient anything like Michael Loomis.

So there he was, a hostage in his own cabin, with Loomis brandishing a handgun in his direction. No point in calling for help. He screamed and he was as good as dead. Not like anyone was around to hear it anyway. The cabin was deep in the woods and miles away from the main road. There were no other cabins or houses for miles in either direction. Nobody was coming to his rescue.

The cabin had been in Bloom’s family for two generations and was his only getaway. Few people knew about it. His patient must have gotten to one of them. What had he done to them? Dr. Bloom was almost afraid to ask.

The cedar one-floor cabin and its marvelous wooden interior had not been altered throughout the years. The only thing Bloom had fixed was the plumbing, which was in desperate need of an upgrade. There was a single bedroom, bathroom, small kitchen, and red brick fireplace. The furniture, minus the sofa and the glass coffee table, was all hand carved out of pine and oak. The cabin had electricity, but sometimes Bloom opted to use kerosene lanterns to create a more rustic atmosphere. Some nights he’d sit on the porch and stare up at the stars for hours on end. But not tonight.

“Well, doc? I’m waiting for your answer. Do you concur with all the other shrinks? You think I’m crazy?” Michael Loomis asked.

“It’s all subjective,” he said. “What’s normal for the spider–”

“Is chaos to the fly. I’ve heard that one before. You’ll have to do better than that, Bloom. Now answer the question. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“I think you’re unwell,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I don’t believe that you’re beyond help.” He’d been in high pressure situations before. He knew to avoid direct eye contact, knew not to make any sudden or unexpected movements. And he knew not to show any fear. On the inside, he was terrified. On the outside, he was wearing his poker face. He showed just enough apprehension and compliance to let Michael think he was in control of the situation.

Bloom felt like he was trapped inside a goldfish bowl. Every move was under scrutiny. There was nowhere for him to hide. He was fully exposed.

“That’s why I like you, doc. You haven’t given up on me. You still think you can help.”

“I know I can, Michael. Just give me a chance. Why don’t you put the gun so we can talk things out.”

Michael cocked the hammer of the gun back. Bloom tensed up momentarily, then relaxed. He’s not going to shoot you. He followed you all the way here. He wants your help. As long as he needs you, you’re safe.

“Sorry, doc. My trigger finger got a little itchy. Sometimes you’ve just got to scratch it. I suppose it runs in the family, huh?”

“Take it easy, Michael. Don’t do anything rash. I only want what’s best for you.”

“Spoken like a man with a gun pointed at his head.”

“Spoken like a man who truly wants to help you,” Bloom said. “You came all this way. At least let me try. Think of this as one of our sessions. But before we go any further, I need to know one thing. Michael, how did you find me?”

“Your secretary. She wasn’t very helpful at first. So I had to be more persuasive.”

“You didn’t–”

“I didn’t kill her if that’s what you’re thinking. I just persuaded her. I’m not going to lie, I had to rough her up a bit. She’s a tough cookie, that secretary of yours. A lot of heart. I didn’t know I had it in me to hurt a woman. But like I said, I guess it runs in the family.”

No wonder Dr. Jacoby recommended him to me, Bloom thought. He’s a lunatic. I’ll be sure to thank Jacoby in person if I make it out of this alive.

“Speaking of family, tell me about your brother,” Bloom said, deflecting and stalling for more time.

“You already know about my brother.”

“What was it they called him?”

“You know what they called him too.”

“But I want to hear you say it.” Dictating the conversation gave Bloom some semblance of control.

“Dr. Deranged.”

“Tell me about your brother again. Start from the beginning.”

“It’s a simple story. My father was a world class surgeon, and my brother was a delusional nut job who wanted to follow in his footsteps. Ben started off slow, dissecting animals, taking them apart, stitching them back together. I knew about it. I should have said something. Our dad was clueless. I don’t know where he got the animals from, but I assumed he was trapping and killing them for practice.

Dad had enough money to put Ben through medical school. It was around that time that people started disappearing around town. You know what they say about serial killers. They start by torturing and killing animals. But eventually it’s not enough. It didn’t take long for him to graduate from animals to people. His first real victim was Nadine Hurley. You remember the urban legend about the guy who wakes up in a bathtub full of ice with one of his kidneys missing? That’s what happened to her. He kept her alive for a little while in that bathtub, so he could perform other surgeries.

Then there was Shanna Moore. She was a runaway. Nobody questioned her disappearance. But everyone questioned Ralph Benedetto’s disappearance. Ralph was a foreman in the carpenters union. He had family, friends, lots of connections. His body turned up a few days later. His eyes had been removed. My brother used a scalpel and carved them out without even damaging the sockets. There were more that followed, before and after he graduated. Over the years, the bodies just kept piling up.”

“What happened when your father found out?”

“His first instinct was to tell the police. But Ben decided to perform a little open heart surgery. That’s when I came forward. I had to or I would’ve been next. It was him or me.”

“Tell me about your time at South Oaks.”

“I voluntarily committed myself. I had a little breakdown after I found out about Ben. I was afraid of what I might do to myself, to someone else. I didn’t know myself at all. I had to get away from society. Until I was better.”

“Do you feel better, Michael?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t be seeing a shrink.”

“And why are you seeing a shrink? Don’t answer that. I’ll answer for you. Because you’re strong enough to admit you need help. So let me help you, Michael. Put the gun down. What are you going to do, shoot me? Shoot the one person dedicated to getting you the help that you need?”

“Smooth, doc. Real smooth. But I think I’ll hold onto it for now.”

“Michael–”

“Call me Mike.”

“Mike, what happened to Ben, after you turned him in?”

“He wouldn’t go quietly. The cops gunned him down.”

Bloom was silent for a moment.

“Is that what you think happened?”

“I know that’s what happened. I was there. I saw it.”

“Let’s go back even further. Before your father’s death. Before the murders your brother committed. Tell me about your mother?”

“You’re really getting to me, doc. You know what happened to my mom. You’ve heard everything before. About my brother, my father, my mom’s death. I think you’re stalling, trying to figure a way out of this.”

“I’m just trying to get to the root of it all. I know I’ve heard the story before. But I want to hear it again. So please tell me what happened to your mom?”

“It was supposed to be a routine procedure. She didn’t trust any of the other surgeons. Only my dad. So he volunteered to perform the operation. But he was nervous. He’d been drinking. Things went wrong. It was the only patient he’d ever lost. I know it tore him up inside. He almost lost his medical license, but it was eventually ruled an accident. But he was never the same man after that. He lost something that day. Not just a wife. He lost a piece of himself. We all did.”

“I’m sorry, Mike. It must have been a very traumatic experience. And that’s it, Mike. That’s the root. Where it all started for you, for your brother. That was the catalyst that led your brother down that dark and violent path. That’s the reason you need help. It all stems from that incident. That’s why you can’t remember what really happened to your brother. Your father accidentally killed your mother and you couldn’t cope with what you did to your brother. Not after what happened to her.”

“I told you what happened to Ben. The cops pumped about fifteen rounds into him.”

“Think, Mike. Think. You know that’s not what happened. You’ve created this fantasy, this fugue state to hide your guilt. You killed Ben when you found out he was a murderer. He tried to attack you with a scalpel, but you managed to take it away. You stabbed your brother in the neck. That’s why you were in South Oaks. That’s why you came to me.”

Michael Loomis froze momentarily, as if stunned by this shocking revelation. Then a sick smile spread across his face and he could no longer contain his laughter. He was cackling like a mental patient.

“Ah I’m just messing with you, doc. I know I killed Ben. He was the perfect fall guy. He wanted to follow in our dad’s footsteps. He had the medical degree and the surgical tools. It was the perfect setup. Nobody questioned his motives. I do sort of feel bad about it though. I miss him sometimes. But like I said, it was him or me.”

“It was you…” Bloom said and trailed off. The horrible reality of the situation began to dawn on him. His poker face vanished, replaced with a mask of fear. “You’re–”

“Dr. Deranged. I hated that name at first. But it’s grown on me. Everything I told you was a lie. Well, not my mother’s death. That really happened. I always resented my father for it. And Ben, he was always daddy’s favorite. He was the one that dad put through medical school. He was the one with a future. He never killed anybody. He never even killed those animals. That was all me. I had a treehouse out in the woods. Dad didn’t know about it. Neither did Ben. That’s where I would perform my little surgeries. But it wasn’t enough. So I killed Nadine Hurley. And Shanna Moore. And Ralph Benedetto. And Carol Peterson. And countless others.

Of course that means I also killed my father. Like I said, I always resented that bastard for what he did to my mother. I took my time with him. I drugged him, cut him open, split his ribcage, and took out his heart. And Ben took the fall for it. And I’ll tell you the truth about South Oaks. I had myself committed to stop myself from killing people. But it didn’t work. That’s why I’ve seen a slew of shrinks since then. That’s why I came to you. To cure me of this affliction. But now I’m starting to think it’s not an affliction. This is who I really am. I’m not sick. I don’t need your help. I just need to embrace who I am.”

“You’re wrong. It is an affliction. A disease. You can’t control your impulses. If you confessed, you wouldn’t even go to prison. They’d deem you unfit to stand trial and ship you back to South Oaks. I can assure of it. I’ll testify in court if I have to and tell the judge you weren’t yourself when you killed all those people. It’ll work. I promise you, Mike. You just have to trust me.”

“Sorry, doc. I’m done trusting you. This session is over. I’m afraid we’re out of time.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to shoot me in cold blood and walk away?”

“To be honest, the guns not even loaded. But it worked, didn’t it? Certainly fooled you. And no, I’m not going to shoot you. I had something special in mind for you. I even brought my tools…”

***

It was dawn by the time Michael Loomis finished his work.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, doc. You tried your best to help me. You really gave it your best shot. But you can’t win them all. I appreciate you being there for me though. Well, some of you is there for me. Of course, some of you is over there. And some of you is over there. I certainly made a mess this time, didn’t I?”

Bloom’s silence was revealing.

His dismembered corpse was scattered all around the cabin. Michael had used a bone saw, taken him apart piece-by-piece.

Michael changed his blood spattered clothes and said a final goodbye. “Farewell, Bloom,” he said and turned to leave the cabin.

“The doctor is in,” he said and a malevolent grin crept over his face.