The Last Letter of Marcus Finch

I received an email attachment from an unknown address the other day, it claimed to know the whereabouts of one Marcus Finch, it also claimed that this was the last thing that was written by him while he was on vacation at a remote cabin. The cabin was found burned to ashes but Marcus’s body was never recovered.

I have been looking into Marcus’s disappearance with my paranormal investigations group for some time but we had recently decided that the case wasn’t going to bear fruit. After reading this we have changed our minds.

The letter also included coordinates that we are debating if we should check out, they are within the same forest where the cabin was located. After reading through the letter we are hesitant, as this is either a hoax in very poor taste…or very dangerous.

Here is the letter in its entirety:

I’m doing my best to remember everything as it was before. I suppose that’s part of the reason I’m writing this down. My mind feels as if it’s fractured and my thoughts seem to fall apart like dead rotting leaves every time I attempt to collect them. It’s bad tonight, the rain is making me anxious because the clouds block the moon and my vision is obscured. I know it’s still out there watching, even if I’m not sure what “it” is. It likes the water – I think it needs to stay wet actually – whenever it rains like this it seems to get closer to the house. I don’t see it – in fact I’ve only seen it once – but I hear it. It’s the sound of a thousand snakes sliding through the mud. Jesus…the sound is maddening.

I need to focus. I have already gotten way ahead of myself and likely left any reader of this confused and understandably questioning my mental state.

My name is Marcus and I’m writing this while held up in a cabin. I wouldn’t dare leave and I don’t know how long I have to wait for rescue as I was expected to be gone for at least a month. I come here to get away from everything typically, it’s isolated from the world and the nearest neighbor or town is over 15 miles away from me. No cellphone service, no internet, no distractions. A place where I can reboot my brain and get far away from the bullshit that seems to pile up in city life.

It’s normally serene. Surrounded by forest on all sides with only a dirt road leading in and behind it is a man-made pond, a fantastic spot to think. Once a year I take all my vacation time from work and rent this isolated cabin for a month, I stock up on food and supplies and I come up here alone to meditate on my life and find some clarity. It’s an extremely relaxing practice and I’ve been doing it for the last 5 years with no problems. I have a radio for emergencies and always inform people of where I’m going, I even let the local ranger’s station know that I’ll be up here. Prior to five days ago I had never had any issue and aside from the occasional hunter or deep woods hiker I have been alone during my month.

I like to watch the squirrels play when the storms clear. Yes, that was a thing I liked to do. Oh god what happened to them though? Like something out of a nightmare.

Yes, focus, yes. Five days ago…

Five days ago the ripples began in the pond. I have wondered before what started them, and I can vaguely remember the sound of a splash the night prior to them beginning but it’s hazy and I can’t be sure if it happened. I suppose it doesn’t matter how it started though, the point is that it started.

I remember sitting on the back porch and playing my guitar, the overhang protecting me from the drizzles of rain that had been falling since early that morning. As I played I spotted the first ripples, at first I thought maybe they were happening because of the rain or wind. They were too frequent though, to well-spaced. I set down my guitar (oh the beautiful tunes I used to pluck on that thing, it will be missed) and stepped out into the rain to get a closer look. I could make out something in the pond, threatening to break the surface but never actually doing so. It simply moved around just below the murky water with fallen leaves floating in its wake.

The pond had no fish so my first thought was that an animal who’d come to water itself had fallen in but that seemed unlikely, whatever it was seemed quite content below the water and it swum with a great deal of speed. Its movement was native to the water or at the very least it was something quite comfortable with it. Curiosity inched me closer to the edge of the pond, I could feel icy rain dotting my face and running down my nose and chin in drips, the sound of it pelting my jacket filled my ears as the light drizzle became more regular sized droplets.

I used to love the rain, now it brings that sound, that maddening fucking sound.

The waterline came into closer view and I noticed something else. Some kind of algae I’d never seen before coated the surface right before the water met the mud. It grew thick and almost seemed to glow a faint red in the dim daylight. I bent to study it closer and could smell something sickly sweet like rotting fruit, I reached out slowly to touch it but thought better and withdrew my hand to my pocket. I raised my head to fix my eyes once again on the swimming thing but it had disappeared into the pond, ducking to far below the surface of the muddy brown water for me to see.

The rain started to come down harder at that point and I retreated back to the cabin. I have a vague recollection of sipping scotch and staring at my radio wondering if I should call someone about the thing in my pond. I knew even at that point that something seemed very wrong but what would I say that didn’t make me sound like a crazy person?

No, I didn’t call them then. Not then. I just stared out the window warming my chest with booze and watching the rain come down in sheets. I could have sworn I saw the forest moving – pulsating – like it were breathing steadily. I told myself it was as trick of the rain, that my eyes couldn’t be trusted.

Oh god, can my eyes ever not be trusted anymore. Worse than that though I’m not sure my mind can be trusted. The sound outside is making it so hard to focus but I need to stay with my memories. I can trust those. Can’t I?

Next I read, then made my dinner, then slept. All the while listening to the rain and hearing occasional splashes from the pond. I would walk by the door to the back patio and glance at it on occasion but never saw anything but ripples moving across its rain dotted surface. My sleep that night was uneasy to say the least. The sound hadn’t started at that point but my mind was plagued with nightmares that left me tossing and turning.

I dreamt that my mouth was filled with worms and every time I would spit a clump to the floor more would birth themselves from the back of my throat. I woke up before the sunrise choking and sputtering and desperate for water, still able to feel them writhe and taste the earth of their segmented bodies on my tongue. Awful nightmares, I feel like I’ve had them before all this though, before the pond, but for the life of me I can’t remember.

As the sun crept to life behind the clouds it was greeted with silence, no birds chirping, and no animals scurrying about their morning business. None of the typical sounds I had grown used to during mornings at the cabin. I stood on the back porch and drank my coffee – trying desperately to forget the taste of the worms – and aside from the drips of rainwater off the roof the day was horribly quiet. At least until the splashing began again…

I watched it break the surface just barely, smooth skin that appeared to be the same color as the murky water bulged from below only briefly before vanishing. It seemed as if the red algae had expanded its influence as well, spreading to the grass around the pond. I once again pondered calling the rangers station and telling them what was happening in my pond, how it seemed wrong. Yet I couldn’t come up with the right words to convey the sense of unease I felt at the whole situation.

That coffee may have been the last time I felt warm. The heat in my throat and stomach emanating out through the rest of my body. You take those kind of feelings for granted until they are gone, or they seem like they are gone. Have I even tried?

Yes, there is a fire going, I had nearly forgotten. I’m still cold.

Oh, the topic at hand though, yes. The call to the Rangers Station. I walked back inside and must have stood staring at my radio trying to figure out what to say for a solid 20 or 30 minutes. I finally came to the conclusion that I should just spell things out as best I could and hope that my tone conveyed my feeling of concern. I picked up the handset, clicked the radio on, and was greeted by the familiar tone of static. I set the frequency to contact the rangers and held down the button to talk:

“Rangers Station, this is the cabin off Hoyajote trail, come back.”

There was a dread filled moment of silence in which I heard my heart thump in my ears then a voice crackled from out of the receiver.

Hoyajote trail, this is Rangers Station 221. What can I do for you?

I wonder now if that is the right number…it seemed right at the time.

“Heya, 221 one, I got something weird happening up here at my cabin. I’m not sure how to describe it.”

Weird ya say?

“Yeah, there’s something swimming around in my pond out back and there’s never been fish in there before. Also it’s growing some kind of funky algae.”

There was dead silence for at least a minute and I re-examined my words a dozen times before the Ranger came back on the line.

I’m sure everything’s fine Hoyajote, I wouldn’t worry about it.

Now it was my turn to be dumbstruck, I expected him to give me some kind of explanation or offer to come check it out but he simply stopped talking.

“Are you sure you can’t just come up here and check it out? I know I probably sound paranoid but for some reason I’m feeling really uncomfortable.”

Another minute of dead silence that set my teeth on edge.

I’m sure everything is fine Hoyajote, I wouldn’t worry about it.

Exact same tone, exact same inflection, exactly the same words. I felt a sudden nausea in the pit of my stomach and was reminded of the earthy taste of the worms.

Roads washed out and you’re gonna have to stay put till the storm passes. We’ll check back in with ya when everything is clear. I’m sure everything is fine Hoyajote, I wouldn’t worry about it. Ranger Station 221 over and out.

click

The static resumed and I couldn’t help but feel like I just got the brush off. I sat there calling the station back over and over again and getting no response. In frustration I threw the handset down and stood up to pace the room. I could hear the rain starting up again, it’s thick drops pelting the roof and sending the sweet smell of petrichor into the air.

It wasn’t them was it? The sound pretended to be the ranger station, I think. It’s a clever noise isn’t it? God I just want it to stop. I can’t fucking think anymore. The sound, when did it start? That godamn horrible noise. Was it before the ranger, or was it the ranger. No, the sound was after…

I tried to ignore the splashing and read a book by the fireplace. I loved to read and it always helped me relax. I was still angry about getting brushed off by the rangers but it felt likely that I was just being paranoid and they were right. Nothing to worry about. I didn’t know what it was, but it was the forest. Plants grow, animals swim.

I think that night was when the sound started. I remember lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, the rain had started to pour down once again (or had it never stopped) and the sound was relaxing to me. The pitter patter of water drops on the roof lulled me into a relaxed and almost meditative state. I was just drifting off to sleep when the sound began. At first I thought it was something conjured up by my subconscious, a trick of my mind bringing forth my anxieties about what was happening no matter how much I consciously attempted to deny it.

It was low at first, like a tickle at the base of my skull. Slithering, formless white noise digging its way into my mind. I sat up out of bed and attempted to listen closer. The sound was coming from the direction of the pond, and even the downpour was not masking it. It was a wet and slimy noise, like a live octopus wriggling across the ground – except loud enough to hear from behind my walls. It was moving closer and closer to the cabin and it made my heart thud in my chest.

Plants grow and animals swim, it’s the forest, it’s just a forest.

A forest that was breathing. I was ignoring that all day, but I knew even then. This fucking place was changing. Even now I try to deny it, even after seeing that deer, and those poor squirrels I’ve been trying to deny it. I’m focusing now though, collecting my thoughts, and I won’t let myself not see. I could hear it breathing behind the slithering snakes in the mud, I could hear it coming to life and hating me.

There was a wet slap against the glass on the back patio door. Not now, but then, I really need to stay on topic. Tell the story as best you can and get your mind together. You are still sane.

The sound on the back door shook me from the trance I’d fallen into listening to the horrid noise that was now drowning out the rain. I stood up and walked on shaking legs to examine the patio where it came from. I’d shut the generator off for the night and felt no desire to go out and turn it on so instead I wandered the dark house and peered out into the backyard from a safe distance.

I could see a thick trail of mud and sludge streaked across my back door but beyond that it was far too dark to see if anything was out there. I shook from the cold and moved closer to the dying embers of my earlier fire. The sound was drawing away from the house once again, but slowly, as if it were attempting to torture me by drawing its movement out for hours. Huddled near my armchair and staring out into the night I waited and waited for it to end, and eventually it did with a splash in the pond.

I didn’t move again till the sun rose.

The next morning I forced myself to eat a breakfast and drank my coffee. I stayed inside despite the fact that the rain had stopped and I could see sun peeking through the clouds. The disgusting streak of sludge stood out more on the glass to the patio doors and I could see a similar trail of filth across the patio itself. Around noon when the clouds were fully dissipated and the forest was awash with mid-day light I gathered the courage to go outside. I had heard now sloshing around from the pond and the trees seemed still, yet everything felt wrong.

The greens were too green and the sun was to dim, the earth smelled too rich and the air felt too thick. Every breath I took felt like it was going to make me cough and seemed to coat my throat and tongue. I made the choice to leave right then, I knew I needed to get away from this place. No matter what the false ranger told me, no matter how insane it seemed, something was happening to the world around me and it had to do with whatever was making its home in my pond.

I packed whatever I was unwilling to leave behind and rushed to my car which was parked a bit down the dirt road before you hiked into the cabin. The mud from the nightly rain squished beneath my hiking boots as I walked with my suitcase in one hand and my travel bag slung over my shoulder. It couldn’t have been more than three p.m. by the time I left, yet it seemed the sun was already setting and the clouds were once again starting to overtake the sky and choke out what light remained. The trees around me heaved and pulsed with every step that I took and at times it felt like there was something wrong with my eyes. The sight of it all made my head hurt.

I started walking faster and faster till I had broken into a run. I could see the squirrels I’d been so fond of watching in more normal times lined up at the edge of the road. They seemed larger somehow, and their bodies were subtlety twisted, their legs just slightly in the wrong places, their eyes bulging from the sockets, their tails longer than they should be. I could see their bones peeking out from beneath their skin and they clicked and chirped at me with strange noises as I rushed past them.

They were wrong, just like everything was. Just like I was starting to feel. Just like I feel now, I can’t even bring myself to look in the mirror. I don’t want to see if I’ve changed subtlety or clearly, I don’t want to see myself at all. GOD DAMN THIS FUCKING NOISE!

The car…yes, I made it to the car.

It had been ravaged. Its windows were smashed in and its tires were flat, the hood was open and pieces of the engine were scattered in front of it. My only way out was destroyed and as I stood helplessly staring at it, wondering how it could of happened, my knees grew weak and I fell to the mud. I could hear the off key chirps of birds I knew were mangled and the chattering of the squirrels that still watched me. It sounded like laughter in my ears.

The rain had started just as I returned to the outside of the cabin. The sun was completely gone now and I was walking in nearly pitch black, only the flashlight on my keys illuminating what was in front of me. The wet slithering at begun again, I could hear it from behind the house as I stood on the front porch. It had once again crawled from the pond and made its way towards the house. I stood with the rain pelting down on me both attempting to pretend I didn’t hear the thing yet knowing I did. Overtaken with a terrible curiosity and need to understand the horrors I was dealing with I flicked off my flashlight and stepped slowly around the outside of the house.

As I crept to the corner that would allow me to peer into the back yard I took a second to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. The rain dripped down my face and neck and I tried to focus on the way it felt rather than the terrible horror building in the pit of my stomach. The sound was so loud it felt like it was burrowing into my brain. I steeled myself to look around the corner and see what was beyond, but nothing could have prepared me. I’m fairly certain this is the moment my mind fractured and I’ve worked ever since to put it together again.

At first there was darkness and nothing but, though slowly it seemed to be created from the darkness itself by my eyes. I could see the great mass of shadow that was moving from the pond towards my cabin, tendrils flailing from its pulsing body as it moved and that terrible sound emanating from somewhere deep within it. My mind could barely comprehend the silhouette that it was seeing but my madness came when the lightning flashed and illuminated it the rest of the way.

I remember seeing so many different things that I’m not sure which of them were actually real. There seems like no way it could have been all of them, or maybe it was…maybe it doesn’t exist within our rules. Nothing makes sense anymore to me, maybe it’s everything.

I saw a leathery skinned wet mass with tentacles reaching towards me, its bulbous body lined with bulging black insect eyes. I saw a deer with twisted legs growing from its mid-section and mangled joints, its bleeding eyes focused on me as it twisted its lips back to reveal teeth set in receded gums. I saw a nude old woman whose body had been cut all over and was leaking blood from fresh wounds as she cackled. Myself, retching worms and stumbling through the mud with a smile on my face as if I were enjoying the whole thing.

I didn’t see each of these things in turn like they are written, I saw them all at once. Each a single memory of the same moment, each like a fracture down the soft part of my brain, and each memory bleeding into the other creating a mess in my minds eyes.

I remember screaming and running back towards the front of the house, the world around me pulsing with short shallow breaths as I reached the door. I could feel something leaking from my eyes and down my cheeks as well as something coming out of my ears. I didn’t need to check, I knew it was blood. I shouldered the cabin door open and flung myself inside slamming it behind me and clicking each lock closed. I made it three steps in before I collapsed in front of the cold fireplace and blacked out with that horrible fucking sound in my ears.

I woke with one of the most terrible headaches, one that still hasn’t gone away. The horrid slithering sound was still working its way into my brain while it mixed with the sound of rain pattering the roof and the radio emitting static. I turned to the windows and saw that the sun had come up while I was blacked out, I must have been out for a while, but time seems to have lost all meaning to me at this point. I got to my feet and looked out onto the back porch – it had been slathered with mud and slime that seemed to ungulate with each breath of the forest. The guitar I had left out there had been smashed to pieces and scattered among the filth.

Just hang tight Hoyajote, we’ll be coming for you soon.

The voice on the radio came through clear, the false ranger spoke to me with no prompting and I couldn’t even remember turning the radio on. In fact I have attempted to turn it off several times since as the false ranger keeps talking to me, but it won’t shut off.

I’m sure it’s nothing for you to be so concerned about, plants grow and fish swim. Right, Hoyajote?

It only ever says those two phrases but it won’t stop talking…it won’t shut up. The noise won’t stop, my headache won’t go away, I can’t get warm, and I can’t leave. The forest is alive out there, alive and moving by the will of whatever is in the pond. It comes with the dark and the rain, it’s coming back for me and it’s going to change me. It already has I think.

This hasn’t worked, my head still swims and I can’t make that fucking noise go away. I want it to end. It’s dark again now and I know it’s coming back for me. I can taste the earth on my tongue and feel the worms in my stomach. Maybe I should just go with it…

I don’t know anymore. I don’t know who I am. If you read this get out of here as fast as you can, there is something wrong here.

I used to be Marcus Finch, I used to love to watch the squirrels play when the rain would stop, I used to be Marcus Finch and everything is not going to be okay.

---

Credits

My Wife Left Four Incognito Tabs Open

I sat down at my computer and nearly had a heart attack: Chrome was front and center and in incognito mode.

Oh crap, I thought to myself. What did I leave open?

I quickly scanned the open tabs and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when I failed to find any pornography. My wife understands that I occasionally view adult content and she claims to be perfectly fine with it. She claims it is healthy, like going for a walk. Nevertheless, despite her acceptance, I feel compelled to hide the evidence as much as possible.

If it is not porn, then what is it? I saw four tabs and none of them were mine. My wife was on the computer last; she must have been aiming to hide her tracks but forgot to hit the tiny white ‘x’ in the upper right hand corner.

Why would she want to browse the web in secret? She could not possibly be up to something. We have been together for years; sure, we have had our ups and downs, but we have persevered. Our relationship has been pretty transparent and, as far as I could tell, we were great at communicating our problems with each other.

The four incognito tabs suggested otherwise.

I did not need this: I could feel the maddening creep of paranoia pulling me in irrational directions.

I am just stressed out, that is all, I thought. Work is a living hell. I loath everything about it: my boss, my coworkers, the endless Excel spreadsheets. All these emotions I was experiencing were simply my brain externalizing my anxiety onto my innocent wife.

But the uncertainty. . . It felt like a stomach ulcer, one that I could easily fix.

I had to look. Just a quick peek.

I know, I know—this was an egregious violation of the sanctity of marriage. An enduring relationship is based on a bedrock of trust. The mere act of unsanctioned snooping undermines this trust.

But still. . . I was so curious. She has never left an incognito window open before, let alone four. The nagging pangs of jealousy felt like toxins in my bloodstream. I wouldn’t be able to calm down until I learned the truth.

I opened the first tab: “Grandma’s Chocolate cupcake recipe.” The website went into explicit detail describing how to bake two-dozen perfect cupcakes. Chocolate, butter, sugar, eggs, flour, baking powder, salt, milk and vanilla. Not even the barest hint of infidelity.

I could feel the anxiety instantly leak away. So that is what she is up to! My birthday is tomorrow and she knows how much I adore baked goods.

I actually felt a bit guilty. I should have trusted her; instead I ruined a loving birthday surprise. I decided I would not say anything: I would mock surprise with an Oscar winning performance. These are amazing! I would say. You know me so well!

A niggling worm at the back of my brain reminded me that there were still three more tabs.

No! Not again! I had already ruined one birthday surprise. I was not going to do it again. Once more I could feel the onrush of anxiety rising up; my chest tightened and my focus wavered. One quick peek would not hurt. . .

I was not always like this. My job has me jumping at shadows. My boss constantly denigrates me in front of my coworkers, and they just join in, laughing and mocking me. I used to be laid back and happy-go-lucky; now I was overly suspicious, always looking over my shoulder. It is amazing the extent to which a hostile work environment can change your outlook on life. Every night I have to ingest a narcotic cocktail of prescription sleeping pills and vodka just to settle down.

I convinced myself that I could not function until I checked the next incognito tab. I was not in the mood to fight it. Besides, I already looked once. . .

*

The next incognito tab was titled “Flavorless poisons.”

I froze. In an instant I was awash with both shock and disbelief. Why the hell was she researching flavorless poison?

I scanned the website: it described in detail various concoctions that could be used to secretly kill. It documented cyanide and arsenic and highly toxic substances made from potatoes, nicotine and rotten meat.

There was an extensive write-up on ricin, an extraordinarily toxic substance derived from castor oil beans. According to the website, the unstoppable death spiral of an exposed victim begins with vomiting and diarrhea; it resembles food poisoning but with ample amounts of blood. These symptoms are soon followed by severe dehydration, low blood pressure and brain-rattling seizures. Within a few days, the liver, spleen and kidneys stop working, resulting in an excruciatingly painful death. Apparently, a dose of ricin as small as 0.3 mg can be fatal. Exposure can occur when ricin is touched, inhaled or ingested in food.

That last line stuck with me. Why would she be looking at recipes and poison at the same time? It did not take monumental mental gymnastics to put two and two together: she was planning on poisoning me on my birthday.

No, this is nonsense! I thought. I was making massive assumptions here. Maybe she was curious. Everyone Googles stupid questions. Yesterday, I Google’d whether guinea pigs farted. I had no motivation beyond silly inquisitiveness; I just wanted to know. Google does not punish dumb questions. I was being suspicious again.

The next tab would determine the truth of the matter.

*

The third tab was titled, “How to make ricin at home.” The page gave detailed, step-by-step instructions on how to prepare the poison. There were pictures, diagrams, and a handy video guide.

So this is her plan! I thought. The tutorial seemed pretty easy to follow and for all I knew she had already brewed up a batch somewhere. Maybe there is a cup of ricin waiting for me in the fridge right next to the milk.

Nonsense. It is not like we have bucket loads of castor oil sitting around the house. Unless I could prove otherwise, her efforts at poisoning me were exploratory.

I had to calm down. I could hear the words of my boss echo in my head: “Why you always so anxious? Is there something wrong with your brain?” He was an asshole, but maybe he was right.

One tab to go. It all came down to this. No point in hesitating now. I clicked on it.

It was an order form for castor beans. The words, “Thank you for your order!” dominated the center.

I could not believe it*.* There is nothing worse than having your paranoid delusions affirmed with concrete and undeniable facts. A part of me still held onto the belief that my concerns were all a fantastic construct within my imagination; but then I looked back at the tabs and the truth was undeniable. All doubt was sucked out of my mind: she was planning on poisoning me.

I heard the sound of creaking floorboards behind me. I quickly closed the browser window.

My wife leaned into the door frame. “You coming to bed soon?”

It was nearing midnight. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a moment!” I said.

There was no way I was going to fall asleep by natural means. I went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of vodka and opened the medicine cabinet. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills and went to bed.

*

The next morning, standing in the kitchen next to the rumbling coffeemaker, my wife kissed me on the forehead and said, “Happy birthday hon, I’ll have a BIG surprise for you when you get home tonight!”

“Aww, you don’t have to do anything special for me!”

No, really, please don’t!

I went into work with my future poisoning lingering in my mind.

Somehow my coworkers found out it was my birthday. They used the opportunity to ridicule me and call me ‘old man.’ They took things from my desk and hid them. When I politely asked for my stuff back, my boss said, “What stuff? Looks like someone is coming down with Alzheimer's!”

Then they sang their own unique rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ at lunchtime. Instead of the word ‘Dear,’ they inserted the line, ‘Worthless piece of shit.” It all felt coordinated and rehearsed. On a normal day I would be traumatized; today it barely registered.

*

After work, I returned home and my wife awaited me at the front door. “Happy birthday!” she said before giving me a big hug. Along the wall she hung a decorative banner with my name on it.

“Thanks babe,” I said with little enthusiasm. I looked and felt sour. I did not feel like dying today, but I did not want to let on that I invaded her privacy.

“Rough day at work?” she asked. “Well, I have a surprise that will cheer you right up.”

I put my hand up and stopped her before she could continue. “How about I make us a pot of coffee first?” I asked.

She smiled and squeezed me again. “Ahh, well, even though it is your birthday, you do make much better coffee than me!” I watched her disappear into the dining room.

How could she be so positive and upbeat? She was about to murder me!

I was not going to die quietly. I had a plan: if she was going to poison me, I was going to return the favor and take her down with me.

I made two equal-sized cups of coffee; then, I went into our medicine cupboard and grabbed a nearly full bottle of my prescription sleeping pills. I ground them all up into a fine powder. By this point the coffee had finished brewing so I filled both cups with steaming liquid. I filled her cup with the ground up pills, then I added creamer to both cups.

I brought both cups of coffee to the dining room. My wife sat at the table smiling contentedly at me.

“Thanks! I love your coffee. Did I ever mention that?” She took a large swig and placed her cup on the table. I sat down beside her.

“Time for your surprise!” She drew back the cloth that covered the table. In front of us were a dozen, delicious looking cupcakes.

“I know you have been stressed out with all those douchebags at work, so I wanted to make you something special.”

“These are amazing!” I said. “You know me so well!” I did not realize I was such a good actor.

I held the deadly morsel in my hand and examined it closely: it looked like a benign cupcake and it smelled like it was fresh from a professional bakery. How could so much evil reside in such a delightful treat?

I guess it was time to die: I took a huge bite, stuffing the cupcake into my mouth. It was delicious, everything that a cupcake aspires to be.

I wondered how long it would take for the poison to kick in. Would it be gradual or sudden? Would I fade away peacefully in my sleep or be violently wrenched kicking and screaming into death? I ate the whole thing and swallowed every crumb.

“Ready for your second surprise?” She pulled back another towel and unveiled another dozen cupcakes.

“More cupcakes?” I asked.

“Special cupcakes,” she said. “I want you to bring these ones into your work and leave them in your lunchroom. You must promise me that no matter what you will NOT eat one of these cupcakes.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they are laced with ricin! I want to make your work situation better, so I figured bioterrorism was the way to go!”

“So, the cupcake I just ate, was that poisoned too?”

“No! Goodness no! Why would I poison my sweetheart!” she said, swallowing the last of her coffee.

“Thanks!” I said, “I really appreciate it. I’ll bring them in tomorrow and kill them all!”

What have I done!

She gave me a hug and retreated into the kitchen. I grabbed one of the ricin cupcakes and shoved it into my mouth. I replaced the gap with one of the non-poisoned treats.

I should have trusted her. I should never have checked her incognito tabs. And now I have killed her. At least I wouldn’t have to live for very long with the guilt!

I felt beyond horrible. The only thing that would help now was a glass of milk.

---

Credits

Quitting

Hey, have you ever tried to quit smoking? Don’t mind how I’m dressed, it’s a new company dress code. No, no, no, I’m not here to sell you anything. Just listen to my story and make your own decision.

It had to be about a year ago this fall that I decided to quit. It was because of the usual reasons anyone quits. My wife, Audrey, and I were hard up for cash, given we where both unemployed at the time and she was pregnant. We both decided to make some sacrifices to save money in preparation for the arrival of the new baby. She sold off some of her jewelry to a local pawn shop and started looking for a stay at home job. I really cracked down on finding myself a real full time job and obviously decided to give up smoking as well. I had tried a few times before this with various methods. Cold turkey was first, then Nicorette gum, and of course the patch and to tell you the truth they are all full of it. I even tried that dumb fucking e-cigarette, piece of shit. News flash, save your money. Anyway where was I? Oh right. So this time I figured I would see my doctor about it and he would prescribe me some pills or something. I know, you don’t have to say it, “You were unemployed and you wanted to go to a doctor about this? How the fuck were you going to pay the bill or buy the prescription, dip shit?” We had enough left around to cut for this with the idea that it would save us money in the long run. Don’t worry, I got lucky.

I called up the doctor’s office and set up an appointment for 11:15 the next morning. I was going in to quit smoking in the first place so I held off on having any before I left. I hopped into my P.O.S. 1992 Ford Tempo and off I went. I strolled into the office sometime around 11:00. There was no line for the front desk and no people in the waiting room. Bonus! I wasn’t in the particular mood to sit and listen to some ass wipe complain about his life in the ever popular, “No matter how loud I talk you can’t hear me when I’m on my cell phone,” volume, or watch some teen mom with a lack of parenting skills let her kid rip apart the magazine rack today anyway. I stood at the front desk for a solid 10 minutes, as it turns out the receptionist was ass wipe with the phone. I stared at her and she held up the “Gimme a minute. I’m on the phone here.” finger. She giggles at her conversation and continues talking. I bit my tongue and tapped my finger on the desk. After a while, the receptionist decided that I was worthy of her attention.

“Can I help you?”, she asked in a really bitchy tone that made me want to grab her by the neck and squeeze until her head popped.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. I have an appointment to see Dr. Mattson for 11:15.”

“Name?”

“Mark Scranski.”

“Mr. Scranski, let’s see here. Ah, there it is. For 11:15, you say?”

“Yes that’s the one.”

“Well, there seems to be a few issues here.”

“Go figure, what could they be?”

“Well, number one, you’re late for your appointment.”

“Bull! I got here 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork. You were on your damn phone.”

“Sir, don’t start with an attitude or I will have you escorted off the property. I have no proof of when you arrived. You should have signed in on the sheet.”

“You saw me standing here! Never mind I’ll just sign in. Now, can I see the doc?”

“Well, that would be the other issue. Since you were late you missed your appointment and Dr. Mattson is booked tight for the rest of the day.”

“Really, your shitting me, right? No one is here.”

“Sir, I warned you and I will not do so again. Insurance?”

“Ha, I wish!”

“ ‘Ha’ is right! Just sign in and find a seat. I will see what I can do.”

I grabbed the pen and scratched my name into the sign-in sheet. Under ‘Time’ I wrote “11:00AM” as large as I could. I also happened to notice that no one else had signed in that day.

“Booked my ass.” I muttered under my breath. Believe it or not, the dumb cunt went right back to yakking on the phone. “This is fantastic. Fan – fucking – tastic.” I muttered a little louder. She glared at me for a second and then turned back to her “oh-so-important” phone conversation. I smirked a little and sat there with my proverbial thumb up my ass. I checked my watch and figured a magazine might help me pass the time. The magazine was full of your typical doctors office reading material. Parenting Magazine, Men’s Health, along with assorted other crap. I picked up a Motor Trend and flipped through the pages. Nothing was really worth spending any time reading, so I put it back. The wait was almost unbearable. Dull office white walls, the television droning in a repetitive loop of “Health News,” racks of pamphlets trying to convince people to ask for certain prescriptions. “If your ass hair grows faster than you can keep up with, ask your doctor about ‘Bullshitetophin’.” I was counting the dots on the ceiling tiles wondering if I should just reschedule for another day when I heard.

“Mr. Srumski, Mark Srumski?”

“Scranski.” I replied as I checked my watch and looked up to see a tall slender figure standing in the doorway. He was almost a sickly kind of skinny. Although he didn’t look old I couldn’t really put my finger on his age. He had short gray hair sticking out from a reddish-orange hair piece. His eyes were slightly sunken, his skin was pale, almost white. He wore a pair of burnt orange slacks with tan dots and a long, white lab coat. My jaw dropped at the sight of this odd looking man.

“Dr. Mattson?” I asked. It’s not like I ever spent any time at the doctor’s office and the stun of seeing this guy completely forced any idea of what Dr. Mattson actually looked like out of my head.

“No, unfortunately the good Dr. Mattson has just left the office due to a very sudden illness.” he replied in a somewhat hoarse, raspy voice.

“Ironic.” I thought in my head.

“The receptionist said he was booked for the day. Are you taking his patients?”

“Only some of them. I have just transferred to this office from Newport, RI and Dr. Mattson has graciously offered for me to take on some of his patients until I have established myself within this office. Patient allowing, of course.”

“Alright, I guess.” I was a bit hesitant but my impatient side got the better of me.

“Right this way then, Mr. Scarfski.”

“It’s Scranski,” I replied. I heard the receptionist holler something as the door shut but figured it was part of her phone conversation or maybe someone else interrupting it. I followed him into a small examination room. It had the normal examination table and a few posters of various body parts with medical terms and arrows pointing out the different parts that made up whatever the poster was supposed to be of.

“Ah, it says here it has been a while since your last check up.”

“Yeah, lack of funding, if you catch my drift. That’s not really what I came in for though.”

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t help you until you have had a physical.”

“Uh, well, you see, that’s kind of a problem. I don’t really have insurance to cover this visit and I am on a tight budget.”

“I see. Well, maybe we can make some sort of payment arrangement afterword?”

“I guess. Just try to keep it cheap doc, alright? I never did catch your name.” At the same time I thought to myself “My wife is going to fucking kill me when she see’s this bill, but its for my own good.”

“Oh, I am sorry you can call me Dr. Winston.”

“Alright Doc Winston. Let’s get this over with.”

He continued with a quick examination. He checked blood pressure, weight, ‘turn-my-head-and-cough’ so on and so forth. Last he checked my breathing. He held the cold stethoscope to my chest and asked me to breath deeply.

“Are you a smoker Mr. Srumski?”

“Listen, it’s Scranski. You know what, just call me Mark. Yes and that’s why I’m here actually.”

“Oh, is it? What seems to be the issue?”

I explained to him the situation and his blue gray eyes looked right through me as I spoke. As if reading into my soul. It was rather unsettling but I put it off for the time being.

“Well, you are in luck”, he said as he stretched a tight lipped grin across his white, fragile, paper- like features. “I just so happen to have here the chance of a lifetime. There is a newly developed medication for just such an individual as yourself.”

“Come on doc, really? Brand new? That means it’s going to cost me what? Both arms and a leg? What are we talking here?”

“No, no, you misunderstood. This medication has just entered the testing phase before it is released to the general public. They are currently willing to pay volunteers a sum of $1,500 to test it and report back on the results. Don’t worry, it has been cleared for human testing.”

“Really? They will pay me to take their pills just to see if they work or not?”

“Oh, not only that, but since you are my first patient and I have been closely involved with the development of this medication, I am willing to waive your bill for today’s visit if you agree to involve yourself with this trial.”

It seemed like a ‘win-win’. I would get my appointment for free along with the prescription I came for and to top it all off, I’m getting paid. I was in.

“Alright, sounds good. What are the terms of payment and what do I need to do?”

“Well, it is a 15 day trial. Each day we will meet and you will describe to me what the prescription is doing to you. I will pay you $100 per report. There are 2 types of pills. This box,” he held up a red and orange box “is what you will take 3 times daily. First thing in the morning, exactly halfway through your day, and just before sleep.” He held up a second box. It was black and gray. “In this box is what you shall take any time you have the urge to smoke. You shall continue to smoke through the trial and especially if you take a pill from the black and gray box. In fact, I will provide you with the cigarettes as well throughout the trial.” He handed me a coupon booklet that had to cover at least 3 cartons worth of cigarettes.

“If I keep smoking, how will this work?”

“Believe me. On the 15th day of the trial you will no longer want to smoke.”

“Really, could this get any better?”

“The only stipulation is you absolutely must complete the trial.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. If I don’t finish it you won’t pay me. I get it.” I turned to walk out. The receptionist met me at the door to the waiting room.

“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t just go bursting into the examination area of a doctor office. Your lucky I don’t call the authorities.”

“Listen lady, you must have had that phone further in your ear than I thought. The doc called me in. He gave me a free exam, a prescription and some coupons and now I’m leaving.”

“I’m calling the police. The doctor has been on his lunch break and will not see patients until 12:45.”

“Whatever lady, I’m sick of this shit. I’m out of here.” And with that I left. That was more than enough drama for one day. So I jumped in the Tempo with my loot, fired it up and went to pull out off the parking lot. I noticed the clock in the car read 12:07. “No way the visit was that short. I didn’t go into the exam room until 12:05. Even the clock doesn’t work in this piece of shit car.” My watch read the same. “Eh, I must have read it wrong earlier.” I made a pit stop on the way home and picked up a couple packs of Marlboro reds. I figured if the smokes are free I might as well get decent ones. Screw this USA Gold, Pall-Mall shit.

I walked in the house put my dog, Goose, on a leash and walked out back to have my first smoke of the day. Before I lit up I popped one of the gray and black pills then enjoyed my smokey goodness. Audrey saw me out back and decided to see what was going on.

“Hey honey! I wasn’t expecting you home so soon. Did you make your appointment?”

“Yeah, I got in. New doctor is a hair on the odd side and the receptionist was bat shit crazy but I got it done.”

“Then why are you smoking? I thought you went there to get something to help you with that.”

“Yeah, I did but don’t worry about it. He gave me these.” and I tossed her the boxes of pills.

“Great, how much did did this run us?”

“Including the full check up or just for the pills?”

“You had to get a check up too? Jesus Christ! I don’t wanna know.”

“No, go ahead, guess. It’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m going to say $500”

“Way off, try again.”

“Come on, I don’t want to play this game right now. Just tell me.”

“Alright fine. The appointment was free and the doc is going to pay me $1,500 to go on these pills for 15 days. All I have to do is meet up with him once a day and tell him how its going and he’ll give me $100 a day. Plus, he gave me coupons for free smokes while I’m on this trial. He told me to keep smoking like I normally do, just take the pills. Red and orange 3 times a day and the black and gray every time I want a cigarette.”

“Well, that is kind of odd, but if we’re getting paid for it I guess it’s worth a try.” She turned the boxes over in her hand and started making a remark about the pills but her words started to sound distant. My ears began to rush and my head was swimming. The world blurred in and out of focus and then nothing. I woke up with my wife standing over me phone in hand with 911 on the other end.

“Oh wait, he’s waking up now. Thank God. I’m not sure, hold on one second. Honey, are you okay? You passed out for a minute.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. My head hurts but I think I’m good.”

“Good, they’re sending an ambulance now.”

“No, oh no. No ambulance, I’m fine. It was just a head rush. Do you know how much an ambulance ride cost. Tell them to call it off. No, gimme the phone. I’ll do it. Hello, 911?”

A woman’s voice responded, “Sir, can you tell me what happened?”

“Don’t worry, call back your ambulance. I just had a bad head rush.”

“Sir, I need to confirm your condition before I can do that.”

“No big deal. I just passed out. I’m fine.”

The voice on the phone changed slightly. It deepened and gained a hoarse quality “You took them, didn’t you? The pills? Ha ha ha ha! Ashessss.” and then static.

“Sir? Sir? Are you still there?” said the operator who was now returning to normal.

“What did you just say?”

“Sir, are you on a cellular phone? Our connection seems to be bad.”

“No, what did you say about the pills and ashes?”

“Sir, I did not say anything about pills or ashes. Did you take something that caused you to pass out?”

“No, it must have been the static. I misheard you. I swear I am fine.”

“Alright sir, I will recall the ambulance and alert them it was a false alarm but if this happens again I would advise you to seek medical attention.”

“I’ll do that.” I said and hung up the phone. I wiped some drool from my mouth onto my sleeve and noticed it was black. I neglected to mention it to my wife. She had had enough stress for one day and I think I did as well.

The rest of our day was rather uneventful. As I was getting ready for bed thoughts of the voice on the phone and the strange doctor raced through my head. “Just a strange day,” I thought to myself. I picked up the boxes of pills and looked at them. There were no labels on the boxes. In fact, no words at all. Just a cardboard box that was red on one half and orange on the other. It was the same with the black and gray box. I pulled one of the blister packs of pills out of the red and orange box, popped one of the pills out of the foil backing and rolled it around in my hand. It didn’t look like any other pill I had seen before. Not that I usually spent very much time studding pills in the past. The pill was a clear casing with a red liquid inside. Another orange liquid swirled around inside the pill but didn’t mix in, kind of like oil and water. The entire pill emitted a faint glow. “It’s $1,500.” I thought to myself and swallowed the pill.

The next morning a awoke in a cold sweet. The black liquid was at the corners of my mouth again. I’ve never been one to remember my dreams but there was a definite feeling of dread. My wife stayed in bed and I went through my normal morning routine with the addition of taking my new pill. I brushed my teeth, set up coffee and went out back for my morning smoke and let Goose out. I pulled out the black and gray pills again. I had taken a few the day before but hadn’t really stopped to look at them. After looking at the other ones last night I decided to take a better look at these as well. They were similar to the red and orange ones except these ones were gray with black swirls. Rather than emitting light these seemed completely devoid of any. It was almost as if they sucked the light in from around them or they emitted darkness whichever way you want to look at it. I noticed the dog had stopped walking and was staring at me with his hackles raised. “Goose, what’s your problem?” Of course he didn’t respond, he just remained tense. “Probably a squirrel or a chipmunk behind me or something.” I went to pop the pill in my mouth and Goose let out a loud bark which startled me into dropping the pill on the ground. Goose, being the curious dog that he is, ran up to it and gave it a sniff. He let out a loud painful yelp and took off across the lawn. “Really, Goose? You’re such a pussy.” He was hiding in his dog house. I just shook my head, picked up the pill, swallowed it and had my smoke. It seemed each time I took them the head rush that accompanied them got less and less. I chalked it up to side effects. The black liquid had to be from the pills as well. I finally convinced a reluctant Goose out of his dog house and went back in the house.

The rest of the morning went on, as usual. Audrey rolled out of bed around 10:30. We browsed various web sites for jobs, flipped through the classifieds and watched some TV. Just then, the doorbell rang. When I checked the clock it was 12:05. I wasn’t expecting anyone so I went to the door prepared to tell some salesmen or a Jehovah Witness to go eat a dick. I peeked though the blinds and low and behold it was Dr. Winston. “What the fuck is he doing here?” I opened the door. “Hey doc. Uh, can I help you?”

“Mark, if I am correct? I came for our daily meeting and for your report.”

“Oh, that’s right. I had almost forgotten about that. I didn’t expect you to show up at my house. Did we schedule a meeting?”

“I said a meeting once a day, correct?”

“Yeah, I guess you did, but I kinda figured you would want to do it at a more convenient time at your office.”

“It has been 24 hours, has it not? What time would be more convenient for an unemployed gentleman such as yourself?

“Fair enough doc. So a report. I didn’t type anything up, can I just tell you about it?

“That would be all that is required.”

“Well, I suppose just some minor side effects. Especially from the gray and black pills. They gave me one hell of a head rush at first but they’re not as bad after each time I take them. Also I noticed some black liquid from my mouth every now and then.”

“Normal, all normal. Everything seems perfectly in order here then. Continue your regiment and I will meet you again tomorrow.” He handed me a $100 bill, turned and left.

“Who is it?” Audrey said from behind me.

“It was the doc just stopping by for our meeting.”

“Where? I kind of wanted to see this weirdo.”

“He just left. Here, throw this in your purse.” I handed her the $100.

“Honey, you didn’t talk to anyone. You opened the door, stood there for a second and then I walked up.”

I didn’t feel like arguing. You really shouldn’t argue with a pregnant woman. I went to take my mid-day pill and left it at that.

That evening, Audrey and I were watching the news and there was a report that caught my attention. “In other news, an unidentifiable body was found in an doctors office at 15 South Main St. in Marlborough. Police suspect the individual died sometime around noon yesterday and was placed in the office shortly afterward. An investigation has begun and limited details have been released to the public. The cause of death appears to be severe burns. The individual’s burns reduced the body to ash. If anyone has any information pertaining to this investigation, please contact your local authorities.”

“Mark, you were there when that happened.”

“No, no way. They must have gotten a bum scoop. Their times are wrong or something the only people at the office where me, the bitch behind the front desk, and Dr. Winston.”

“You don’t think…?”

“No. The dude was strange but not murderer strange.”

“Well, where was Dr. Mattson during all of this?”

“I guess he was sick and took a half day, Dr. Winston was covering for him. Then again the receptionist did say he was on lunch break. I never saw him.”

“Sounds a little suspicious to me. Maybe I should call it in.”

“Eh, I don’t really want to get involved.”

“There might be a reward.” she replied as she picked up the phone. After she made the call it wasn’t 10 minutes before the cops where at our door and dragging me down to the station as a possible homicide suspect. I explained it all to them and they corroborated the story with the receptionist. Eventually, they let me go although they never were able to contact Dr. Winston or Dr. Mattson.

The next few days went along as smoothly as could be expected. Audrey noticed that I was actually smoking more and I did bring it up a one of the meetings. Dr. Winston showed up at exactly 12:05 every day. All I was able to get out of the doc was “That’s perfectly normal. Just continue with the trial and report to me every day.”

I started feeling angry a lot and I was developing a strange gray spot on my finger with a red ring around the outside of it. The spot grew by the day and was accompanied by a burning sensation. The doc just said “Good, that means it is working.” I was starting to remember parts of my dreams as well. They were getting worse and worse. Every morning I woke up feeling deeply disturbed. The black liquid was always seeping from my mouth. It tasted burnt and ashy. It had to be day 7 of the ordeal that Audrey asked me to stop the trial. I refused, of course. I was actually craving the pills more than the cigarettes and I was only smoking as an excuse to take them.

“If you don’t stop taking these pills I am going to leave. I don’t like what they are doing to you.”

“Babe, don’t do this to me. We need the money.”

“But look at you. You look like hell. All you do is holler at everyone. I can’t stand to be near you. This needs to stop.”

“WE NEED THE MONEY. Don’t you blame this shit on me.”

“No, I’m not. Just stop yelling. I’m just asking you to duck out of the program that’s all. We will be fine. I need you to do this for me.”

I may have been angry but I did still have a little bit of judgment. “FINE. I will talk to the doctor tomorrow. Maybe I can convince him that his shit is NOT FUCKING WORKING.”

That night I vividly remembered my dream. I was standing in the darkness. The black was so thick I could feel it pressing down on me. If I had had a flashlight I doubt it would have lit up 4 feet in front of me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out 2 pills, one glowing red and orange, and one black and gray that was drawing the light from the other pill and pushing it out the other side in a thick smoke. I downed the pills and a cigarette appeared in front of me. Just above the filter the word “Mattson” was printed in small red letters. A flame appeared on the tip of my finger and I lit my smoke. As I took a drag, the flame rose higher into the air and grew larger. I took a second puff and the distinct scent of burning flesh washed over me. The flame came to a stop and the light started to shine over me. I noticed the ground was a thick black liquid. I continued to smoke my cigarette and noticed it had changed. What I now held in my hand was a human finger, ash covered the fingertip and I was smoking it from the severed end. I wiped the black liquid from my mouth and spit it on the ground. I finished smoking the finger calmly and woke up.

“What the fuck just happened” I yelled breathing heavily and the black liquid covered my chin.

“What, what’s the matter?”

“I am going to beat the shit out of the prick. I’ll fuckin shoot him”

“Who? Calm down. You’re not shooting anyone.”

“The doctor. He’s fucking killing me. That’s it, I’m getting off this shit today.” I got out of bed and started my morning routine as best as I could shaken by the dream. I took Goose out but he only ran and hid in his dog house occasional peering out at me to growl at me. “Stupid fucking dog.” I was now wishing I could take a pill and have a cigarette but I fought the urge. By 9:30 I was shaking from the need. Shortly after the police showed up to take me for a ride. I angrily agreed and allowed them to bring me to the station.

“I didn’t do shit.”

“We know that Mr. Scranski”

“Then why am I here?”

“Sir, we have yet to find this Dr. Winston. Has he tried to contact you?”

“Actually, I meet with him once a day just after noon.”

“Really? Mr. Scranski, why was this not brought to our attention beforehand?”

“I just figured you had gotten a hold of him.”

“ ‘Gotten a hold of him?’ We haven’t found a record of his transfer to this state or any proof of his existence at all. We can’t find any birth records, social security number, work history. Nothing. Never mind actually speak with the man.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“We believe you can help find out who this man really is.”

“Now how in the hell am I going to do that?”

“You said you meet with him once a day. Perhaps you would be willing to wear a wire?”

“Fuck it. Why not?” They set me up with a small digital recorder and a mic. They briefed me and explained some more details of the case. Apparently they where under the impression that the body belonged to Dr. Mattson and the only reason they thought the body was moved was, although it was nothing but a pile of ashes, nothing else in the room had any burn marks on it. How it was moved was completely unknown. Eventually they sent me on my way. I decided to walk home to try to blow off some steam and as I walked I had the distinct feeling of being followed. I didn’t look back. Next thing I knew the world went fuzzy again and the concrete came up to meet my face. I awoke to a foot on my back attached to a pair of burnt orange slacks with tan spots. I noticed my watch as well. 12:05.

“Ah, what the fuck?”

“Oh Mark, may I ask what it is you are doing?”

“Just walking home” I stumbled to my feet and switched on the recorder while brushing myself off and hoping he hadn’t noticed”

“Ha ha ha,” The laugh was sinister and made my skin crawl. “You can record anything I say It will not help you.”

“Listen Doc I’m done. I want nothing to do with this.”

“Oh no Mark. I told you. You must finish the trial. Do you need more incentive? What if I was to add a 0 to the end of our agreed upon payment?”

“No, No go there doc. This shit is killing me. My wife is threatening to leave me. My whole arm is gray now, I am always drooling this black shit. I don’t give a damn what you say it is NOT normal.”

“Oh Mark what if I where to tell you if you do not continue the trial your wife will pay the price rather than yourself”

“The price. You never said anything about a price if I stopped the trial.”

“You walked out before I could finish.” A smile crossed his lips.”Give me your gray arm.”

Out of fear and concern for my wife I complied. “Oh this is coming along nicely” He said as he examined my arm. He raised it and let it drop and stopped the motion as it became parallel to the ground. My arm simply fell off as if he ashed a giant cigarette. There was no pain and the burning sensation was still there. My jaw dropped and I tried to scoop the remains of my limb up.

“No. How? What in the hell did you do?” His laugh echoed in my ears.

“I can put it back if you simply do as you are told.”

“You couldn’t do this to Audrey. You can keep my arm.”

“Oh I couldn’t? Do you perhaps remember a Dr. Mattson.”

“Bastard. The cops know it was you. Who the fuck are you.”

“Sorry Mark. That I cannot tell you. Are you going to cooperate or not” His eyes told me he wasn’t lying. He would do it in a heart beat. I regretfully agreed. “Well take your medication and have a cigarette. Like a good boy.”

“I left them at home.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pill and a cigarette and watched as I smoked. With each drag I watched my arm reform from the ashes but retain its ashen color. I could feel the burning traveling to my chest and side. When I looked up from my arm the doc was gone. “Now what the hell do I do?” There was nothing I could do. I arrived home and Audrey met me at the door. I explained to her what had happened. The police station the recorder and my encounter with the doc on my walk home.

“I really think your loosing it Mark. Those pills are driving you crazy.”

“No I have it all here.” I held up the recorder.

“I guess I would have to hear it to believe this story.” I pressed play on the recorder and the recording started.

“Test test.” said one of the officer’s that had briefed me “Good works.”

I turned to my wife,“See I’m not making this up.” We turned our attention back to the recording.

“Ah, what the fuck,” and then static. Then a low tone rose from the tiny speaker. The frequency steadily rose higher and higher. I jammed the stop button but the tone continued to grow higher and loader until I dropped it to fall on my knees and cover my ears. Then the recorder then suddenly stopped. I looked up and Audrey was staring at me.

“What are you doing?”

“You didn’t hear that. He must be able to mask his voice or some shit.”

“I can’t do this. You are going to take those pills until they fucking kill you because some figment of your imagination threatened to kill me. I need some time, I can’t deal with this anymore. I am leaving. Call me when your back to normal.”

“Really. Don’t to this to me.”

“I can’t stay. I told you. Off those pills or I leave.”

“Fine, leave me. If I stop the pills he WILL FUCKING KILL YOU.”

“Go check yourself into a mental health clinic. You need help”

“GO FUCK YOURSELF. STUPID BITCH. GO. GET THE FUCK OUT.” She packed her bags right then and there. We didn’t say a word to each other. “At least her and the baby will be fine,” I thought to myself. The next morning she called and asked if I had taken the money out of her purse and why I had used her purse as an ash try. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about even though I was fully aware and knew she wouldn’t believe me anyway. She returned later that day to pick up the dog and some more of her belongings to the house in shambles and that was the last I saw of her.

For the days afterward I followed the regiment of pills. My dreams became more vivid and disturbing but I was getting used to them, I didn’t sleep much anyway. The gray was now covering most of my body along with the burning sensation that accompanied it. The burning was now not only on the surface of my skin but began to leech inward. I didn’t bother to wipe the black liquid from my face anymore seeing how it was now a constant stream now. The anger that had stared out like a nicotine fit had grown significantly. I couldn’t smoke enough, I couldn’t take enough pills to satisfy this urge, I needed something more. As I felt the anger swell within me I began to vent on my surroundings. I tried to watch some TV and take my mind off of everything that was happening. The news came on with an update of the investigation involving Dr. Winston, Dr. Mattson, and myself. I couldn’t stand listening to it. I ripped the plug out of the wall and sat in silence. That was worse so I turned on the radio which began to play the same news story.

“Fuck this.” I ripped the receiver off of the entertainment center shelf and I could hear the sizzle of electricity from where the wires had pulled out of the back of the receiver. The entire house went dark so I threw it into the TV screen. Dr. Winston still showed up everyday. He no longer bothered with the doorbell. At this point I was lacked the ability for an intelligible conversation so the doc would just watch and smile. I hated him and wanted him dead. For some reason each time I approached him to make an attempt on his life he was able to stop me in my tracks. I redirected my anger at whatever was nearby. He would stop me and I would smash the windows, or kick holes in the walls. I ripped cabinets from the kitchen walls and threw them out of the sliding glass door. “Why can’t I FUCKING KILL YOU?” The doc only smiled at me. “FUCK YOUR REPORT!”

“Mark you have shown me all I need to see.” I then tore the silverware drawer out of the counter and grabbed a fistful of knives. The doc just shook his head at me and I could do nothing. I threw the knives at the wall and a few of them stuck.

“What do you want from me? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?”

“You will learn soon enough.”

On day fourteen, they came. The police that is. I had never gone back to the station after they had set me up with the recorder. I imagine the state of the house tipped them off that something wasn’t right. There where two of them, the same two that had spoken with me.

“Mr. Scranski? Are you home? Are you alright?”

“LEAVE NOW!”

“Sir, we just want to talk. Just come out and speak with us.” They continued to walk into the house. They stepped out of the hallway into the kitchen.

“Are you sure you want me to come out?”

“Yes Mr. Scranski. Just come out.”

I gave them what they wanted. They where not expecting to see me in the state I was in. I could see the fear in their eyes when I rushed them. They made an attempted to draw their pistols but my baseball bat slowed down the first officers reaction time when it came into contact with the side of his head and the other decided this would be a good time to leave. He made it to the broken sliding door when my knife entered his kidney dropping him quickly to the floor. As he screamed in pain and bled out I returned to the first officer who was still unconscious and dispatched him with a single stab into his chest. After pocketing one of the pistols I dragged the bodies to the forest behind the house and placed them on a large pile of dry leaves, covered them in gasoline and lit them. I then proceeded to take two black and gray pills and stand over the burning bodies to inhale the smoke. I stood there until both bodies where reduced to ash. The burning gray then surged and completed covering my entire body. I could feel it inside and out. I sat in the forest for another two days or so popping pills and eating the ashes from the remains. When there was nothing left I returned home in the early morning before the sun rose to a swarm of police cars.

Most of the officers were inside and the property was surrounded in crime scene tape. They must have shown up not long after I left. I do not believe they expected anyone to return to the scene and it was relatively easy to walk up the the rear of the house following the shadows of the brush line that ran across the yard. From a distance I could see into the windows. The flashlights of the officers and what I can only assume to be detectives shown brightly in almost every room. I watched them tag various parts of the house and snap pictures as they worked. I edged the house and ducked under windows toward the two hundred-pound propane tanks that ran the stove, fridge, water heater and dryer. I picked up a piece of glass from one of the windows nearby and severed the rubber gas line I then lit a cigarette and placed it on the ground in the dry leaves next to the tank. As I backed away I watched the leaves smolder. Eventually the leaves ignited. I raised the pistol and waited. When I saw the propane ignite I took my shot. It punctured the tank on the left hand side and the resulting explosion was enormous. I felt the shock-wave knock me to the ground. As I regained my feet I saw the destruction. The entire wall of the house was blown out the others walls where significantly damaged. Pieces off building lumber was strewn all around me. Among some of the nearby wreckage lay one of the officers with a large piece of shrapnel lodge in his forehead. I grabbed one of his arms and pulled him out from under the flaming chuck off wall. As I tugged him free I could feel his shoulder pop from his socket and some of the tendons tear. Behind me all I could hear were screams and shouting. It made me smile. Gunfire came next. If they hit me, I didn’t notice. I fired the remainder of the magazine from my pistol in the general direction the other shots had come from but I was far to distracted with my new loot to notice if anyone was hit or not. I dragged the body back toward the forest. No one followed. I assume there were to many in need of immediate medical attention to send anyone in after me. Perhaps they where calling addition backup to stage a manhunt. Either way I was in the clear for the time being.

I made may way deep into the forest dragging the officer behind me. I walked for hours deeper and deeper into a dense section of evergreens thick enough to block out the sun. At one point I saw the doc out of the corner of my eye. His smile had never been bigger. When I finally stopped I began to gather small twigs, dry leaves and pine needles into a pile placed my victim upon his newly erected funeral pyre. Most of the man’s clothing and skin had been torn away. A body being dragged though a forest has a nasty habit of catching on fallen branches and the like. His scalp was reduced to patches of blood matted hair stuck to his exposed skull. Even that had large cracks and dents from the occasional rock or log. I proceeded to down the rest of the pills in the box and lit the officer ablaze. The dizziness then returned in force and the world faded out of focus. A moment of clarity came to me, an understanding of what I had just done. Then I hit the ground.

I don’t know how long I was out but when I finally awoke he was standing over me with a bag in one hand and a smile on his face. He put his hand out to help me up. As soon as I made contact with him the rage left me. I could feel the burning subside. I looked around and saw 4 more bodies lying nearby. They where nothing but ashed but retained there basic shape to an extent. My skin flake off like the a ash of a cigarette exposing the stark white skin underneath.

“You have done well.” The doc seemed very pleased with me now but I could say nothing. “You are aware that you can not return now. They will hunt you down.” I simply nodded. He dropped the bag at my feet. I could see through the opening what looked to be a white lab coat and something burnt orange and tan. He held out his hand again. In it was a pack of assorted cigarettes and a new kind of pill. This one was red and black and swirled furiously. “Take the pill and choose.” I quickly took the pill and felt a surge of energy through my body. I watched my skin flake off like the a ash of a cigarette exposing the stark white skin underneath. I understood now.

Like I said I am not trying to sell you anything. Oh my apologies I don’t believe I ever introduced myself either. You may call me Dr. Doral and I am offering you the chance of a lifetime.

---

Credits

Why I Became an Atheist

Atheists get something of a bad rap. When a religious person hears the word, it often fills them with a sense of dread or anger. Personally, I believe this is because the possibility that the god they have dedicated their lives to being fake fills them with an empty sadness.

I don't believe in God. Along with that, I don't believe in ghosts, ghouls or monsters. This isn't a story about some supernatural terror that stalks the night. If things like that do exist, I haven’t seen them. You have to understand that I am a skeptic first. I only believe in what evidence compels me to believe. That is why I am an atheist.

What I have seen is far more terrifying than any monster.

I was not always an atheist. My father and I were both very pious. We were involved in a religious movement called the Followers of the Way. This was by no means a large group. In my time with the sect, it never reached more than twenty-five members; adults and children included.

I now realize that this church as we called it, was really a cult.

The story I am about to tell took place when I was about to turn 16. Dad and I had joined the movement about a year prior. After moving to the area my father, a deeply spiritual man, was unable to find a church he liked. We felt like a couple of guys without a home. Understand that when you are deeply entrenched in religion, it becomes the center of your life. Life without a church can feel like life without meaning. Eventually however, he spoke to people in the right circles and before I knew it, we were attending three weekly meetings of the Followers of the Way.

I never had much choice in this. My father was quite strict, you see. I grew up without video games or Internet. Every night after dinner and before bed, my dad and I would read scripture together and discuss how we could enrich our connection with God. As strange as this may sound, I never really complained. My dad was a consultant with an engineering firm, so we moved a lot. I never had a lot of close friends, so he really was my closest companion. My mother had died when I was 10, so all we had was each other. It was the only life I knew.

My only other friend in the world before joining the Followers was Bear. Bear was our giant, Leonberger. If you have never seen one, these are tall, stocky dogs with great personalities. I loved Bear. We had gotten him shortly after Mom died. He had helped me get through the hardest time in my life.

When Dad started taking me to Followers meetings, I was struck by how different it was from any other church I had attended growing up. We didn't actually meet in a church, for one. Every meeting was in a member's house. The leader, Ross, would lead us in deep scripture lessons and prayer. Similar to many churches, halfway through, those below the age of 16 would leave the meeting to do activities befitting a younger age. For us, it usually meant doing a written report on the scriptures or solitary prayer.

The biggest differences though were in our beliefs. In our eyes, our group was the chosen circle of God's true word. The people who packed into commercial churches for an hour every Sunday were just puppets going through the religious motions. Maybe they meant well, but they were not God's true followers. We believed that we and we alone were predestined to enter God's glory. I can't stress enough that I now realize how cult-like these beliefs were, but please understand; it was all I knew.

Amongst the teens, we always wondered what happened after we joined the adult study. At the time, there were only four of us. Myself, 13 year-old Chris, and the 14 year-old twins, Katie and Becky. Kids younger than 12 were deemed too young to take God seriously, and typically stayed home.

At that age, I never really thought about romance. Pastor Ross, as we called him, forbade it. He called it a distraction from God. Love was for adults. But looking back, I think I had a little crush on the twins.

“Do you think they take communion with Christ, like in John 6?” Katie asked inquisitively after one Wednesday meeting.

“My Mom always talks about speaking with God. She really hears Him,” Chris insisted. “I bet that you get to talk to God once you're an adult.”

This was a touchy subject for me. Scripture and friends alike always talked about hearing the word of God. While I was sure that I had felt Him many times, I had never actually heard His voice. Was I not a good enough Follower? Was I doing something wrong? I always felt that desire to commune with God. I yearned for it, but I never heard His voice.

Nonetheless, as the oldest, I always tried to sound wise. “You guys know we'll all see soon enough. When our 16th birthdays come, we'll be in the adult group, too.”

“Easy for you to say. You turn 16 in what, like two weeks?” replied Becky.

She was right. Even though I had been with the group shorter than my three friends, I was going to get to join the adult group soon. Some nights after prayer, I would lay in bed with Bear snoring lightly at my feet while thinking about what was ahead. I tried not to give in to the sin of pride, but I was thrilled at what lay before me.

“Oh, you have to tell us what it's like,” Chris pleaded. “Just a little bit. I still have three years to wait.”

Before I could say anything, Becky interjected with a smile, “Nah, he'll be a big cool adult like Brad. He won't tell us anything.”

“Yep,” Katie said. “He'll probably strut around like an adult and send us away when it's time for adult study.” She emphasized the word adult.

I knew they were kidding, but it still made me a little sad because I knew they were right. A month ago when Brad, the twins older brother, had turned 16, he had stopped hanging out with us literally overnight. Part of my excitement at coming of age was getting Brad back as a friend.

When Brad had his 16th birthday, it was bittersweet for me. Of course I was happy that my friend would get to deepen his relationship with God, but I was afraid of losing him, even for a little while. I liked Chris, Katie, and Becky well enough, but Brad was both a boy and my age. I was closest with him, and I knew he liked me a lot, too.

As soon as Brad and I had met, we just hit it off. Our friendship felt natural. Whenever we were together, Brad went out of his way to sit by me or make sure we worked together in group activities at meetings. I think he had been hoping a boy his age would join the Followers for a long time. He wanted a best friend.

Two weeks before his birthday, he had come to stay over at my house. He did this every once and awhile. I never got to stay at his house since he had sisters and Pastor Ross would have said it was inappropriate for me to stay there.

After dinner and scripture, we went up to my room to talk for a while before bed. When he stayed over, I usually let him have the bed while I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor with Bear.

As weird as it may sound, we talked a lot about scripture for fun. I mentioned before that things like Internet, video games, and comics were forbidden by my dad, but we had the Bible. We had our own heroes. That night we sat on my bed and talked about how cool it would have been to be there to see David fight Goliath. We went on at length about how epic the battle must have been.

But in the middle of the conversation, Brad just went in another direction, like he had been holding something in. “Do you think we'll still be... friends like this after we turn 16?”

“Of course, Brad,” I said. “You're my best friend, after Bear here.” I scratched his massive head and he sighed with approval.

“I just,” Brad paused, staring at his feet. “Sometimes I just want things to stay just like this. You're really important to me and I just don't want things to change.”

I felt like Brad wanted to say something important, but he was struggling with the words. “Hey,” I said, putting my hand on his knee to get his attention. He tensed up slightly.

“Our birthdays are only a month apart, even if we don't get to see each other much for that month, things will go back to normal when I turn 16. It'll be alright.”

Brad sat there for awhile as if thinking. After a minute, he unexpectedly pulled me into a strong hug.

“I... really love you,” he whispered into my shoulder.

“Hey, I love you too, brother.”

It would be a long time before I realized the significance of that night.

After Brad's birthday, I didn't see him for a week. When I inquired, Pastor Ross told me that Brad was away, deepening his connection with God. I missed my friend immensely, but I knew that eventually I would turn 16 and be in the loop.

When Brad finally did come back, he seemed different. The first time I saw him, I ran over to give him a hug, but Brad pulled away. In the weeks before my birthday, he just seemed off. It wasn't that he would not talk to me. Rather, he just seemed to treat me like a random acquaintance. Gone was our close friendship which we had built over the year we had known each other. I can't lie; it hurt. But I hoped that pain would be short lived with my birthday fast approaching.

On the day of my sixteenth birthday, Dad picked me up from school; something he almost never did. He had left work early to spend the afternoon with me. “Hey, champ. Are you ready for your big day?”

“Yeah, Dad. I can't wait. Praise God.”

“Praise God, son.”

Dad was so proud of me that night. He made me feel special. Since Mom had died, we had gone through everything together. This night was the culmination of my journey into adulthood and I knew my dad was with me every step of the way.

He took me to my favorite restaurant, a local pizza joint, for an early dinner. After dinner, we went for a few rounds of bowling to kill time until our Followers meeting. So far, it was turning out to be a great birthday.

Within a few hours, it would be the worst day of my life.

When we arrived at Ross' house for the meeting, it was such a surreal experience. From the moment I got there, I was the center of attention. Everyone, Brad included, wished me a happy birthday. After a round of the birthday song, Pastor Ross led us in scripture. I was no doubt beaming with joy.

As was customary, after an hour, the kids were dismissed. As they left, Katie jokingly said to me, “See you in a few years, Mister Adult.” The other grownups laughed as Katie, Becky, and Chris were ushered out of the room.

Suddenly, it felt very quiet. I looked around and realized that everyone was looking intently at me.

Dad came up behind me. “Ready kiddo?” he asked.

“Yes'sir.”

At that, Pastor Ross walked right up to me. His tall build loomed nearly a foot over me. “Let's step outside for a minute while everyone else gets ready for the ceremony. I want to talk to you alone first.”

I looked at Dad, confused. Ceremony? I didn't realize how formal this really was. I was suddenly overly-conscious of my scuffed shoes, t-shirt, and old blue jeans. But Dad just gave me a thumbs up and I headed outside with Pastor Ross.

We went on a short walk around Ross' ranch house. Pastor Ross lived out in the country. The area was rather secluded and surrounded by woods. Some people might be scared at the prospect of walking in the woods with an older man, but I trusted Pastor Ross completely. As we walked the circle of the property, I never lost sight of the house.

“Do you know what it means to be a servant of God, son?” he asked me.

I thought about it for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of test. “Well, it's living our lives wholly for His glory.”

“That's right,” Pastor Ross said. Ross was a very charismatic man; he was very good at making you feel loved by God. On top of that, he made all of us feel like we belonged to the Followers as a family. He put his arms up and continued. “Our lives are meant to glorify the creator. We were created in His divine image to exemplify His name among the heathens who abandon Him.”

“You mean all the sinners and evil people?” I asked.

His arms went down. “Yes, but also those who believe they follow. They drag His holy name through the dirt by claiming to follow our lord God above.”

I became a little uncomfortable at this. “Pastor Ross, I'm curious. I know that we are God's children, but why can't people outside the Followers of the Way be godly people as well?”

Ross stopped and turned to face me. “Do not forget son what is said in Matthew 7. 'But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.' Never forget that we are those few. All others who carry God's name do so without sanction.”

“Yeah, I know you're right,” I said. “I just feel sad for everyone going to Hell.”

“You have a big heart,” Ross replied. “Use it to grow a family in the church and glorify God's name.”

We had nearly circled the property. “The main reason I brought you out here was to ask you a question. I'm sure your father and the others are nearly done setting up. You have been a good child of God this past year. But are you ready to make the sacrifices needed to be a man of God?” He put his heavy hand on my shoulder.

Sacrifices? At the time, I thought he meant charity, or some sort of community service.

“Yes Pastor Ross, I am.”

He smiled and led me back inside. The door to the room where our meeting was being held was shut, but Brad was waiting for me. Pastor Ross nodded to Brad, then slipped into the meeting room.

“Wait up a minute,” Brad said to me. “I wanted you to know that I'm sorry things have been weird. I'm really happy that now we can be brothers in Christ together.”

I smiled at him. I was happy, too.

He looked at me and said, “Happy Birthday,” and swung the door open. And then, my childhood ended.

Pastor Ross, my dad, Brad and the twin's parents, and a few other adults were in the room. The shades had all been drawn and the only illumination came from several dozen candles which were all around the room. Brad entered behind me and closed the door.

“Welcome, brother,” said Pastor Ross. “Tonight, you are a man of God.”

I was scared. I wasn't sure why at first, but something about this unnerved me to my core. The room was almost unrecognizable. Gone was the comfortable living room we typically met in. If I had ever seen a horror movie, I might have likened it to some sort of demonic alter. The dim lighting drew the shadows of the room long. They seemed to darken everyone’s faces. Perhaps because of the darkness, I only now realized that my dad was holding a leash. At the end of that leash was Bear.

“Dad, what's going on? Why is Bear here?”

Pastor Ross spoke up before my dad could respond. “To be a true Follower of the Way means we are all one family. And families trust each other; love each other. But mostly, we hold each other accountable. To truly commune with God, we must purge ourselves of sin. That is why we are all here.”

I looked around the room. Dad was smiling while Bear rested at his feet. Brad stood beside me. Pastor Ross' gaze never left my face. I noticed that one hand had remained behind his back since I had entered the room.

“It is sin to put anything else before God, son,” Pastor Ross. “That is why the animal is here. Both your father and brother Brad have told us that you put this beast before God. God must always come first in our lives. To be a true Follower, we have all had to purge ourselves of our sin. Be that sin pride, adultery, or in your case, creating a false idol.”

I didn't know what was happening. My happy little world was crashing in on me. I was acutely aware that I was shaking. My breath quickened. What had I done wrong?

Pastor Ross walked up to me and pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing a large chef's knife. “It is time for you to absolve yourself of your sins. As is said in Paul's letter to the Romans, the wages of sin is death.”

It took a moment before I realized what he was saying. I absentmindedly took the knife from his hand before it sunk in.

“Wait... what?... Bear? You want me to...” My chest started heaving. Hot tears welled in my eyes. “But no. That’s crazy. Bear is a good boy. But I never put him before God. But he's my friend. You can't ask me to...” I fell to my knees. Bear looked up at me and tried to walk over to me. My dad pulled him back.

“Son,” Dad said. “You must. You have put earthly things before God. We all must give things up in the name of God. I lost your mother so many years ago. That was my punishment for living a sinful life when I was your age. Pastor Ross has helped me see that. I know this is hard, but we must stand firm and resolute in the eyes of God.”

“But Dad...” I was bawling now. This was too much. I couldn't comprehend what I was hearing. They were asking me to sacrifice Bear in the name of God. But I loved Bear. Without Bear, I never would have made it through Mom's death. He had given me so much and only asked for my love in return. Could I really do this?

I realized that Brad had knelt down beside me. “I know how hard this is. Cleansing sin is so difficult because Satan has a hold on you, like he did me. I...” he paused, as if looking for the right words. “I was filled with a sinful lust. A lust that would have torn our friendship apart. That was my sin. It was evil and it nearly consumed me. But with Pastor Ross' help and that knife... I removed my lust. And then... I saw God. I really saw him.”

My head swam. My entire world was crumbling. What was this? I felt like I couldn't handle the information coming into my head. In this moment, I just sat there, my gaze alternating from Bear to the knife. I was in total shock. A faint numbness settled in, almost as though I wasn't really there.

It wouldn't last.

Pastor Ross stepped between my father and I and knelt in front of me. “To commune with God, you must be free of sin.”

“I...” I felt my grip on the knife tighten. For a moment, I actually considered it. I had told Pastor Ross that my life belonged to God. It was my duty to see that nothing stood before Him. I was a Follower of the Way.

But then I saw Bear. He was looking right at me. Panting slightly with that big dog smile that I still love to this day. This was my best friend. He loved me unconditionally. I could no more hurt him than myself.

The knife slipped from my fingers and clattered to the ground. “I can't.”

The atmosphere in the room grew tense. It was silent for some time. I just stared at the floor, waiting for what came next. Everyone seemed to have shifted. They were looking at Pastor Ross, waiting to see how he would respond. Ross eyed me, deciding how to handle the situation. He hunched over and picked up the knife.

“You seem sure,” Ross said quietly. He then violently grabbed my arm and said coldly, “Then if you choose to abandon God, you will forever wear the mark of the beast.”

With surprising strength, Ross pinned my left arm down. Before I fully understood what was happening, he slowly went about carving into my arm. The pain was blinding. The heat of the knife seared through my body. I tried to yank my arm away, but Ross' strength was significant. What hurt the most though was my father, standing there watching this happen. He did nothing to stop his only son from being mutilated. Even after I gave up resisting, Dad stood there, emotionless.

When Ross was done, I looked down at my arm. To my horror, he truly had marked me as evil. Three deep 6's had been carved into my flesh; down to the muscle. Blood ran down my arm and pooled on the floor below me.

I bore the mark of the beast.

“Why?” I sobbed as I fell to the floor.

I knew I was finished. I was done with the group. I had failed. I lay there in agony as Ross spoke.

“You are the evil of the world, boy and I cast you out of this fellowship and out of my home. But before that, I must finish God's work.” He bent down, inches from my face and whispered, so that only I could hear. “God's will be done.”

Ross' armed whipped back in a flash. I realized too late what he had meant. In his eyes, he had to vanquish the evil beast of Satan which stood in his own home. I peered over his shoulder and saw the silver steel blade of the knife already embedded deep within Bear's skull. He fell unceremoniously in a heap on the ground.

I would eventually tell myself that it had been fast. I'm sure Bear felt nothing. It had been a quick death and he didn't suffer. In the moment though, my arm was completely forgotten. The agony I felt in my heart was a torrent of complete pain. I shoved past Ross and grabbed Bear's head. In that moment, I lay there cradling him. My face burned as tears streamed down my face.

Part of me died that night.

I heard Ross say to my father, “Get that monster out of my house.” I had no doubt he was talking about me. Together, they forced me off of Bear. I tried to resist, to hold on to my Bear, but between my wound and their adult strength, I could not fight them. I was forced out of the house and into our car.

Dad drove me home in silence. But I didn't shed anymore tears. Not in front of him. In that moment, I had lost all capacity to feel.

When we got home, I went straight to my bedroom. Several minutes later, my father came in. He held a first aid kit in his hand. My father had always been there for me. He was my constant. Even now, our fun night of pizza and bowling thousands of miles away, I still wanted him to tell me it would be OK.

“You'll need this,” he said curtly, before tossing the first aid kit on my bed. He turned his back to leave, but paused at my door. “Have your things packed by morning. And may God have mercy on your wretched soul.”

After that, I heard him leave the house, climb into his car, and speed off.

I did my best to wrap my wound. It was a sloppy job, but it would keep me from bleeding to death in my sleep. I was no professional though. I had no stitches or anything else to fix myself. I knew I would bear these scars forever.

I did as instructed and packed up anything meaningful, which didn't amount to much. One suitcase filled with some clothes and a picture of me with Bear when he was a puppy. To this day, it is still my prized possession. I didn't pack my Bible.

Finally, I crawled into bed. Instinctively, I looked down at the foot of my bed where Bear usually slept. At that point, my sobs came freely. I mourned everything that I had lost that night. My church. My friends. My father. My Bear.

I had always been a good, godly person. I saw the best in everyone. I had never been in a fight. I had never had any bad feelings toward anyone in my life. That night, I experienced hate for the first time.

I hated Pastor Ross.

I hated my father.

I hated God.

Despite what happened to me all those years ago, I like to think that I am an optimist at heart, so I want to end this story on a positive note.

The next morning, I went downstairs to find not my father, but my aunt and uncle. It turns out, my father's sister (whom I had only seen a few times) had always disapproved of my overly religious upbringing. At some point in the night, my father called her and asked if I could move in with them. He had told her that I was a rebellious teenager who needed a change of scenery. Despite his lies, she knew me better than that. She later told me that she was worried I might be in trouble and flew out that night. Twenty-four hours after the worst moment in my life, I was three states away. I never saw my father again.

My aunt and uncle were kind people. She was a science teacher at a local high school and he was a journalist at the local paper. I never gave them the sick details of my falling out with Dad and they didn't ask. They took me in as their own. They were the embodiment of the normal Sunday churchgoers I grew up looking down on. I was so ashamed of myself when I realized how good these people really were. How could I have been so blind?

I loved learning about science from my aunt. Growing up, my dad always tried to suppress my enjoyment of the subject. Two years after my ordeal, I went to college with the plan to major in microbiology.

I had difficulty making friends in high school but, my first college roommate, Rick and I hit it off. It wasn't until I realized that he was gay that I put the pieces of Brad's puzzle together. Brad had loved me. That revelation hurt more than I thought I had the capacity for after that night. What hurt even more was the nightmares.

In the dream, I was back in that room. Only now, it was just me, Pastor Ross, and my dad. Bear was already lying dead on the floor. I was standing there naked. Ross and Dad were chanting, “Remove your sin, remove your sin, remove your sin...” over and over again. The knife was in my hand. I would slowly lower the blade to my crotch, but before I cut myself, before I mutilated myself as Brad had, I woke screaming.

What still burns inside me is that part of me still misses Brad. Despite the circumstances of that night, I never hated or even blamed him. He was a kid, like I was. We were indoctrinated; brainwashed by our church. I wish I could go back and save him, but I'm sure he is too far gone now.

A few months into college, I met Amy at an on-campus family abuse support group (I could never bring myself to share, but it felt good to listen to others). Amy had been beaten up pretty regularly by her alcoholic mother as a kid.

She was everything I never thought I deserved. She was beautiful, smart, but most of all, kind. Before I knew it, we were dating. Things moved quickly between us. After we made love for the first time, she noticed the 666 scars carved into my arm. I started telling her a bogus story about doing it myself, but then I broke down into tears and told her the truth. The entire truth. I had never told anybody that. Most girls would've ran after something like that. We hardly knew each other. But Amy just held me and let me cry. She made it easier somehow. Talking made it easier. After that night, the frequency of the nightmares declined drastically.

I guess that brings us back to the beginning. Eventually, I came to view myself as an atheist, because no loving god could ever allow the horrors that came to me that night. No god could let a group of so-called righteous people mutilate defenseless kids and get away with it. I could also go into my scientific reasons for my atheism, but that isn't the point of this story.

It's been five years since that night. Next year, when we finish college, Amy and I are getting married. My roommate Rick will be my best man and my aunt and uncle will be there for me. I have a new family now and that is all I have ever wanted.

I still have that picture of myself with Bear on my nightstand. I miss him everyday.

To this day, I am still haunted by the past. I recently saw a flier on my college campus for a meeting of the Followers of the Way. It surely couldn't be the same group, could it?

It got me thinking, though. Chris, Katie, Becky... and Brad are all college aged now. If they went off to college, surely they would want to spread their sick gospel. I know I would have. The reason I put this out there is as a warning. If you choose to attend a church or a religious club, be careful. I know most are harmless and mean well. But remember, there are no monsters. No evil ghouls. Men can be evil. Ideologies can be evil. And both can scar you for life.

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Written by RaydiantWon