Bridge Of Writing (Domination #1) by DeYtH Banger (christmas read aloud .txt) 📕

Long nails—no, talons—gangrenous and yellow, tore into my shoulder and held me back. I stumbled and fell. I was going to die; I could feel its breath on my face again. I could taste the death on its hidden lips…

I. Will. Not. Die! With a yell I rose up and grab its sallow arm, tearing its claws out of my back with a sharp flash of pain and blood. The monstrosity gibbered and yelped. And I ran. And I ran. And I ran. And I tripped again.

Falling, falling down into darkness, skidding across mud and stones. Almost drowning in the muck, I tumbled down and down. Then it all came to a stop…

I looked up from the bottom of a ditch and realized I’m out of the cornfield. I was at the road. The rain had gone away. The wind had died. Best of all, my car was parked by the edge of the road. I wasted no time in jumping in, locking the door, and starting the engine. Miraculously, I had half a tank of gas. With a yell, I stepped on the gas pedal, hoping to charge forward forever and ever out of the blackness and into the light of day. The mud churned beneath me.

My tires spun helplessly, then sunk into the muck. Ahead of me, the cornstalks parted, and the dead thing crawled out into the beam of my headlights. With growls and burbles it slowly slipped through the mire in front of me, taking its time, savoring the web of dread it had trapped me in…

Last chance… I stepped the gas again and flew forward. The creature leaped. My windshield cracked. With a “thunk” and a splash of purple blood, it collided against the car then flew across the road. “FUCK YOU!” I cried as I steered towards its crumpled form. Ten feet – five feet – three feet. It got up. I missed. But as I went swerving by it didn't give chase. I could see it in the rear-view mirror, struggling to stand up. I shifted into reverse and revved the engine. Then a shape appeared above the cornstalks. Blotting out the moon, a shadow climbed out of the field and walked down to the road. The light of night shone off shoulders that stretched meters across; forty feet above the ground the outline of a head eclipsed the stars. It bent down to the monstrosity sitting in a pool of vile blood. The shadow picked it up, caressed it. Then it turned toward me. A low moan filled the air, rattling the car and sending the cornstalks into another mad dance. With its free hand, the monstrous shadow reached down to its waist then lifted something high into the air. Something big and sharp that reflected the light of the moon across the darkened fields…

I slammed back into gear and flew forward. The moan continued, the steering wheel coming loose in my hands. The cornfield are in a mad frenzy, stalks bending and swaying with so much force they uproot and toss into the air, covering the road in shadows and leaves. “Thud thud thud thud thud,” ground-shaking footsteps coming for me, coming closer. A shriek of metal and something cleaved the roof of my car in two; light spilled into the car like air into a wound. The sound of twisting metal deafened me as the wheels began to lift off the ground…

And then it was over. I dropped back to the road and accelerated, the shadow’s footsteps fading away into its hellish moan. I tore down the road without abandon, the dark shape and its unearthly call fading behind me… I get it now.

The horrible, blubbering shape was merely a pet, a dog, a guardian of whatever nightmarish creature lives and works in the barn. IT was the true master of that slaughterhouse. Although it was far behind - that dark shadow - it looked enormous. It turned, a flash of silver bursting from its hand, as it disappeared back into the swaying cornfields…

Pedal to the metal. 130 mph. The engine roaring, the tires squealing. I flew down the road, impervious to my surroundings, to the blood flowing down my back. Minutes passed like lifetimes. Trees and shadows loomed like a thousand unnamed horrors down upon my head. Then, a light. More lights. A town. Not just a town, THE town, the fucking place I was trying to reach so long ago, earlier today in an earlier life. I stumbled into a diner, the screaming of the waitress lulling me into dark unconsciousness…

Sleepwalking, the doctors say. Here, take these pills, they say. A hundred doctors, maybe more, and they all agree that I’m a headcase. The cuts on my face and arms? Scratches from the sharp corn leaves. My shattered windshield? I drove into a ditch. They throw a rainbow of pills in my face to cut down on my dreams, to avoid panic attacks, to bury my sorrows in a field of manufactured happiness. I guess doctors know best?

Still, there are some things they’ve never been able to explain. I had some tests done on the purple liquid spattering my car. Inconclusive, all of them; apparently it’s blood, but contains things that are not blood. There isn’t much to say about the straight, clean cut that runs the length of my roof either; nobody has been able to tell me what can cleave steel like butter. Then there are the four jagged wounds across my back that ooze pus and bleed, but refuse to heal…

I stay in the city now. The chalky smell of concrete, the sharp smell of steel, even the bitter aroma of living humans keeps me sane. My apartment has no plants in it. I eat meat and bread. The sight of a cob of corn, or even a kernel, makes me throw up, sometimes faint. For the most part, I can interact normally (except for the vomiting thing) and pretend like that last day in July never happened.

I feel perfectly safe in the daytime…

But each night when I sleep, I’m forced back.

Back to the moonlit fields, where the cornstalks bend and sway with the howling wind.

Back to the hall of corpses, where the hooded monstrosity shrieks and gibbers and twitches.

Back to the haunting ground of the unseen butcher, whose long knives flash into the darkness.

Originally posted on /x/ by Black Fedora Man

Note: Don't Be Nice

June 13th 2008:
The Wife says that journals help alleviate stress, and retain memories. She always has some new way to make me feel like I have some sort of mental deficiency. She says she’s going to read it for a few weeks to make sure that I actually write in it. Pretty rude if you ask me, I don’t think she’d like it if I went reading through her journal… if she keeps one. But you know what they say, “happy wife, happy life.” So, I guess I’ll just do what she says.

June 15th 2008:
Well, I got a gold star for my last entry, so I suppose I’m doing something right… for once. So I guess I should write about what happened today… well Cheyenne, our daughter, came home today talking about her day with my mother. Mom loves taking her to the ice cream shop up the road. She also talked about her friend she met while playing in the woods. I don't like her going out there alone. She says she wants to go over to her friend's next door house tonight. Maybe I can actually have some playtime of my own, with my special friend!

June 16th 2008:
Slept with my wife for the first time in about two weeks, got to say, if anything alleviates stress, it would be a nice shag like that. Cheyenne is coming home in a few hours so I guess I should get dressed, wouldn’t want her to be scarred! The first time I saw my dad naked, I think I blacked out, there are just some things kids shouldn’t see.

June 20th 2008:
Today, Cheyenne came to bed with us for the first time in about five years. She said the monsters outside her window were trying to get in. But she’s only eight, so what are you going to do about it, right? I think I was scared of monsters ‘til I was about nine or so, so it’s not anything out of the ordinary.

June 21st 2008:
Cheyenne hasn’t been eating a lot, and she looks kind of pale. I try talking to her, but she just says she’s fine. Mom should be coming to get her soon. Maybe she can talk to her.

June 22nd 2008:
Mom says she’s worried about Cheyenne, says that she isn’t acting right. The wife thinks we should take her to a psychiatrist… as if we weren’t out of money already. But if it will help Cheyenne, then I suppose it's okay.

June 24th 2008:
Well, Cheyenne isn’t doing so hot with the psychiatrist. She hardly talks, and when she does she just talks about the monsters out her window. The psychiatrist thinks it’s some kind of coping mechanism for something traumatic. The man asked if the wife and I were arguing, or fighting, he obviously doesn’t know what kind of a spineless man I am…

June 26th 2008:
Cheyenne won’t sleep in her room anymore, she say when she does the “tree man” talks to her. I hope she gets over this soon, can’t really have some bedtime play when the kid in the bed.

July 2nd 2008:
Well it’s been awhile and Cheyenne seems to be getting worse. Now she won’t talk at all, she just sits there in the living room staring out the window, she hasn’t slept in her room, and she keeps waking up screaming, I can’t sleep well enough to function at work anymore, and the Boss says I need to shape up, or I may wind up out of a job. This whole situation is fucked.

July 4th 2008:
Last night at about 3 in the morning Cheyenne woke up screaming again, pointing at our door, she wouldn’t talk, just cry. I got fed up and grabbed the bat beside the bed and went into the hallway. Cheyenne’s window was open, and her bed sheets were strewn across the room. I looked out the window, but nothing was there. Some sick bastard must be trying to kidnap her, I called the cops, but they said they couldn’t find anything to suggest forced entry…I swear if I see that creep I’ll cave his skull in.

July 5th 2008:
Cheyenne talked for the first time in ages today. She said the tree man doesn’t like her hiding from him. I tried to get more out of her, but she just kept talking about this tree man. She says he just wants to play, I don’t like this, maybe Cheyenne should stay with my mother for a bit, after that ordeal with her room, I don’t like the idea of someone breaking in with her here.

July 6th 2008:
Mom took Cheyenne over to her house, hopefully Mom can get her to talk.

July 8th 2008:
Mom called last night, and said that Cheyenne was acting really strange, I told her about the