Chapter Text
Ringing.
That’s all you hear.
High-pitched wails pierce your eardrums, painting them useless to any other sounds.
Blood.
All you taste.
All you smell.
All you see.
Warm blood seeps into your mouth.
It tastes like metal.
The provider of this crimson liquid lays motionless on the ground.
A rock the size of a loaf of bread in your shaking hands.
Blood covered the stone.
His blood calls upon you from the ground on which it was spilled, like Abel's blood called from the soil to God when Cain murdered his brother in a fit of rage and jealousy.
Why? It begs for a response.
For that, you don’t know the answer.
Your trembling hands drop the rock. It lands a few centimeters from your blood covered shoes. You don’t have the mind to care. You don't have the mind to do anything besides stare in terror and disbelief at the damage you caused.
There’s no fixing this.
You’re terrified.
An unfamiliar buzz rises in your head, like thousands of bees are flying around your head every nano-second.
Maybe your day of judgment is coming quicker than you thought.
—
QUACK
QUACK
QUACK
QUA-
The obnoxious quacking stops as your fingers squeeze around the power button on your phone.
6:00.
You lay in bed for a few more seconds, chasing the last few moments of sleep. It doesn't work, so you shove the heavy quilts off of your legs and slide out of bed. Goosebumps rise as the cold air hits your exposed legs. You shiver, then step over to your window.
The sun was just beginning to rise, little slivers of light ready for the world to bask in its golden glow. You turn on your heels and trudge past your small dresser. On top of it sits a picture of you and Dad, with you sitting in his lap while he strums his beloved but old guitar and sings to you. His broken watch sits beside his picture, the one you gave him for his birthday. The hands don’t work, the face is cracked in multiple places, but you keep it. It reminds you of him.
Beside them, almost like a taunt, lays his Iraq Service Medal and dog tags that you swear still have flecks of blood in them, no matter how hard you scrub. A lump starts to rise in your throat before you swallow it back and quicken your pace to the kitchen.
You pass through the living room on the way to your kitchen. Your two Bloodhounds, Claire and Colter, lay sprawled out on the couch. They raise their heads to look at you before jumping not-so-gracefully onto the hardwood to follow you. You enter the kitchen and yawn.
"Good mornin', guys,” you manage to get out before you're attacked by slobbering beasts. You laugh as they start to play-fight, with Claire trying to swallow Colter's head whole.
"You hungry?" You ask, however you know the answer. They dance around your feet like little ankle-biter dogs, as if they're not five times bigger. You stumble as you make your way to their food bucket. You take off the lid, fill the cup in the bucket full of food, then dump it into their bowls. They scarf it down like they've never had a meal a day in their lives. You laugh again before deciding to make your own breakfast. You reach into a cabinet above your coffee machine and grab the coffee grounds. You open the top of the coffee maker and pour the grounds into it. You set the grounds beside the machine then grab an empty mug beside the sink and fill it with water. You dump the water into the pot then flick the top back down. You press the ON button then squat down to grab the toaster. The loud gurgle of the coffee machine manages to drown out the loud slurps coming from the dogs. You untangle the plugs and rise back up, hitting your head on the counter.
"Motherfucker," you mutter as you rub the back of your head.
You plug the toaster in and pry open the bread box. You grab a loaf of bread out, open it, and slip two slices into the heating toaster. You tie the loaf of bread up, then shove it back into the box. You make your way to the fridge and grab a Mason jar full of strawberry jam out. You set it onto the table then wrap your fingers around the silverware drawer, pulling it open then grabbing a butter knife. Your toast pops up just as the coffee maker beeps, so you fumble with the hot toast as you try to set it onto a plate while also trying to take the pot off of the stand. It all works out in the end, even if you almost dropped your coffee mug twice.
You sit down then grab the butter knife and unscrew the jam lid. You take a big glob of jam and spread it onto the toast, relishing in the scents blessing your nose. The only sounds were Claire and Colter eating and your soft chewing. The sun had gotten higher in the sky, the birds were singing their morning ballads. It was your own, secluded heaven.
You smell it before you taste it.
Blood.
You brush it aside, maybe it's not blood, maybe you’re smelling things. You take another bite of toast. The metallic taste of blood coats your taste buds. You spit out the piece of toast, and rise quickly, your hands flying to your mouth. You discover the blood is coming from your nose and not your mouth, and run to the bathroom, attempting to not fall on the way there. Your attempts are futile, as you trip over a dog toy left on a rug and fall forward, slamming down hard on both of your knees. You skid across the floor and wince as you feel skin being ripped away from your legs.
"Fuckin' hell," you curse before shoving yourself up and to the bathroom. You finally reach the bathroom and fumble for a light switch. The lights flicker on and you step to the toilet, tearing a chunk of toilet paper off of the roll and patting down both knees, which had caused blood to stream down your legs. Blood runs through your open, chapped lips from your nose. You raise a hand to swipe away the blood as more replaces it. You jump on the counter and rummage through the medicine cabinet, quickly finding Neosporin and large, square band-aids. You dab blood which had begun to bead on top of the wounds with the rest of the bloodied toilet paper. You pop the cap on the Neosporin and place a healthy glob on both knees, gently rubbing it over the scrapes. You place both band-aids over both knees, and smack the band-aids down. You jump down from the counter and grab more toilet paper, wad it up then shove it into both nostrils. A soft pit-pat signifies the hounds are nearing the bathroom. You squeeze soap into your hands and turn on the faucet. Scalding hot water streams out, making you jump and hiss in pain. You feel fur by your legs, and look down. Your two beloved hounds stand by your feet, sniffing at your knees. Their noses tickle, and you laugh. You grab a small towel from beside the sink and dry your hands. You throw it on the counter and head back to the kitchen.
What the fuck was that?
Shrugging it off, you sit back down at the table and finish your breakfast. Colter lays his massive head on your legs, and looks up at you pleadingly with those droopy eyes. Claire busies herself with cleaning out their food bowls. After finishing breakfast-which meant giving the dogs the last few bites of toast-you headed to your room to get dressed. You slid open your closet doors, and grabbed the first shirt you saw. It was for a big-name seed company a little ways down the mountain. It was well loved and worn-the multiple small holes littering it proved that. You toss the shirt onto your bed and walk over to your dresser. You yank open a drawer, and take out a pair of Levi’s blue jeans. You toss them on the bed too, as well as your undergarments.
You quickly dress, then ball your sleep clothes into a tight ball and walk to the kitchen. Off the kitchen sits your small washer. A clothing line hung outside, just a few feet away from the window over the sink. You dump the clothes into the washer then walk back to your room. The hounds have relocated back to the couch where you found them this morning. As soon as you cross the threshold into the bathroom, a terrible pounding rises in your head, as if someone was drilling into your skull. It was so intense, you stumble forwards and grab onto the counter before you fall. You cry out as the pressure intensifies, but you force yourself to stand. You open your eyes and are transfixed on the mirror in front of you. Or rather, the image behind you.
(NIMM DEINE FICKEN MEDIZIN)
Behind you stands quite the odd figure. IT is incredibly tall, easily towering over you. IT is so tall IT ’s neck cranes to look down at you. IT ’s skin-if you could call it that- is off-white, the color of decomposing bones. IT wore a crisp, black suit with a blood red tie. IT had no face, only a skull with a golden tooth in the top gum, one of the incisors. IT had hollow eye sockets, but you could feel the burn of IT ’s intense gaze. Static roared in your ears, drowning out any other sounds. It was gibberish, but you could make out words. The creature didn’t seem happy.
(DU VERDAMMTE FOTZE, ICH KANN DEIN SCHWEIN RIECHEN)
IT was covered in what appeared to be moldy cheese cloth, hence the yellowish color. IT seemed to be sending out negative aura waves of some kind, you felt absolutely miserable in IT ‘s presence. IT was nightmare fuel reincarnated: IT made horror movie villains look like children’s cartoon characters. You blinked, and IT was gone.
Your eyes focus on yourself back in the mirror, and all the sound returns to the world. Your head pounds painfully. You press your fingers down hard on your temples, as if that’d ground you. It works, but only a bit. During that odd interaction, your nose had started bleeding for the second time. You push yourself away from the sink and tear off a few squares of toilet paper. You wad them up then shove it up your nose.
“The hell was that,” you mutter out loud to no one in particular. You wait for your nose to stop bleeding so you can finish getting ready. You walk over to your bed and grab your phone from the charger. Your background lights up the screen, it’s a picture of you and your coworker and friend, Hank. You slide up and unlock it, checking your texts. At one point, another one of your coworkers, Jack, had texted. Something about his truck broke down and he needs a ride.
Sure, you reply.
What time are you gonna be here? You hadn’t expected him to reply so early.
Gonna leave in about 5 minutes, be there in 15.
Ok was his response.
You text your mother good morning, then shove your phone in your back pocket. You enter the bathroom, and throw away your bloody tissues. You wipe a hand across your nose, no blood comes away with it. You start your skincare routine, which consists of lathering it in CeraVe then scrubbing it all off. You get all the product off, then go to raise your head out of the sink, which you ultimately slam your head against the faucet.
“Well, God damn,” you say through clenched teeth. You rub the back of your head, where there’s bound to be a goose egg popping up. Water runs into your eyes, blurring your vision as you stumble over to your towel rack. You dry your face, then hang your towel back up. You step out of the bathroom and into your bedroom, where you grab a Carhartt sweatshirt out of your closet. You rummage through the drawers in the table beside your bed. You grab your holster and .44 Magnum and slip the holster on your belt. You flick out the barrel on your caliber and count the bullets. Only 2. Your fingers dance around the drawer until you find more bullets. You shove the shells into the chamber then snap it shut. You grab your wallet and stick it in your back pocket. Your gaze wanders up to the top of your dresser, to Dad’s picture. You trace your fingers over his face, the hole he left in your heart felt bigger than ever. You set down the picture, beside where his dog tags lay. You slip them over your head, shoving them underneath your sweatshirt. They burned your skin through your shirt. You grab his silver watch, clasping it around your wrist. You slide your sleeve back over it then walk out before you do something stupid, like cry.
“Claire, Colter, come here!” you call as you make your way to the kitchen. You hear two loud thumps as they tumble off of the couch. You pull out a chair and grab your boots from beside the table. You slip them over your feet as your hounds' nails click against the porcelain tile. You bend over to tie them, and instantly two droopy faces are shoved into yours. You laugh as they cover your face in slobber. You finish tying your boots and push the dogs away gently, standing up and pushing the chair back under the table. You walk over to the door and slip on your jean jacket, then grab your collection of keys from the hook. Both dogs have their faces shoved against the door, trying to push through the atoms that made it impossible. You open it and they sprint out to the same tree, chasing a squirrel that isn’t even there. Their tails point straight up as they run into the woods surrounding you, on the scent of an unfortunate animal. You grab your keys from your pocket and walk over to your ‘94 Ford-350. You slide the key into the keyhole and unlock it, swinging the door open. You start the engine, hearing the engine purr loudly. You decide to let it warm up a bit before you leave.
You shut the door and walk back to your chicken coop at the back of the house with your hands shoved in your pockets. You round the pen and take your hands from your pockets, then grab a woven basket from beside their food bags. You reach inside the food bag and gather a scoop, filling it up with food. You push open their wooden door and enter the coop. They flock around your ankles, ready to eat. You pour the food in their hanging feeder and they trip over each other in the pursuit of food. You step over them to their nests. One mother hen sits in one of the nests along the wall, staring you down, practically daring you to take her eggs. You leave her be and take the eggs from the other nests. Exactly a dozen. You gently place them inside of the basket and walk back out of the coop. You bolt the door tightly, then walk back to the house. You open the door and walk over to the kitchen. You grab an empty carton from beside the fridge and place the eggs into the carton, then sit the carton in the fridge. You grab the basket then walk back out to the chickens. You sit the basket back by the food bags and exchange it for a water pail. You walk over to the small water pump beside the house and begin to pump water for the chickens. When the pail is full, you stop and grab the pail’s handle and pick it up. You walk back to the chickens, sloshing water onto your boots and the ground in the process. You unbolt the door to the chickens and pour the water into their waterer. The chickens pecked away at their food. You look at the nests and the hen is still there. You don’t mind. Baby chicks are pretty cute. You walk back out the door then set the pail down. You make your way to your truck.
You step around the house and stand beside your truck. You look around the trees surrounding you and your eyes catch on a white tailed deer. You count the buck’s horns. 10-pointer. If only it was deer season. You grab the keys from the ignition and call for the dogs.
“Colter! Claire! Come here!” you shout. A few moments later, you hear the sound of two large bodies moving through the brush. For such a praised hunting breed, they definitely weren’t quiet. You walk to the door when you see them break through the edge of the woods. You open the door and they run inside, running and jumping on the couch.
“Bye guys!” you call out to them before shutting and locking the door. You walk over to your truck and slide into the driver’s seat. You pull your phone from your back pocket and check the time. 6:45. Perfect, just on time. You quickly text Jack.
On my way
His reply comes a few seconds later.
Ok
You slip into reverse then back up. You switch to drive and pull out of your small driveway to Jack’s home. He lives about 9 miles away from you, and he lives off the road you take down the mountain, so it’s never an inconvenience to pick him up.
Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched by a male with orange goggles and sharp hatchets hooked to his belt.
Hatchets just itching to be used.
Hatchets craving to taste your blood.
-
You flick through the radio stations before the smooth sounds of Fingers to the Bone fills your ears. You turn it up then take your hand away from the radio and place it on the wheel.
“I work my fingers to the bone, not a pretty little penny have I got to show,” the song starts to play.
You glance at your calloused hands as the song carries on.
"I lift my voice to the forces above, the Lords of labor and the Goddess of love, ain't I been a good, hard-workin', faithful servant and son?” you sang along.
“Then the sky turns black, and it cracks with a thunderin' voice 'Work is what you are when you're breathin' in and out 'till your final breath falls to the floor,” the song keeps playing. The song ends, then switches to Johnny Cash, then The Devil Makes Three. You turn down the road to Jack’s. You make it there just as Man Tap ends. Jack walks out of his door, carrying his water jug. You turn down the radio as he opens the door.
“Good mornin’,” he says, slamming the door and adjusting the seat.
“Good mornin’,’ you reply back, “you want somethin’ to eat or drink? We’ll go to FastBreak,” you ask.
“Sure, I could use a coffee,” he answers. He reaches over to the radio and turns it up. Hank Jr plays. You two sit in a comfortable silence. You near civilization and slow down to turn into the gas station. You pull up beside a pump and stop the truck.
“I’m gonna head in, what do ya want?” Jack asks.
“Mmm,” you hum as you open the gas cap and punch in the information to the gas pump, “coffee, two creamers, bit of sugar, and a Little Debbie snack cake. Whatever’s fine,” you reply. Jack nods.
“M gonna go to the bathroom, might be a few,” he says before backing away.
“Okay,” you reply, then shove the gas pump into the gas tank.
You stand in silence for a few moments before a car pulls into the lot, to the pump opposite to you. You glance at it then avert your eyes. For some odd reason, you feel sorrowful, miserable. You glance up again as you hear the engine shut off and a door slam.
(You fucking bitch-)
There stands a man with bushy mutton chops. He’s got the thickest sideburns you’ve ever seen. He stares at the ground with dark brown eyes, so dark they look black. He has a strong nose, and thick eyebrows. His mouth is down turned into an everlasting frown. Dark circles sit underneath his eyes, with eye-bags big enough to hold your dead lift PR in them. He has thick hair just as dark as his eyes. His solemn gaze flicks up to yours. You’re hit with a wave of negative emotions. Anger, fear, hopelessness. It’s so intense and raw that it makes your hands falter on the gas pump handle and your knees buckle. He looks away from you then walks into the gas station. When he walks away, you instantly feel better. Those negative emotions were gone, leaving you confused. As he opens the gas station door, the passenger side door of his car opens. Out steps a tall man, taller than the man before. He had icy blue eyes, with neatly trimmed hair and nice features. His features weren’t rugged, instead softer on the eyes. He had a scar on his upper lip that slightly pulled his lip upwards, allowing you to see a sliver of his teeth. You look back at the pump, it’s rude to stare.
You’re hit with another wave of emotions, this time not as negative. The waves were annoyance and frustration. The man pops open the fuel tank and taps in the amount of cash and gas into the pump. He unscrews the gas cap and shoves the gas pump handle in it. Your gas handle clicks shut, and you let it drip to rid it of excess gas, then set it back on the stand. Those negative emotions are back. You turn to look at the door as Jack comes out with the other man trailing a few feet behind him. Jack holds a small bag of goods and two coffees in his hands. The man holds a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, one of which he had already opened and shoved a cigarette into his mouth. His hands shake greatly, you can tell from your spot beside the pumps, as he flicks the lighter to flame, and the end of the cigarette is engulfed in flames. He puts away the lighter and cigarette pack and takes the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing smoke into the air. You screw the cap back onto the tank, then close the fuel tank. Jack walks over to the truck as you open up your door. You slide in and start it and he opens the door.
“Here’s yer coffee, two creamers, sugar,” he says, then hands it to you.
“Thank ya,” you reply. You set it inside of the cup holder in between the front seats.
“Yer welcome,” he grunts as he slides into the passenger seat. You start up the truck then drive forwards, making a big circle to turn onto the road. The man with thick sideburns made his way to his friend, though you could tell they were in some sort of disagreement. You didn’t linger on it too much, not your bulls, not your rodeo.
You pull into the mine parking lot as the clock reads 7:05. Perfect, just on time. The sun begins to rise, everything glowing in the orange-blue light. You pull in an empty spot and turn off your truck, then grab your coffee and snacks for later. You lock your doors then shove your keys into your pocket and walk up the steps to the office. Jack holds the door open for you.
“Thanks,” you mutter.
“Welcome,” he replies quietly.
Behind a desk sits your supervisor, Hank. He was one of the oldest workers, he was the same age as your dad would be, so you treated him like a second father and he treated you as another child.
“Good mornin’ kids,” he yawns out.
“Mornin’, Hank,” you fight back a yawn. You set down your bag of goods and coffee on the desk Hank sits at. Jack greets him as you walk over to one of the computers sitting on a desk. You both clock in then dress in your gear. Hank was already in his, so he didn’t join you in strapping everything on. Hank reaches over and grabs your coffee cup and takes a sip.
“Hey,” you playfully snap, “that’s mine.”
Hank makes a disgusted face. “All yours, too sweet for me.”
Jack chuckles. “There’s not a lot in there, old man.”
Hank slouches deeper in his chair. “You kids and yer sugar.” He yawns.
“Just waitin’ on Ennis,'' Hank says. You nod then look over to Jack. The faintest blush covers the tips of his ears. You give Hank a knowing look. A few minutes later, Ennis walks in.
“Took ya long enough,” you joke.
He gives you an unamused glare.
“Not all of us wake up at the ass crack of dawn,” he says.
“Maybe you should get up early, maybe we wouldn’t be waitin’ on yer ass all the time,” Hank counters.
“I do get up early,” he replies, walking over to the computer you and Jack both used. His hand brushes Jack’s back as he passes by. Jack coughs into his fist.
“Oh yeah? How early?” Hank questions, leaning forward in his plush chair.
Ennis pauses for a moment.
“7:10,” he mutters.
“What?” you exclaim, “It’s 7:25 right now!”
“I done told you not all of us wake up early!” he snaps back, holding back a laugh. He leans backwards against the desk with his hands in his front pockets. You lean back in your chair, a smile sitting on your lips.
“Maybe I’ll start showin’ up to yer house to get ya up. Drive around the yard, blare the horn at five in the morning,” you laugh. “Better yet, I’ll send Jackie Boy to get ya up,” you joke as Hank laughs. Jack’s ears are now the color of tomatoes.
“Shut up, you fuckers,” Jack gets out before he laughs.
Ennis just laughs. If you were wrong, may the Devil have your soul, but you swear his cheeks were a bit flushed and his eyes shone brighter in the lighting.
Ennis pushes away from the desk he was leaning on. He straps on his gear then turns expectantly towards everyone.
“What’re y’all sittin’ there fer? Let’s get goin’!” He announces, then turns and exits a side door into the entrance to the mine.
You all stand and follow him into the mine.
—
“C’mon, y’all, I’m buyin’,” Hank says as you shut off your excavator and climb down the steps. Jack and Ennis turn off their machines and meet you and Hank in the middle. You take your mining carts up the slope to the office. It’s a quiet ride, it has to be. For everyone’s safety. You arrive at the office and you grab your keys and phone. Hank grabs his wallet and you head out to your truck. You unlock it and Hank sits in the passenger seat, Jack and Ennis in the back. You fire up the engine and reverse, then speed out of the lot, rolling coal like highschool boys in their first truck. Hank gives you the directions and you follow, eventually pulling into the parking lot of a small diner named Glenn’s. You pull in an empty spot, turn your truck off, and everyone tumbles out. You kill the engine and slam your door shut. You all walk to the door.
“Ladies first,” you say, holding the door open for the men. Hank snorts.
A sweet elderly woman stands behind the counter.
“Y’all sit down wherever, I’ll be with ya in a minute,” she calls before disappearing into the back.
Hank leads your party to a booth in the very back. As you pass by the tables, no one seems to be here, besides one man. As you sit down, you accidentally make eye contact with him.
(NIMM DEINE FICKEN MEDIZIN)
You saw blood covered hands. You saw, presumably, a woman, in a once white sweatshirt covered in coal dust, and wore a cracked, coal covered mask. Electric blue eyes bore into yours, reading your soul like a book. Where the mouth should be was a gaping black hole. Coal colored hair fell around the mask and rested on the shoulders of the dirty hoodie. You then saw the back silhouette of a man in a yellow hoodie with a rifle strapped to his back. You could almost smell him: the metallic scent of blood and agony. You knew he was speaking, you just didn’t know what he went on about. It must’ve been stressful, for his hands were clasped tightly behind him, so tight his fists shook. He was replaced by a man in an orange jacket. Smoke curled around his head, swirling directly into yours. His hair was dark brown, something about the color seemed familiar. You blink, and you’re back in the diner. Fingers were snapping in front of your face. Your eyes flick over to Hank staring at you with an increasing amount of worry etched on his face.
“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned. You rub at your eyes.
“Yeah. Just spaced out for a minute,” you reply.
You still smell cigarette smoke.
You steal another look at the man you locked eyes with. He had curly dark brown hair cut into a messy, curly mullet, like it hadn’t been cut in a while. His eyes were russet brown and down-turned, and he had tan skin. Freckles kissed every centimeter of his face. He had high cheekbones, a strong, once straight nose that had a crook on the bridge, a strong jaw, and small cheeks. Beard scruff lined his strong jaw. He had two piercings on his bottom lip, snake bites if you remember correctly. He didn’t look much older than you, maybe two years tops. His arms and face were littered in small scars, but that’s common having a job as a laborer. The strangest thing about him was the piece of cotton taped on the side of his mouth. His brown eyes stared down into his mug, seemingly lost in thought. You tear your eyes away. Had your mother been here, she’d have chewed your ass for staring at him for too long.
Hank turns to you.
“So, how’s life?”
“Just peachy,” you reply. The sweet elderly woman from the register comes over to your table. She hands everyone an old, battered menu.
“Do we know what we want to drink?” She asks, flipping her notepad to a new page. Everyone picks coffee. She scribbles that down on her notepad. Your eyes drop from her face to her nametag. Ruth, it read.
“Be lookin’ for what ya want, I’ll be back with yer drinks,” she says, smiling at each of you then turning and disappearing to the back again. The guys make small talk about menu choices while you look at the man again. He is attractive, you wouldn’t deny, but there was something off about him. You just couldn’t place your finger on it.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you tell the guys before sliding out of the booth.
“What d’ya want?” Hank asks.
“Cheeseburger and fries,” you say as you walk farther away from them and closer to the strange man. As you get closer, you notice his attire. A gray, dirty plumbing shirt, with dark blue Levi’s and Carhartt work boots. He wore a silver watch on his wrist. A dirty big-name seed company hat sits beside him on the booth. He notices your presence near him and glances up and makes eye contact with you. Your eyes flit away, embarrassed at being caught. You continue walking to the bathroom, this time feeling eyes burn holes through the clothes on your back. You shove open the bathroom door and sit on the toilet. You finish up and stare at yourself in the mirror as soap is pumped into your hand.
You scrub away at your hands, letting your thoughts wander. What was that strange creature? Why did I get waves of emotions? You look down at your soapy hands. Your hands are black with dust. You blink and they're drenched in blood.
(Please, help me-)
You begin to panic as you shove them under the faucet, and black water comes away, not bloody water. You let out a breath of relief. You pump more soap into your hands and continue scrubbing away. You scrub extra hard at your nails, trying in vain to rid them of the stained black dust that embedded itself under your nails and in every crack and crevice of your hands. You give up trying to get all of it washed away and wash the soap off then dry your hands and walk back out and past that man. You feel eyes on you again. You near the table and see three steaming cups of coffee in front of the guys, one in front of your empty seat.
“Glad you could join us,” Ennis says.
You take a sip of your coffee, the burn scalds away your taste buds.
“Glad you could be in my presence,” you quip.
Ennis rolls his eyes. “We ordered for you. Hope you like grits and corned-beef-hash,” he says, voice as serious as he could muster. You snort.
Jack begins to tell a crazy story about a bar fight, and you listen along, but pull out your phone. You noticed that your mother had texted back.
Good morning, sweetheart. How’s your morning so far? How’s Ennis and the others? The text read. She loved your mining friends, but especially Ennis. They were like peas and carrots. You type out your reply.
My morning is fine so far. We’re at Glenn’s getting dinner then we’re gonna head back to work. Ennis is a mess like usual, we’ve been on his ass about him almost showing up late.
You hit send then sit your phone back down. A few moments later, she replies.
Ennis! That boy’s a mess! Tell him I’ll kick his ass if he’s late again.
You reach across the table to Ennis and let him read the text. He laughs then grabs your phone to type his response. His fingers tap rapidly on your phone while your eyes flick back to that strange man. There’s something…. alluring about him. You couldn’t figure it out. And that bothered you. Greatly. You snap your head back to your group of guys. You shove those feelings down and out of your system. For all you know, he could be some freak serial killer that eats his victims' remains. Hell, there could be a decapitated head in his refrigerator at home for all you know. Ennis hits send and gives you back your phone. You look down at his response.
Not if I kick yours first
Ennis btw
You laugh. Ruth disappears behind the back and comes out a few moments later, holding a platter of food on top of her arm, somehow managing to balance it on her frail arms. She scuttles over to your table and balances it on the edge. She hands everyone their plates, yours first.
“Thank you,” you say as you grab the plate from her gnarled hands.
“Yer welcome, honey,” she replies, then grabs another plate and passes it to Jack. She gives the others their platters of food and rests the tray on her hip.
“If y’all need anythin’, just holler,” Ruth says, cocking her hip.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Hank thanks.
She walks away and you all dig in. Where you sat, you had a perfect view of the man. You noticed that every so often, his head would snap to the side, as if he was violently popping his neck. The intensity and aggressiveness of which his neck jerked made you wonder if he couldn’t control it. His neck snapped to the side again, and he grimaced. He opened his eyes and instantly made eye contact with you. Your eyes flitted away, embarrassed, as if you’d been caught in an inappropriate act. It was only eye contact, so why did it feel so intense?
After a while, your party and the man finished your meals. Ruth had given Hank the bill, and the guys were figuring out a tip. Another person had wandered into the diner, a pretty woman with straight black hair and blue eyes the color of lightning from storm clouds-just like the woman from your vision-you stopped there. It’s just a coincidence, there’s plenty of people with coal covered clothes and black hair. Hell, Jack’s hair was black. But those eyes….those were eyes you’d never forget in a million lifetimes. They stared directly through you, reading your soul like an English major reading Shakespeare. Those eyes saw you for what you were.
A murderer.
Those intense emotions were back, this time annoyance and bitterness. You didn’t know what you were annoyed at. She sat at a table farthest away from everyone. The man glanced at her a few times, however she never spared him a glance, instead staring through you the entire time, only breaking to give sweet Ruth her order.
“Okay, we got the tip figured. Let’s roll,” Hank says, dropping a few bills on the table. Everyone made their way out of the booth and to the counter where Hank made small talk with a man behind the counter, who you guessed was Glenn. He wore a greasy apron with the words “Kiss The Cook” printed on it. Ruth stood beside him, cleaning the counter top.
“Ma’am, you heard anything about the murders? I think they're all related somehow. Everyone I talk to at work don’t believe me, besides [Name] here,” Jack says to Ruth, his voice a low whisper. Ruth stopped cleaning the counter top and sighed.
“Cops say it’s all connected. To what, only God knows. I heard the murders was all done in three ways, an axe, a gun, or a blunt object. We’ve,” she says, motioning to Glenn, “got a few grandkids running around. I’m scared to death, worryin’ about them. It’s a full time job,” she jokes, but you can all tell there’s a lot of truth behind that statement.
She continues talking. “My granddaughter, only girl, is gonna turn five in May. Sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, she ‘bout gives me tooth rot.”
You and Jack laugh.
“I got a niece, Stevie. She’ll be five in June. Her mama left, and her dad’s tryin’ best he can. She’s got a mean streak, but she’s all smiles with me,” Jack gets a twinkle in his eye, the one he gets when he talks about things he loves. You’ve noticed that very twinkle when he talks about Ennis.
“Same boat as my grandbabies, their daddy left. Not even the Lord knows why or where he went. Never left a note, never said goodbye. Just up and left. Never paid a penny of child support either,” Ruth huffs.
“Stevie’s mama left when she was two. Don’t remember much, but she’ll be fine without her,” Jack frowns. “My brother tries, and he’s not amazin’ but no one is.”
Ruth chuckles. “Amen to that, hon. At the end of the day, we’re all tryin’ to get through purgatory,” she finishes up.
Jack and you both nod. It's silent for a few moments before Hank breaks it.
“Thank you for the food. Have a good day,” Hank says before turning and walking to the door. You all say your goodbyes then follow. Hank reaches your Ford and leans against the hood.
“Careful there, tubby. Don’t wanna dent up my truck,” you jokingly chide.
He scoffs then pulls a pack of Marlboro cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He grabs a cigarette then looks at everyone.
“Want one?” he asks. Ennis and Jack both decline, however you take one.
“Ya know, these are gonna kill you one day,” you tell Hank, half joking.
“Better now than later,” he replies, grabbing a lighter from his pocket and lighting up the end. His brown eyes hook on yours.
“Plus, I don’t hear you complainin’.” He tosses you the lighter. You light the end and take a drag, then blow it out into the air. You turn the lighter over in your hands as Hank pulls out his phone. He fiddles with it then walks around to the other side of your truck with the phone held to his ear. Just then, the bell above the door rings. You glance up and see the man who you’d been hardcore staring at.
“Got light?” he asks, his voice wore a thick German accent, it was very noticeable. His words were almost indecipherable, a heavy German accent mixed with southern wasn’t very understandable. You toss him the lighter. His hands shoved down the pockets of his jeans, searching for a cigarette. He finds one and shoves it in between his lips. He flicks the lighter on and the end is engulfed in flames. At the sight of the fire, he seems to pale. Strange , you think to yourself. He puts out the lighter and takes the cigarette out of his mouth and blows out a cloud of smoke. He tosses the lighter back to you then leans backwards, against the building. Every so often, you glance at him and his eyes flit away quickly. For a while, you stand there like that, up until Hank comes back.
“We ready?” Hank asks. Everyone nods as you take the last drag then squish it beneath your boots. You feel eyes on you. You look and find the man staring at you. His eyes flick away again, embarrassed. You all pile into your truck and head back to the mines. You stare at the man’s reflection in the mirror until you’re gone. When you get back to work, you continue where you left off.
-
You stumble out of the mines at God knows when in the early hours of the morning. Everyone jumps into their trucks, eager to leave. You start to get in before you realize your phone is in the office.
You turn back, and suddenly, the office is gone.
The coal mine is gone.
All the colors are taken from the world, only blacks and whites and grays are visible.
There’s a high pitched squeal in your ears. Your head throbs, and you smell blood.
You’re in a field and that creature who stood in the mirror behind you. You’re too transfixed to move. IT glares at you with no eyes before disappearing. Suddenly, glimpses of your friends and family dying are burned into your eyelids.
A figure you assume to be Hank with his head bashed in.
An open casket.
You walk to it against your will.
Ennis lying in his own blood.
The open casket starts to leak blood as you near it.
You place a hand on the edge of the casket.
Your mother with an axe in her back.
A woman's hand reaches up from the blood-soaked casket and wraps its cold, dead hand around your wrist.
You see IT again. IT levitates across the ground, gliding easily over to you. You try to run, but you’re paralyzed.
The closer IT gets, the worse you feel. Nausea hits you like a tsunami.
Blood pours in buckets from your nose, and it feels like your head was split open.
It’s all gone as soon as it started. You gasp and fall to your knees. You’ve never been more happy to see solid ground. You shut your eyes tightly, willing away the sights of your family and friends dead. there for a moment to deal with your pounding head. The color slowly returns to the world. When your head doesn’t feel as bad, you grab onto your truck and haul yourself up on shaking hands. Your eyes were puffy and red, you’d been crying, you noticed in the side mirrors. You took trembling steps to the office, trying to hurry but not being able to. You make it there and grab your phone and stumble to your truck. You climb into the driver’s seat and rest your head on the steering wheel. Tears pool in your eyes. You let one fall before straightening and turning the key in the ignition. The engine roars and you have no problem speeding out of there.
You’re in a daze when you get home. Feed animals, shower, sleep. You wish to put this day behind you. Just as you’re about to fall asleep, the man from the diner pops into your head. You dimly wonder if he’s actually a murderer or not before falling into a deep slumber.
-
Time marches on, as always. There’s no slowing or stopping it. The entire fiasco was now two weeks ago and no sights of the man from the diner or IT . You believe that’s a miracle in disguise.
It’s a normal Wednesday morning. You get up, go to work, and go on your lunch break. Hank offers to pay for lunch, and everyone agrees. You take the rickety old mineshaft up to the office.
You all stand quietly in the elevator. The lights flicker and the elevator swings harshly to the side, crashing into the rock wall.
"Fuck!" Everyone stumbles to the side. Jack slams into Ennis, you slam into Hank then everyone falls backwards as the elevator swings to the other side and hits another rock wall.
You grunt in pain as Hank's heavier body falls onto yours. The elevator swings to the side again, and everyone skids painfully across the metal floor. You grab onto the bars to try and haul yourself up. Your feet slide against the floor and collide with Hank's nose. He grunts in pain.
"Sorry!" You call to him.
"'S okay," he says through gritted teeth.
Everyone else holds onto a bar and eventually the elevator stops swinging. It finally stills and you cautiously stand. You help the others up and see Hank's nose bleeding profusely.
"Fuck man, I'm sorry," you apologize.
"'S okay, it wasn't yer fault," he replies. He presses the top button and the elevator slowly descends upwards.
As soon as everyone steps onto the gravel, you can tell something’s wrong. Everyone exchanges glances.
It’s not just you that feels the shift in the air.
You place a hand over the caliber attached to your belt to calm yourself. The men pull their guns out of their holsters and point them at the ground, both hands on the grip. Hank crosses to the office door and you all follow quickly. Hank looks back at everyone before counting down from five.
"Three.... two.... one!" He says before wrapping his hand around the door handle and shoving. Hank rushes in, Jack and Ennis right behind him, you taking up the rear.
You take a step inside and are stopped in your tracks by the stench that is all too familiar to you.
The smell of fresh, warm blood.