The Thing // Mark & Cesar

Chapter I - It

This thing couldn't possibly exist. Its face was deformed, its body with morbidly long arms, its whole skin - if you could even call it that - was pitch black. The way it was plastered onto the wall like a man's shadow. It looked down upon me with its white eyes, taunting me.

This was only a memory of my childhood, but the experience was replaying like a broken record. I could not hurt it, nor let it 'live'. You cannot kill what's already dead. And this thing was DEFINITELY not alive.

It's been a good 3 days since Cesar's mother had her accident from 'falling down the staircase'. A good 3 days since I last had my sanity. I was deceived into believing she was hurt. Was she? Yes, she was. But was Cesar taking her to the ER once he called me? No. The thing that called me acted like him, talked like him - It sounded like him, but it wasn't him. And I wish I had figured that out sooner.

The thing had a gift for me. A present. A surprise. The thing sounded like Cesar's mother, clearly trying to imitate her voice, but she was buried in the backyard of the house. She's dead. And so is he. My best friend, Cesar, is dead. And he's been replaced by the thing that has sworn to kill me since my childhood.

Growing up with malevolent monsters as my imaginary friends, as I grew older, I realised they stuck around. God knows why they didn't just kill me then, I was definitely an easy target. A tiny tired child with a bright imagination, going to his mothers' room, and seeing a man standing at the entry of the door right beside the staircase.

It terrified me. Of course it did. I was five. FIVE. I'm eighteen now. Thirteen years with these creatures trying to take my own life away. They wanted my body for themselves. They'd use it as a dress up party costume, walking around for their next victim with my face.

Anybody must be crazy to believe they'd survive from these things. The broadcasts on TV made it sound easy: Lock all doors and windows, avoid contact, and attack if possible. They could easily slip through. They could wait outside your door, your windows, your room.. Avoiding contact does nothing. If they can't convince you to kill yourself, they'll take matters into their own hands. And God knows what will happen if you attack these things. I don't want to find out.

Their psychological warfare that they used on their victims - They try to capture your mind, your heart, and then your body. I am merely a pawn on a chessboard compared to the thing outside this room, a queen that can easily take up almost half of the board, and I was included. I don't know if these creatures have souls, and I don't care if they do. I want my friend back. I want my life back.

I had a weapon in this room. Guns were legalised in Mandela County. It wasn't mine at all, probably Cesar's, but does that even matter anymore? There isn't even any choices left for me, so why should I be pondering about where this gun came from? I could starve in this room, let it kill me without any complaint, or try and destroy it. Yes, I don't want to find out what happens if I try and shoot it, but the slim chance of making it out alive...

I want to get out.

I don't care what it takes. 3 days here is enough. If I'm dying, I'm dying bravely. I'm dying with all of my strength fuelled into the gun. And I'll die while avenging my friend. There is no if's or but's. I will avenge my friend. And I'm not religious at all or anything, but please. If there is a God, give me strength. Lend me a helping hand. Open my eyes.

And open the door.