Short Scary Stories

The Man Who Wouldn't Die

The subject known as X was a healthy fit and tone young man of about twenty years of age. X first came to see me a week ago. He was agitated and under extreme duress. Refusing a mild sedative, he demanded he be given a complete check up, including some procedures not normally associated with a routine physical examination. When he returned to my office yesterday I had the results of those tests.

And X had a most unusual tale to tell.

“It’s good to see you again. Please, sit down.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“How are you feeling? You seem more relaxed today.”

His gaze passed through me. It was his one striking feature: his eyes, black and dull. Even as I think about them now I am filled with an unexplained dread. Hollow and empty, his eyes were those of a corpse.

“Yes, Doctor… better, calmer… for now. The tests… do you have the results of the tests?”

“I do. As I suspected and told you, they show nothing out of the ordinary. There is nothing physically wrong with you.”

He looked up at me sheepishly, as if afraid to ask. “Tell me, Doctor, please.”

“Very well, your vitals are fine. Heart rate, pulse, blood pressure and respiration… all fine. Blood work came back negative, as did toxins and other samples. The only thing which stands out is that your vitals and counts are slightly elevated; stronger than normal. This is certainly no cause for alarm.”

His voice turned anxious. “Go on…”

“Your reflexes and motor skills scored better than average; eye sight is remarkable. And I have never seen muscle tissue or bone as dense as yours.”

“And the rest…?” With the question X once again became agitated. I was struck with the feeling he knew the results before I gave them.

“Well, brain activity and function did test elevated, but normal. You can rest assured you are strong; healthy. I wouldn’t be surprised if you lived to be one hundred and twenty!”

With that X began to fidget nervously. My words, which certainly should have assuaged any fears, seemed rather to trouble him. He looked at me intently, those dark eyes studying, piercing. Finally X reached into his pocket, withdrew a photograph, and presented it to me. It was the picture of a man with graying hair and other signs of aging.

“How old would you say he is?” X asked.

“Oh, perhaps forty five, I guess.” It was then I realized the figure in the picture possessed the same chilling, dark, dead eyes. “Is this your father?”

X tensed in his seat. His mouth pursed, and then slightly curled in what I can only describe as a failed attempt to smile. “No… no, Doctor. That is not my father. The man in the picture is me.”

While his words were delusional, X’s posture remained alert, attentive. “You do realize the person in this picture, while bearing a striking resemblance to you, is easily twice your age.”

This time the smile broke through the stoic demeanor. It was a half crooked I’ve got a secret sort of smile which sent chills throughout my body. Combined with those hollow, dead eyes it was a look I shall never forget.

“But it is me, Doctor,” he began calmly, with an icy detachment of fact. “This is what I look like when I… if I…”

He paused.

We sat for an indeterminable, uncomfortable time studying each other. Finally X seemed to make up his mind. “It’s the curse you know… the curse...”