DESPERATE

19

A cold breeze swirled around his body, sending shivers down his spine. Randall felt a sudden tug on his leg and stumbled. He looked behind him, but there was nothing. Only the rustling of the leaves and the howling of the wind. He got up and brushed the dirt off himself, feeling slightly rattled. He resumed his walk back to the cabin.

But halfway there, he stopped in his tracks. At a broken window, a dark figure stood there, staring at him with glowing eyes. It walked backwards, slowly and deliberately, until it reached the wall. Then it pointed a finger at him and vanished into thin air.

"What the hell was that?" Randall muttered, his voice trembling. He stood there with a lump in his throat and tried not to freak out.

Behind Randall, there was a loud whistle. He spun around, his jaw dropping. A pale childlike face with red matted hair peered from behind a tree. It had a twisted smile and a mocking expression. Randall blinked, but the child was gone. He rubbed his eyes, but there was no trace of it. This isolation is making me lose my mind, he thought. He decided to run to the cabin.

But before he could take a step, a tree branch swung out of nowhere and hit his arm. He cried out in pain.

Randall's heart pounded as he entered the cabin. He had to grab his stuff and get out of there fast. A foul smell of sulfur filled the air, making him gag. He heard a creepy child's voice whisper in his ear, “Don’t go. Stay with us.” He shuddered and quickened his pace.

As he passed the living room, he saw a dark shape on the floor, moaning softly. He felt a surge of terror. He grabbed the Barbie backpack and slung it over his shoulders. It was too heavy for his small frame. He also took the pillowcase full of money. He heard heavy footsteps closing in on him. He ran to the bedroom and hid under the bed, clutching the pillowcase. The backpack pressed against his back. The cabin fell silent.

The bed creaked. Someone was on the bed. Randall's heart stopped in his chest - his body and mind paralyzed with fear. 

"Naughty, naughty boy. What have you done?” a familiar female voice scowled.

The color drained from his face. A nameless dread engulfed him.  It can't be Leann, he thought. She's buried six feet under the ground.
All of a sudden the entire cabin shook violently and random objects crashed onto the floor. Randall covered his ears.

A face peered under the bed. She had cadaver-cold eyes, two soulless pools of void-black and a disfigured face.

His mouth was open in a silent scream. It grabbed his feet and dragged him out from underneath the bed. Terrified, he closed his eyes and played dead. 

Randall opened his eyes and the horror was gone. His pants were soaked with urine. The pillowcase with the money had disappeared, too. All the lights in the cabin were on.

That’s odd! He got up and searched for the money. It was on the blood covered couch. He gasped. He didn't put it there.

Randall approached the blood covered couch, where an angry ghostly Tom hissed, “Don’t touch it! It’s mine.” Then the small man dashed out the door and into the night.

Terrified, Randall ran blindly into the dark woods. He gasped for breath as his knees started to buckle under his weight. He bumped into a tree and fell on his back. He lay on the cold ground, feeling completely drained.

Above the tree lines, he gazed at the stars that sparkled like diamond dust in the sky. He sighed deeply, thinking about his sad life and missing his father.

His mother had gotten pregnant late in life. She couldn’t deliver normally, so the doctor had to perform a C-section on her. She bled too much and died. She never got to see her unexpected baby. A grief-stricken father kissed his wife on the forehead for the last time. He took off his shirt to wrap the newborn and left the hospital. As a toddler, his father noticed something was wrong with his child. His son wasn’t growing like other children his age. He took Randall back to the same hospital. A doctor diagnosed his son with a developmental disorder called hypochondroplasia. It devastated his old man. He didn’t want his only child to be bullied at school. So he decided to keep Randall at home to help around the house. As the years went by, his father’s health worsened. The old man refused to go to the hospital. His son was helpless. It was heartbreaking for Randall to watch his father die in his arms. He walked out of his trailer home with a bundle of clothes and left his father’s corpse to decay inside.

Randall had a long way to go before he reached Andera's house. He got up and continued his journey through the woods. He didn't let the roots and branches that tripped and poked him slow him down. He was determined to get back to his family.

As he walked, he saw a bright light and heard laughter and chatter in the distance. He came across a group of campers. There was no sign of a vehicle, only two tents. Two couples were sitting near the campfire, enjoying s'mores. Randall felt a surge of jealousy. He hated seeing people happy when he was miserable. He climbed a nearby tree and hid among the leaves. He watched the campers tell lame ghost stories all night. He yawned, bored out of his mind.

Randall decided to have some fun at their expense. He took out his slingshot and some marbles. He aimed at a camper with big ears. He felt a warm, fuzzy feeling as he released the marble. It hit the camper's ear with a thud. The camper gasped and stood up. His girlfriend, who was sleeping on his lap, fell to the ground. Her long, rainbow-colored hair caught fire from the campfire. The smell of burnt hair filled the air. Randall sneezed. Fortunately, no one noticed him.

The campers tried to calm each other down. The guy massaged his sore ear and escorted his weeping girlfriend to their tent.

Randall watched them from his hiding spot on the tree, waiting for them to extinguish the fire and fall asleep. He climbed down and retrieved a sharp kitchen knife from his backpack.

With a deafening shriek like a banshee, Randall slashed their tents. The screams of the terrified campers echoed through the pitch-black woods where no light could penetrate. He quickly climbed up another tree to hide from an enraged camper. 

The guy burst out of his tent, pointing his gun and shooting randomly around the tents. He stopped when he heard a heavy thud on the ground. A large dead tree limb had crashed on top of Randall's head and knocked him off the tree. His nose shattered and gushed blood as he hit the ground, face first. He blacked out briefly.

After the loud thud, the forest became bizarrely quiet. The infuriated camper strained his eyes, but he didn't see anything move. He dashed back to the tents to check on his distraught friends. They clung to each other, shivering and whimpering, as they prayed for the nightmare to end. His buddy refused to join him to hunt down the sick bastard who ruined their evening. He left the gun with them and took off with his phone and a sharp pocket knife. He rubbed his sore prominent ear and went to search for the perpetrator. "Who are you?” he shouted. “Why are you doing this?”

The phone light barely pierced the darkness. The camper stumbled through the woods, tripping over roots and scraping his legs. He cursed under his breath.

Randall regained consciousness and quickly got up, his heart pounding and his eyes darting around the dark woods.

The crunching of leaves alerted him to the camper's presence. Randall quickly found a tree to duck behind and held his breath. Ants crawled on his wounded nose. He gasped in pain. The camper walked past the tree.

A loud rumble echoed in the night. Randall's stomach betrayed him.
"I know you're out there, scumbag. I can feel you. You'll pay for what you did!" The camper snarled and brandished his pocket knife.

Randall tried to ignore his hunger. He crept to another tree and climbed as high as he could. The camper raved on. He missed the falling leaves.

Randall opened his backpack and grabbed a bag of cheerios. He munched on the cereal and watched the furious camper below. He felt full and reached for his slingshot and marbles. He burped loudly. The camper looked up at the tree.

Randall aimed for the camper’s eyes. His slingshot released a smooth pebble that flew straight to its target. The camper yelped in pain and clutched his face. His pocket knife slipped from his hand and landed on the ground.

The little man seized the opportunity and sprang from his hiding spot. He tackled the camper and bit him on the neck.  The camper grabbed the little man’s pants and yanked them down. Randall's face burned with humiliation as his stained undergarments came into view. He punched the camper in the nose. Blood spurted out and the camper’s vision blurred. He toppled over and lost consciousness.

Randall climbed on top of him and lifted his shirt. He forced the camper’s hand to grip the pocket knife and plunge it into his own belly.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. The other campers heard it. They ran deeper into the woods and shouted his name. No answer. Randall heard their voices. He left the dying camper on the ground with a pocket knife embedded in his navel.