The Physical Monster

The Physical Nightmare

I draw in sharp breath as I attempt in vain to escape the living nightmare behind me. It pursues effortlessly with massive strides. My lungs burn as I wearily amble across the barren wasteland. Its clawed feet tear up the hard-packed surface. With every step the beast draws nearer.

It can easily kill me whenever it pleases. It is having too much fun to do that yet. It is playing with me like it is a cat and I am the helpless rodent. Although I dare not look behind me, I know that the creature's eyeless face is pulled into a sickening grin. I gasp for breath and collapse. The shadow is instantly above me.

Fangs bristle from its gaping maw. It is clearly enjoying this. A deep, grumbling noise reverberates around its throat, a noise which I assume is laughter. My heart hammers against my ribs. Its talons curl around my throat and squeeze.

...

Beads of cold sweat chill my stiff limbs. A wild knot of hair crowns my head. I glance around at the familiar walls of my imprisonment. A radiant light bears down on me day and night. Every night I have woken up at the same time (or at least I assume, as my windowless cell is without a clock or other means of telling time.) The nights are always tainted by dreams of the beast.

I stiffly rise from my cot. I have been locked in my cell for two weeks and a day after being caught on the site of Miss Theodora P. Jefferson's murder. I am still awaiting my trial.

I had been walking down the street after midnight, for my workload was unmanageable if I wanted to balance a social life and a sleep cycle. As I dragged myself to my dingy apartment, I spotted a well-respected woman following a man down the sidewalk. I had thought nothing of it until her knife glinted in the moonlight. I felt the adrenaline surge through my veins and had taken it upon myself to end this before it started.

I felt the fatigue fall away as I charged the soon-to-be murderer. I had tackled her, pinned her to the ground, and pulled her arms behind her back. She yelped and a pool of fresh blood spilled from her stomach. Her own weapon had accidentally pierced her abdomen. The young man she had been following spun around in response to the cry. Upon seeing me atop the quickly cooling corpse of Miss. Jefferson, he promptly restrained me.

So that left me here, falsely accused of murder and wrongly imprisoned. Of course the prison guards would hear none of my supposedly mad ramblings. The only thing that keeps me sane is the knowledge of that in taking a life I had saved many others.

I jump as my cell's lock rattles before its metallic door swings open. "Jeremy Walters, you have a visitor," says a prison employee.

My mind spins. None of my immediate family knows/cares about my situation. That left one possibility. I was about to have my trial. A burly guard roughly leads me down a gentle slope leading to the visiting room. Inside I am locked behind thick, reinforced glass.

My shoulders droop when I realize that it is merely my doctor. He is a round man with thick framed glasses and a swollen nose. It is odd seeing him behind glass and without his usual stethoscope and doctor garb. "Mr. Jeremy Walters," he began, "I am aware of your current... situation. I have come to discuss your health, physical and otherwise."

This was my chance to tell him what had happened. "Doctor Crocetti, let me explain, I was walking along when I saw-"

He cut me off, "I was informed of both sides of the story. Now, I do not believe that you are knowledgeable of the situation that you created. You were found over the dead body of Mrs. Jefferson-"

"Yes," I interrupted, "she was silently tracking that man with a knife in hand."

"The woman you murdered was, in fact, taking precautions, for her purse had been stolen earlier that week on the same stretch of pavement," he said in a steady tone.

I respond, believing myself less and less, "No! I saw it with my eyes!"
I am frantic. My breath is coming out in ragged gasps. I scream, most likely waking the inmates in the surrounding cells.

"Mr. Walters, you have struggled with a number of mental disorders in the past. I believe that your brain is altering the past events because, frankly, you cannot deal with the guilt of killing an innocent human."

"You liar!" I scream. It can't be me. "I saved that man!" My voice is ragged.

"Mr. Walters," he says in a cool, calm tone, "The guards will escort you back to your cell."

Suddenly the room morphs. The walls press in. I turn to see that my guard has vanished. The glass divider shatters to the floor. The doctor warps and bends. His skin becomes hairy and slick like a seal's coat. He enlarges. His eye sockets shrink until they disappear. His teeth grow to large, ivory points.

My peripheral vision goes fuzzy. I front of me is the monster. Get away from me! None of this is happening! You're not real!

"Oh," says the monster bearing its ghastly fangs into a terrible grin, "I'm very real."

. . .