Chapter 19: Descent

Theme: "Coming Down" by Five Finger Death Punch

As I walked home, looking at the ground as I uneasily wobbled through my path in the forest. Okay, it DEFINATELY wasn't safe here anymore. Totheark, whoever the hell this guy was, had been stalking me. And not only me, but Dexter, too. How he managed to get hold of those photographs, I really don't wanna know. But as evidence shows, he had somehow managed to get hold of my phone number, and was probably following and photographing me at the very second.

Aw shit, why did I just think that? Now, I just scared myself. I looked behind me, having to reassure myself that there wasn't any masked psychopath following me. Nada. Well, of course there wouldn't be. Nobody could be that stupid to walk around in a mask in broad daylight, would they?

I looked to at the trees on both sides, my breathing becoming heavy. If he was here, then he could-NO! He wouldn't touch me! But he's after me...No, I wouldn't allow it! He's trying to get to me, trying to make me afraid of him. I wouldn't, I WON'T!

I made a mad dash for home, realizing that bit by bit, I sounded like a schizophrenic.

Maybe I am starting to go insane.

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I walked into the doorway, and was hit in the face with the sweet scent of baking cookies. I felt my mouth water, and felt like I was floating as I waltzed towards the kitchen. Entering it, I found that there was a sheet of wax paper on the counter, freshly baked chocolate cookies on it. The oven was on, and as I peaked inside, there were several clumps of white chocolate macadamia cookies baking. Looking behind me, I ever so stealthily reached for one.

I felt hands grab my shoulders. In the split second I spent prying myself away from them, I caught a glance to see they were white.

White, like His hands.

While a normal person would normally jump and turn around, while laughing a minute afterward, I tore away, struggled to get some distance, and immediately pounced on the knife rack, grabbing the largest knife I could and pointing it at the felon. "Stay away from me!" I yelled as I turned around.

And just my luck, it had to be Bethany. She was standing in the middle of the kitchen. She wore a lilac tube top and some dark blue jeans, her peeptoe sandals showing off her lavender toenails. She had her hands up in a surrender-esque fashion and was staring at the knife in horror. Her hands...goddammit, her hands were covered. By white cartoon gloves.

"J-J-Joanne, I-I was only j-j-joking," she insisted as she held her hands, her eyes was white like dinner plates. She said it so desperately it was almost like she was begging for her life.

Maybe she thought she was? She had walked into the kitchen, just playing a simple joke on her little sister, only to have a knife pointed at her like the serial killer does to the victim in a horror movie. We stood there in several moments of silence, until I realized how I look and threw the knife down like it was a hot poker. Bethany screamed at the sound of the knife hitting the floor, the clanking of metal hitting tile. She covered her mouth with her hands and looked at me like she was about to cry.

"Why are you wearing those gloves?" I demanded, feeling like a cop interrogating a suspect on those crime shows. She lowered her hands and was now grasping them in front of her chest. "I-my school is having a talen show, don't you remember?" God, those eyes of hers. They made her look like she was a puppy that had just been hit for no reason. I felt like a complete fool. Now that I remember, I did hear her talking about it to Mom and Dad over dinner once, but I was too zoned out to notice, or to care, for that matter.

"Joanne? Bethany? Is something wrong?" Mom's voice called from the pantry. I heard footsteps. I glanced at the knife. One part of my mind told me that I could just put the knife back on the rack and it would be like nothing happened.

But something did happen. I had just threatened my own sister with a deadly weapon. And in cases like this, it was like everything I did was in slow motion, and currently, it was like the two of us were statues. Mom would walk in, see the knife on the floor, see Bethany standing there like she just witnessed a murder, and see ME. In the course of a few nanoseconds, all Hell would break loose.

So I did what many people do when they can't think of a reasonable solution to get out of trouble: I ran.

I bolted, scaring Bethany even more (damn, she screams like fucking banshee), and shoved her out of the way. I then ran past Mom and dashed up the steps, ignoring my name as she called me. I got to my room, threw the door shut, and locked it. I put my back to it and tried to breathe deeply. I sunk to the floor and put my head in my hands. Taking my scrunchie out so my hair could fall free, I ran my hands through it. After that, I stared at my palms; they were red and calloused.

What was wrong with me? Why was I acting like this? Why was it that when Totheark showed up, I started acting like a complete psychopath?

Because you are one, the bad voice inside my head snickered. There was silence as I just stared at the ground, before I buried my face between my knees and cuddled my head by crossing my arms. I needed a nap.

Dragging my feet, I flopped onto the bed and immediately felt like I was conking out. Slowly, the world went black, my bedroom fading.

The last thing I heard was the sound of Bethany's cries and Mom's soothing voice.

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I blinked as I got hold of my surroundings. I found myself in a forest, completely grey like an old movie. The sky struggled to break through the canopy the tall pine trees made. Everything was completely grey. I looked around, squinting and tilting my neck to try and see if there was anything that indicated if there was any life in this forest. A snap behind made me whip around and raise my hands up to defend myself in anything was there.

Nothing. But...wait a minute.

I craned my neck forward to see a little blob hanging on one of the low branches...that wasn't there before. I crept toward it, unsure of what to make of it. I got right up next to it, finally seeing what it was. that

A trash bag...are you serious? I got all defensive because of a fucking TRASH BAG?

I rolled my eyes as I swatted it. But instead of a lighter than air sway, my hand hurt. The bag felt heavy. And of course, my curiosity got the better of me as I tore the bag off the branch and ripped it open. And I screamed. There wasn't just anything in the bag; there was a weird liquid that spilled out onto the forest floor, soaking my feet and covering my hands.

The worst part was that, instead of being grey like everything else, this liquid was red, deep scarlet that stood out against the dull scenery.

Blood.

I screamed and turned to run, only to bonk my nose on the pure black of something.

It's Him.

I stared up at him, my legs felt like jelly. I wanted to run, wanted to scream for help, wanted to get anywhere but here, with Him. But I can't. It's like this motherfucker's got some sort of paralyzation spell on me, so the only thing I can really do is stare up at him.

He moves, his hand slowly coming up.

He's reaching for my shoulder.

He touches my arm, clamping it like an iron vice and squeezing.

The last thing I remember is a burning sensation.

I nearly fell off my bed, I sat up so quickly. The room felt too hot. My chest felt like it was on fire, and my throat sounded like I just had my lung pierced. The dream's crystal clear in my mind. Remembering His grip on me, I grabbed my bicep, only to pull away when a giant sting came across.

I looked at my arm, completely horrified. It's covered in blood. The sleeve shook as I grabbed it and pulled it up. I made a sound in the back of my throat that I've never been familiar with.

My right bicep is stinging. The skin is raw and bloody, nearly black, as if my entire bicep's been burnt. There's blood on my comforter, and it still aches with pain.

The burn's in the shape of a handprint.

Like the bruises you would see on an abused child. I scooted to the edge of my bed, like doing that would get rid of that horrible branding. I scanned the room for any evidence someone was here; there's no way that could've occurred because of the dream. It's not like he can do that, can He? A flash of crimson caught my eye, and I stared at my vanity. No...it couldn't be? This has to be fantasy!

It's like another movie scene. My vanity mirror has bright, red words scattered across it in what has to be my mom's liptstick.

NIGHTMARES COME ALIVE

For those who don't know, I actually got the idea of the burn on Joanne's arms from TJAProjects. If you watch the first few videos, or the video "Burns" you can see that when Amy encounters the Slenderman, she gets hand-shaped wounds on her arms, and then on her neck.