Forgive Me, Alex Read Free

want me to watch?
    The woman is lyin' on a table—naked. I like that, sure enough, but I don't think I like the rest of it. Her wide eyes never blink, and her body bounces up and down like she's havin' some kinda convulsions. Sweat pours down her face and her ratty hair looks like she ain't washed it in a month. Somethin' horrible is goin' on, but fuck if I know what it is.
    The demon, if that's what he is, wheels a cart over next to the table. The cart holds a bunch of weapons and tools—knives, saws, drills, scalpels, hammers and clamps.
    Is he gonna perform surgery on her? He ain't no fuckin' doctor. His leathery face, his black grin, his eyes like coals from a furnace, all point to.... Fuck! I don't know, but whatever he's gonna do, I'm pretty sure he ain't plannin' to use anesthesia. He's droolin' and lickin' his chops.
    He grabs a knife the size of my foot, looks up at me, and laughs. The woman screams in a high-pitched wail that pierces my ears like someone stuck a goddamn ice pick in my fuckin' brain. He moves alongside her and raises the knife like he's—
    "Wait! What are you doin'?" I yell as loud as I can, but he ignores me.
    He grabs her wrist and lashes down with the knife, and she screams again as blood spurts onto the floor. He turns to me, holdin' something up in his hands. It's hard to see, but I think it could be a—
    "My God, why did you do that?"
    He roars with laughter and tosses her finger off to the side like so much trash, and walks around to the other side of the table. His eyes blaze and he smiles, exposin' long teeth that end in a point like icicles.
    My head feels like someone is crushin' it in a vice. I can't believe this is happenin'. What is this place? Why can't I get out? I gotta get help. I don't wanna watch this, but I can't seem to turn away.
    Holy shit, he's feelin' up her tits! How can he do that after he—
    Wait, what in hell is he doin'? He's squeezin' and pullin' up with his right hand, and raisin' the knife with his left hand, like—
    "Hey, what are you doin'? Stop! Stop, damn it! You can't—"
    This fuckin' house of horror ruptures in an endless, stabbing scream. Blood flies everywhere like a crimson swarm from hell. The demon's gaze bores through me again, and drool drips from his dagger-like teeth as he raises his new trophy above his head.
    He points his twisted finger at me. "Soon, you'll do this, Mitchell."
    My blood freezes in my veins. I can't move. I can't speak.
    "If you refuse, I'll put you on this table next."
    God help me.
    He reaches back with his right arm, like he's on a baseball mound and windin' up for his next pitch, but that ain't no fuckin' baseball in his hand. It's his new trophy, the bloody remains of what was once so appealing and—
    "Here, Mitchell, catch!"
    ***
    I bolted up and looked around the dark room— my room, my bed—and could almost breathe again. The cold, soaked sheets turned my body into a shivering, chattering heap.
    Why did the nightmares continue to assault me? Who was that demon, and why wouldn't he leave me alone? I didn't know but—
    Fuck a rubber duck! What did he mean when he said I'd be doin' that soon?

Chapter 4 – April 22, 1978: Tony Hooper
     
    "Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps, for he is the only animal that is struck by the difference between what things are and what they might have been." – William Hazlitt
    ~~~~~
    Sunlight glistened off the surface of the lake, still as a mirror, as the cloudless sky stood sentry. The spring morning harkened me back to childhood, when the blustery weather broke and we couldn't wait to get outside to play tag, catch-one/catch-all, or Batman and Robin. I thought differently now, but those memories were no less vivid, no less uplifting.
    A sheer, seventy-foot wall occupied the south end of the quarry, which had officially closed three decades ago. A narrow ledge wound down to a level spot less than two feet above the waterline, where Diana and I sat. The remarkably clear,