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The saying, “One of Those Days” is something I’ve muttered a lot recently. However, this day may just take the cake. I’m not sure where that saying comes from, take’s the cake, but I imagine someone dressed like the Hamburglar stealing a crying babies first taste of sugary sweetness is where it originated from. The things I think of when I find myself hanging upside down.

As the cold grip of steel bites into my ankles and it’s evil twin does the same to my wrists I realize that it may not be day at all. It’s dark but that’s only because I’ve been blind folded. For all I know it could be very pleasant out. I’m sure it’s not. It mostly never is. It’s not for lack of trying, no, I try. I really do. But with great trying comes great capturing. Or abducting. Or murdering, although that has yet to be done successfully. So, all of my trying and where does it get me? I wake up to my hair dangling on the wrong end of up and what feels like blood getting ready to drip out of my eyes, ears, and nose.

I sniff unconsciously after imagining blood coming from my nose and get a scent of something very unpleasant. The smell snaps my head back like a Shoryuken from Ryu. I knew the smell. From the first time you smell it there’s not a day goes by that you don’t think of it. It stays with you forever. The smell of death will always haunt you.

Yep.  My name is Wes Andersen and it’s just one of those days.

There are few things in this life that are constant: Time is always ticking away whether we like it or not. As long as we, the human race, occupy this dirt time will always be against us. And the second is the natural opposites that white and black are, have been, and always will be.

I live neither in the light nor completely in the dark. Although it’s not from lack of trying. I merely don’t belong in the light and each day the darkness call to me. It wants me. It beckons me to bathe in it’s allure. To let it wash over me like a waterfall of sin. If I gave in my city would be lost forever. The city would be devoured by the darkness, swallowed whole and to never return. All the work I’ve put in would be erased and the thin line holding the dark at bay would be severed. (And yes, I’m thin.)

I’ve been called many things but a do-good-er or protector or hero has not been one of them. Mostly I’ve been called Wes, simply Wes. There are few who know me and of the things I do to keep the shadows from advancing each night and that’s OK by me. I don’t do it for the publicity. I do it because it’s the only thing I’m good at. I do it because I have to. I need to.

So you rest easy, Heretic Valley. I’m not gonna let the Boogeyman get you tonight.

In the middle of a decayed field, dry and depressing, I tried to recover. My hands rested on my knees as quick breaths attempted to keep up with my hearts increased pace. I started as the chaser but now I’ve become the chase-ee.

It started back in town.

A form that was solid but squishy, oozed out the back of a building. Its skin, always moving, floated above whatever it had on the inside. It was like looking at water through an aquarium, dancing to the movement of the light and subtle vibrations. It was a large mass, tall and wide. We locked eyes, or I should say my eyes locked its horizontal slits of light. They looked way too bright, but maybe it only appeared that way in comparison to how dark this creature was. It felt like we both stood there for an hour, measuring each other, sizing one another for the assumable fight ahead. I wasn’t a hard one to spot to most supernatural beings of this world, and neither was it. In one way, maybe we both didn’t belong to this world, but then again, I wasn’t the one with someone’s head grasped in my creepy hand.

The head looked like a horror movie prop and I intended to keep telling myself that it was indeed merely a prop. Blood dripped from the neckline, or the spot where the neck used to meet the shoulders. I don’t know what to call it now.

The head didn’t appear to be cut off; the skin wasn’t neatly sliced. No, as the shredded flesh dangled, it appeared to have been torn off. The skin moved with the beast, swaying in the wind like a maple leaf.

A high-shriek escaped the creature’s mouth, although I couldn’t see the mouth but the sound came from it nonetheless. In an instant it took off, away from me, away from the city. The beast shifted, going from standing on two, leg-shaped masses, into four legs, like a big cat or wolf. The bloody head stuck to the back of its new form. It looked like it was riding it, up and down with each bounce.

As the blob fled, I followed. With my arm illuminated, I tried to keep up. There wasn’t a chance in hell of me staying within range of whatever this thing was. I only hoped of keeping it in sight and I was doing just that. So I had that going for me.

As it led me to the outskirts of town and as my side began to cramp, all I could think about was the wasted time doing nothing instead of keeping in shape. I thought I was going to black out or get killed by a huge black blob. Whatever way, it wouldn’t have been good. Furthermore, it was daytime, why was this thing out? I didn’t get scared too often but when something like this was out in the mediocre-lighted day like today, it makes me a little nervous. The saying, freaks come out at night, is mostly true, but the freaks that come out during the day are far more terrifying.

So instead of being the usual badass, I find myself in an unfamiliar role—the hunted.

I swept my eyes from left to right, scanning the flat land. I quickly turned around and did the same thing. Nothing. If that gelatinous thing could morph into a dog like creature, could it change shape into something smaller, like a snake? My eyes darted to my feet, but saw only the dry, cracked ground. As my eyes returned to the horizon, looking for any sign of whatever it was I was chasing, a blurred object came from nowhere and hit me square in the chest. Regardless of my magical protection, a blunt force is just that and it hurts like hell. I gathered myself and looked around, as I found what had been hurled at me I immediately felt like I had been sucker punched in the gut. Staring back at me, through haunted, vacant eyes, was the head with no body. Up close, I couldn’t pretend it was fake anymore. It was real. It was grotesque.

I’ve found the head (or it found me), but where’s the beast?

…to be continued…

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