I woke with a start, my sheets and comforter drenched in sweat. I ran to the bathroom and looked myself over. There was no bruising, nor any signs I had just been in a struggle. Then remembering the truck, I rushed to the door and threw it open, allowing it to smash into the wall without any care. The sight before me made me collapse to the ground and let out a sob.
In front of me was my truck, all four tires intact, with no spray paint or other damage. It was only a dream. More correctly, a nightmare – but regardless of the word used to describe the horrifying ordeal that took place in my mind, all that matters, is this was not real; it was nothing more than a fabrication from an exhausted psyche, coupled with everything learned while researching the evil deeds my great grandfather had committed.
Although it was still dark, there was zero chance of falling back to sleep, so I made a cup of coffee from the single serve no brand coffee maker that was on the sink in the bathroom. Sitting down at the table, I pulled my laptop back out and opened the web browser again. Hands hovering over the keys, unsure of which key to strike first, while painfully aware of the conflicting emotions regarding Poppy. A chill ran across both of my arms, moving at a snail's pace towards my shoulders, then meeting at the base of my skull before spasming suddenly down to the center of my spine. I hadn't realized how cold it was and seeing as how I was only wearing a plain white cotton t-shirt and loose boxers, I moved to the duffel bag I packed and rifled throughout for my pajama pants and a heavier shirt. Curiously though, my pajama pants weren't in the bag. Now that I think about it, didn't I put those on before laying down to sleep? Checking the bathroom and the floor of the room, but not finding the pants, I stepped into my jeans instead, pulling a hoodie over my head while making my way to brush my teeth.
Turning the bathroom light switch on, my stomach dropped as I saw myself in the mirror. Slowly, my right hand, moving seemingly on its own, almost floating, made its way to my face, causing me to jump when contact was made, drawing me back to reality. I then smacked myself, hard, to finish bringing me the rest of the way from that memory, but my attempt failed. I was pulled back in, like the tide retreating from the shore line of an impending tsunami. The more I fought, the more I was drawn in, until I found myself transported back to the dark barn.
This time, the hood wasn't over my head. I was standing there, severing my own neck, each cut more fevered and desperate than the last. Unable to stop myself, or control the situation, I resigned to be a passenger in this ride. I could see my face in extreme detail, the split meat in my neck quivering as the blood spurted out, a little less each time, as I bled out. Only one or two more strikes until I was completely decapitated, one hand on my shoulder, steadying my body so I could finish my task. As my last strike connected, the severed head falling to the ground in slow motion, a smile appeared across its face as the features distorted, now unrecognizable. The moment the head reached the ground, I broke free and came back to the motel room. Standing in front of the mirror, a cold sweat across my forehead, I grabbed my keys and left.
About to start up my truck, there was an envelope underneath the driver's side windshield wiper. Looking around the parking lot, there was no one to be seen. Paranoia was setting in, someone is out to get me. I checked under the truck, opened the tailgate to check the bed, and checked the back seats as well, but again, I was alone. Tentatively I took the envelope from under the windshield wiper and got back in the truck. My heart was going faster than it ever has as I opened the envelope. Grimacing, I forced one eye open to see what was inside.
It was a bill from the motel. That's all? A fucking bill for my room. What the hell? I already paid this? But here it was. I guess there must have been an issue with my card, so I grabbed $45 cash from my wallet and stuffed it inside the envelope, walked over to the drop box and pushed it through. I just need to get out of here and I got into the truck and left, driving aimlessly.
It wasn't until I had driven for an hour or so that I finally acknowledged the persistent grumbling in my stomach. I don't think I ever ate anything last night, too engrossed with everything that had unfolded. Trying to push it out of mind, focusing on the yellow median lines zipping at my car, one after the other. In my mind the created an unrelenting assault on the front drivers side fender, my hand tapping the steering wheel every time a line "hit" the truck.
I kept at this for as long as I could, it seemed to be the only thing that kept my mind off everything else. The consistent barrage of yellow lines was interrupted when the truck started climbing a hill and was replaced by a solid double line, catching me by surprise and causing me to jerk the wheel to the right to avoid crashing into them, momentarily forgetting they were only painted lines on the road and nothing that could cause actual damage. The tires caught the gravel shoulder, pulling me further off the paved road, ensuring the inevitable. I held the wheel, bracing for the coming accident, praying the truck doesn't roll, when the tires gripped pavement again bringing me fishtailing back into my lane.
Pulling over and coming to a stop on the side of the road, I shut the truck off. Sitting there in the dark, the light from my radio seemed blinding – 5:04am. My stomach churned yet again, drawing my focus back to my hunger, when I looked up and a little further down the road was a roadside billboard for "Mama's Kitchen – 24 hour Diner and Truck Stop". Starting the truck, I pulled back onto the road, knowing for the first time since I got here exactly where I was headed.
"What'll it be, hun?" The middle-aged waitress asked, the smell of menthol cigarettes wafting closer with each syllable spoken.
She was short, not quite five-foot-tall, with very loud makeup, including green eyeshadow and bright pink lipstick. She had a pleasant disposition, and though she did nothing to deserve it, I was suddenly rather irritated. Her name tag had "Bethani" written in marker with a heart over the last letter.
"Just a coffee, please, Bethani. I haven't quite made up my mind on what I want yet. Any recommendations?" I asked her, forcing a smile.
"Well," she said, drawing the four-letter word out, much longer than was remotely necessary. "That all depends on you! You looking for breakfast? Maybe just some desert? How about a burger? Oh, we got a pretty good steak here too!"
"Let's do that steak, medium rare please, and some thick cut fries if you have them?"
"Coming right up, sugar," she said with a wink as she turned and left. All that mattered now was I was going to get some food in me. I cannot remember the last time I was this hungry, and the constant pain in my stomach was clouding my thoughts. What the hell am I supposed to do? Am I fucking going crazy? Why is this happening, to me, now?
Sitting there, waiting for my food, I reached for my phone to pass the time and try to clear my mind, but it wasn't in my pocket. Smirking, I realized I left it in the room. About par for the course. I needed something, ANYTHING, to keep my mind numb, so I turned to the disposable advertisement placemat.
"Do you have wooded property? Trusted local sawmill wants to BUY your wood! Call us TODAY!"
"Sewing club looking for new members. Meets every Wednesday from 1-3PM at the library!"
"Erlacher excavation. Ponds, septic fields, new construction. Competitive prices! Over 45 years' experience!"
"Bell Brother's Crematorium. Compassionate, Sincere, Economical. $950. Call today to let us help your family through this difficult time. Membership pricing available, call for pricing."
"HAAA!" I screamed involuntarily, before quickly lowering my gaze, ashamed of my outburst. Giggling quietly to myself, a scene unfolded in my mind – Poppy holding the ad in hand, dialing the number on his green rotary dial phone on the kitchen wall. Hello? Yes, is this the Bell Brother's Crematorium? …. Wonderful! I was calling about the membership pricing. …. Ummmm, probably 3 or 4 on a good month and one on a slow month. …. Funeral home? No, I don't work with a funeral home. …. No, I'm not with a county morgue either! …. Well, EXCUSE ME sonny, I didn't know there would be so many questions! …. So what does the membership pricing mean then? ….. I apologize, I have severely misunderstood this ad. Good Day!
My imagination was interrupted by Bethani bringing me a plate with a medium sized steak on it, and a basket of, I'll be honest, fantastic looking thick cut fries. I thanked her as I reached for the bottle of ketchup and squirted some into the basket next to my fries. Dipping the fry in my ketchup, I took my first bite, savoring the crispy texture and fluffy interior that paired so well with the tomato concoction. Whoever thought, 'Hey, you know what would be amazing with this potato? How about we smash a tomato and then mix the two, and, yea, sounds like a winning combination there' was an absolute genius. Swallowing the first bite, I grabbed the next and repeated. Ketchup, chew, swallow. Next fry. Dip, chew, swallow. Two fries, dip, chew, swallow. Until I no longer savored the flavor, but was shoveling the food in as fast as I could. I was famished, and nothing was making a dent.
Taking a drink of my coffee, I stared at my steak. The fries were long gone, having finished those minutes ago. Now I sat, knife and fork in hand, preparing to eat my steak, but unsure of my mental resolve. I have to cut the steak in order to eat it, right? Unsure of how I would react, I started slowly, not wanting to freak out in the middle of the diner, even though there was barely anyone there and the sun was just starting to rise.
I stabbed the steak with my fork, securing it so the knife could perform its duty successfully. With a ragged breath, and knife in hand, I pushed forward. The serrated blade was dull and did more tearing than cutting, and my stomach started to feel uneasy again. Fluttering. I was finally able to place the feeling from the day before, it was a fluttering feeling in my stomach. My heart sped up, as my hand sawed back and forth, cutting the first piece. I cut the second piece when my shoulder suddenly felt like pins and needles, and a chill was working its way up my arms.
I threw the knife down, and picked the steak up with my hands and at it, tearing chunks off with my teeth. The chill dissipated, followed by the pins and needles, the fluttering, and finally the excessive heart rate. Everything returned to normal as I enjoyed my steak, feeling the first sense of relief since I first came to town. I finished my drink, paid my bill, and thanked Bethani.
After filling the truck up with gas, I began the drive back to the motel, unwrapping the Tootsie Pop I took after paying my bill, and rolling it around in my mouth. Breaking out in a fit of laughter, the only thought on my mind was How many cuts would it take to get to the center of a Bethani?
I finally made my decision. I knew what had to be done. Turning around, I had to head back and get answers. I made my way to Poppy's and hopefully I could find a way to stop whatever was happening to me.