Just like a lot of you people, I have many dark thoughts. I’ve battled through so many dark thoughts, I lost and forfeited the right to call myself a good man. I even lost the right to call myself sane in the process. I would never claim to be perfect. None of us are. I have been battling through addictions; alcohol, marijuana, heroin, and prescription pills. I’ve been this way since I was 16 years old. I am now 41. I’d have these blackouts on occasion, probably due to my dangerous habits. Or perhaps something else. I’m not really sure. After these blackouts, I’d usually wake up with faint memories of the night before, but on this particular morning, I didn’t have any memories at all. Even my name was a stranger to me. I was in my truck when I woke up on the side of a dirt road, surrounded by nothing but trees and bushes. It was just after dawn. My watch read 6:48. The tall trees were resonating with the sound of birds chirping. Beyond the dreary clouds, thunder could be heard as well. But as I sat there, unable to recall what had happened the previous night, I could also hear a man screaming for help. I wasn’t sure which direction he was screaming from. I looked to my left and then to my right, then back to my left. He emerged from the bushes at that point, limping, half-naked in only his underwear. “Help, he’s trying to kill me!” He screamed as he threw his fists furiously at my window. I was still getting myself together, so I didn’t immediately react. He began acting even more frantic, knocking even harder and screaming even louder while looking back through the bushes. He eventually ran to the other side of the car and opened the door before jumping into the passenger seat. “He’s trying to kill me!” He cried. “Please just get me out of here!” I managed to get myself together enough to turn on the engine and drive ahead. After waking up with no memory at all, no idea of where I was or even who I was, I had no clue where I was headed. But, I just kept driving down the dirt road while the man continued crying and screaming that someone was trying to kill him. “Who are you running from?” I finally spoke. The man found a way to calm himself down, but he was still visibly shaking. “It’s him!” He said. “The Headless Killer!” I gave him a perplexed look, still driving but slowing down my speed. “The Headless Killer?” I replied, obviously confused. “The guy that’s been on the news. The one that murdered all of those people.” I was still unaware of who he was talking about. “You really haven’t heard of him?” He asked. “Have you been living under a rock these past few years?” “I don’t even know who I am, much less some supposed killer without a head.” The man began looking around the car, noticing beer cans and a sizable bag of weed. “What do you mean you don’t know who you are?” He asked. “What are you doing so far out here, then?” “I must have blacked out last night.” “People don’t tend to forget their identity when they blackout.” “Well, I guess this is a different kind of blackout.” Just then, a lightning strike hit just ahead of us. I found myself in the middle of nowhere, during a thunderstorm, with a half-naked man supposedly running away from a headless killer. “Where exactly am I taking you?” I asked. “I have zero clue where I am.” “There’s a cabin just down the road, to the right. I don’t particularly feel safe stopping, but you don’t want to get caught out here in a thunderstorm.” As the man said, the cabin was just down the road, and when we got out of the car, I felt a very unusual feeling. It was as if I’d been there before. I helped the man inside the cabin, hoping the storm would pass by soon. Outside, it had begun to pour. We settled into the cabin, being welcomed by a cold, unforgiving breeze. I helped the man to the couch before I went looking for a light switch. I found out there was no electricity. The floors had a creaking sound with almost every single step. It’s a satisfying sound that I love all too much. I’m not sure why, but I love the sound of old wooden floors. I always had, ever since I was a young boy. I felt as though I’d walked those very floors. I smelled the old musky scent. I sat in that rocking chair in the corner of the room, and I heard that old grandfather clock chiming from the dining room. However, the cabin didn’t appear to be occupied. It looked quite vacant. Despite the absence of electricity, the kitchen sink continued to run, but it only ran discolored water you might expect to see in a sewer. The furniture, walls, and floors were all covered in dust. Spider webs were present in the corners of each room, and without a doubt, there were creatures lurking. Maybe under the floors or behind the walls. Perhaps the old place was home to mice or rats. Possibly even spirits of the dead; trapped in the depths of the old cabin for years. It was an eerie place to be, especially during a thunderstorm. After walking through the cabin, I found a stash of candles and matches. I lit a few and placed them in the living room. I dusted off the old rocking chair and I sat down. “You really don’t remember who you are?” The man asked. “How does something like that even happen?” “Your guess is as good as mine.” “Well, my name is Morgan. I want to thank you for being in the right place at the right time. Whatever reason you were out there for.” In a way, the sound of the rain pelting the roofs and windows was soothing. I figured I might be able to remember who I was if I closed my eyes and rocked back and forth. Perhaps the memories will come flooding back to me. Maybe my mother used to rock me to sleep in this chair while I lay on her lap. Or perhaps I’m just broken and have never actually been there before. Those thoughts were presented to me the most. “How do you think you lost your memory?” Morgan asked, breaking the silence. “Couldn’t just be drugs and alcohol.” “I’m not sure. I think this may have happened before, though I’m not sure about that either.” “Well, maybe you hit your head? How does your head feel?” I rubbed the back of my head, feeling nothing but dry, curly hair. “I’ve got a headache,” I said. “Maybe a migraine, but I don’t think I hit my head or anything.” He had gotten silent as his eyes danced around the room. “I’ve been in this cabin before,” he said. “It doesn’t feel nice being back here. It kind of feels like hell. It’s like moving back to the hometown you tried so desperately to get away from.” “I feel as though I’ve been here before as well,” I said. “Is that even possible?” “Maybe you grew up here. Did you try looking for pictures or anything?” “Only thing useful I found was candles and matches. And I guess that ugly, old blanket you’ve got wrapped around you.” He chuckled. “It might be ugly and old, but at least it’s doing its job. Man, it’s cold as hell in here.” I tried closing my eyes and relaxing again, but a thought came to mind. “What’s with this headless killer you talk about?” I asked. “Do you really think he was out there?” Morgan sat up, adjusted the blanket, and then leaned toward me. “You really don’t know about The Headless Killer?” “Enlighten me.” “The Headless Killer has been murdering people throughout Western Pennsylvania for the last three years. He abducts his victims, mostly women, and then he leaves their bodies to be found. “He. Is. Fucking. Psycho.” I laughed. “C’mon, you expect me to believe that? You’re telling me that some guy without a head is out there murdering people?” “He does have a head, you jackass. His victims are the ones without a head. He decapitates them, each and every one of them. Some people say he keeps the victim’s head as some sort of trophy. I believe that’s true.” “Well, I believe that’s all bull shit.” “You don’t have to believe it, John Doe, but whoever he is…is real.” I thought about it. Could there really be a serial killer out there? Murdering people and keeping their heads as trophies? I also had another thought. “Why exactly were you out there alone?” I asked. “How did you end up out there?” “I wasn’t alone,” Morgan said. “The killer was out there. I woke up in the woods, right before I found you.” “But, I didn’t see anybody out there. Did you actually see them?” “He was out there. Trust me.” I began to question myself. At the very same moment that I woke up in the woods, he just so happened to be there by himself. He then takes me to this cabin, where I feel like I’ve been before. Something didn’t seem right. Or maybe I was overthinking it. Could I have also been overthinking the pungent smell that had crept into the room? The insufferable smell of death. Was it coming from behind the walls or the next room? I couldn’t tell, but it lingered. Just then, Morgan lay down on the couch with his back toward me. He snuggled tighter into the blanket. “I just want to get back home to Jess,” he said, audibly crying. “She’s my only child, and after losing her mother last year, I’m all that she has left. I’m still worried that I may not make it out alive. That I won’t be seeing her again. “Do you have any children, John Doe?” “I don’t think I do,” I said. “I can’t remember.” “Maybe that’s for the best,” Morgan said. “Your mother always said you’d make a terrible father.” I stopped the chair and I opened my eyes. Morgan was suddenly sitting up on the couch. He was smiling; a wide, unnatural smile. From inside the blanket, he pulled out an axe. “Don’t you remember your mother?” He asked, laughing. It wasn’t a normal laugh at all. It was sinister; it was demonic. “She’s in the basement, down there with your father.” He stood up from the couch and the blanket fell off his shoulders. I then stood up from the chair. I started backing up as he paced slowly toward me. “You were always the weird one, weren’t you?” He continued laughing. “The outcast, the alcoholic, the druggie, the–” “Shut up!” I screamed. “You don’t know me! You don’t know a thing about me!” “You jackass! You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to you!” His laughter was like nails on a chalkboard, giving a scorching sensation to my head. “Do I sound like your father? That’s what your father used to say to you, isn’t it?” Yes, and I could hear my father saying it. It was embedded in my head as a memory I would never forget. He belittled me. And so did my mother. “You jackass! You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to you!” I ran into the kitchen. “You jackass! You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to you!” I opened the basement door. “You jackass! You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to you!” Just as I was headed down, I turned around to see a headless Morgan, raising the axe in the air. That’s when I fell down the stairs. When I woke up, I was surprised to see that I was in the comfort of my home. The grandfather clock had just started to chime. The storm was beginning to subside, I could tell by the lighter pelting on the windows. I always have nightmares about them, but this one seemed all too real. Like it wasn’t a dream at all. The way I woke up in the woods with no memory of who I was. I never want to dream like that again. I stood up from the rocking chair and switched on the light. The record player was playing that damn song again. I Only Have Eyes For You, by The Flamingos. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great tune, but my parents got married to the song. There were no two people I hated more in this world than those two. I walked down to the basement just to get another view of my collection. In the back room, 13 skulls were placed gracefully behind a glass cabinet. My mother and father were the first two people I ever killed. It was the beginning of everything. The day that I found the real me and the only day I’ve ever had closure in my life. My most recent kill was probably the hardest. I’ll never forget the way he cried for his daughter. I think I actually felt sorry for the guy. His name was Morgan. Damn, that guy would not stop fucking screaming. Anyway, my name is Davey Maxwell, but most people call me The Headless Killer. It’s kind of a cool name, but I wish more people knew about me.