The bleeding man stumbled but kept on following. The bleeding man with vacant eyes, moaned fiendishly as he tried to catch up. The bleeding man with footsteps that matched your heartbeat. The more you get scared, the faster he chases. And he stops when your heartbeat stops. When you are dead.
I had heard tales of the bleeding man, in parties where you cannot put a face to the words that you hear. At parties where you go to drown the voices. The ones from the outside and the ones from the inside. They said the worst thing that the bleeding man does is…
I don’t remember what they said. Or it just got lost in the noise of the noise of the music.
I turned to look over the shoulder. He was closer than before. The more tired I got, the faster my heart beat, the longer his strides got. But I can see him more clearly now. Though I couldn’t really place the face, I had seen him before. He was not a complete stranger. Maybe someone I had seen on the bus, maybe an acquaintance from the past? Somebody I had wronged, unknowingly?
The ghosts of my other misdeeds have haunted me before. All those times I broke my promises, all those times I let my loved ones down. Those ghosts have haunted me in the nights all the time. But never tried to kill me. But this motherfucker. Who was he? Had I run someone over?
The Bleeding man grew taller as I granted him more thought. He got muscular as I thought more about him, tried to decode him. Gaining more ground with the newfound strength I had given him, he reached out for me. Scratching the back of my neck. I whimpered and quickened my pace!
Through the parked cars, zig-zagging my way to the elevator bay that I could now see on the horizon. Think about good things, I told myself. Think about the time you went on that vacation. The vacation you went because your heart broke and you were too scared to face it and literally ran away? Fuck, that was not a good thought. Try something else, I told myself. Think about that first bicycle you were gifted.. The one that you hated so much because everyone had better ones? Because your best friend called you a sissy girl for riding one with no bars?
Every good thought can become a bad one if you think it long enough. A hand came from over my shoulders and covered my face. A decayed hand with boils and blood dripping. I fell to the floor, hit my head on the cement and tears filled my eyes.. Through the water, I could just see the shape of the bleeding man looming over me. He leaned down to have a good look at me. And I got a good look at him. Still no recognition. Still can’t place that fucking face.
He started to weep as he unfolded a blade and started to carve my face. His tears met my fresh blood. My legs shuffled on the parking floor, trying to get away, but slipped on the ample blood that had now formed a pool around me. The physical pain was refreshing after the agonizing thoughts. I closed my eyes and relished it. After all these years, never had something felt so liberating. Not a bad thought hanging around, waiting to get me. Just pure, unadulterated, red pain.
I opened my eyes. And screamed. He had left me undead. Hadn’t finished the job he had started. And then I remembered. Yes, that was the worst thing that he did, I remembered. He leaves you bleeding. And moaning, fiendishly.
Oh.. now I know who he was.