If you don’t know, then you don’t know. Find out in my previous entry here:
It had been three days since Marty shut that door on me and the cops have been gaslighting me about the whole thing ever since. Each day its gotten easier and easier to remember every single detail of what happened that night. I’ve never had a clearer memory of something that happened while I was shitfaced. Hell it was like my minds eye was completely focused on as ten minute portion of that night where everything went bad. Went weird.
I woke up at around 11 o clock on Monday. I had been rendered useless for the entire weekend I was off work, my mind was trying so hard to simply comprehend the terror I felt when I looked at my best friend, faceless in the pale moonlight shining into that factory. I laid in bed for most of the weekend. Like I said before, Marty hadn’t shown for work since that day nor could I get ahold of him. Over the weekend I called hospitals, communicated with the local police, they all denied any admission or finding of Marty either at the scene or…anywhere.
Instead of going out to find him, I laid in bed and drank a few bottles of Jim Beam. When I woke up on Monday morning I knew that it was the day I was going to drive out to 1124 Woorshire Rd and find Marty. Was he going crazy? Is he homeless on purpose? He always had a pleasant scent, except for a few weeks ago when he started having trouble with his girlfriend. I realized that maybe I didn’t know Mart as well as I thought I did. Its no longer the weekend but my bottle still lay firm in my hand as I haul my laundry in a huge basket that I’m carrying with my offhand down the hallway and into the laundry room.
Biff, Biff, BIFF– is the sound of socks, dirty underwear and work shirts with sweat covering the armpit areas hitting the back of the washing machine as I 360 toss the shit in there. I reach for the next work shirt in the pile and when I grab it and pick it up the whole basket comes with it. It was stuck to the other clothes in the basket. I set the blue, broken-to-shit laundry basket down and begin to peel the shirt from the rest of the clothes. At this point I realize that it smells absolutely horrible. It crunches and crackles as I continue peeling it off. Eventually I get over zealous and the shirt rips away viscously, bent and solid like that gray sock my brother would leave laying around the house when we were growing up, disgusting.
I pull the shirt to its length and as it cracks and crunches as I stretch it I notice….It smells like alcohol and..iron? This is the shirt I was wearing that night at the factory with Marty. Its drenched in dried blood. I can see dirt wiped all over it in the shape of Marty’s desperate handprints as I was carrying him to his “Forever home”. Once I realized this, I almost threw up. I threw the thing away, not even going to try washing that out. What really sent me through a loop was, how did it get there? For all I know Marty wasn’t bleeding on me. Or maybe…he was? Maybe that’s what he was screaming bloody murder about when I was carrying him, considering what else happened that night… I started to imagine the skin on his ribs and chest slipping off from the irritation of my hands gripping his body as I was hauling him to that iron door.
I blink this thought away and continue my routine with the laundry. I finish up, and return to my apartment. I was going to go figure out where Marty went. I was going to go figure out if what happened that night was…real. Well, I was going to after work. I closed that night so I would be arriving to the factory nice and late. The perfect time for something inconspicuous or spooky to happen.
My workday is the same as every single other unbearable day I’ve worked. My hiring manager got a new bartender to replace Marty fast. This new kid is lanky, awkward and hes got an unignorably large mole that sits on his cheek. I want to sit at the bar and tip his mole. I finish my mopping and closing sanitary duties, make some small talk with a few co workers and friends and then punch out, ready for my journey into the unknown. I crack open and put down a few beers on my drive to the factory like a goddamn king and pull in. I put my keys in the pocket inside my jacket and crack open a bottle of liquor, just a pick me up before I do this. I drink about 1/3rd of the bottle while I contemplate what ill see in there. Or how Ill even get in….Shit. I didn’t think of how I’m going to get in.
Long story short, a big rock went flying through the window. It was loud. I was drunk. I have no true explanation for these things. I attempt to climb through the window, I didn’t care about my body finding itself moving the wrong way over some piece of glass because the alcohol in my system was doing a wonderful job of numbing the feeling.
It’s pitch black in this building, just like it is every night. I shook my phone a few times and the flashlight came on while I held it out in front of me. If I kicked my feet even a little bit I could see a layer of dust come up from the old wooden floorboards. My eyes carry position to where my flashlight has been pointed. Across the room in the ever dimming light I saw another solid iron door. This door was separate from the iron door used to enter the building, this one seemingly leading deeper inside. As I move up to the door, the dust in the air moving around like infectious spores- I notice that there’s a very large keyhole. Victorian era big…huge…keyhole kinda thing?
This reminded me of the size of the key Marty handed me last night. No sign on Marty anywhere, of course. Not even at the scene where everything happed the other night which I was only a few square feet away from. No blood on the floorboards, nothing. If I we’re to be so bold, I’d almost say that the cops cleaned up the bits of Marty’s face and hand themselves that night. So why did they deny all my questioning?
A soft glimmer on the ground made noticeable by the moonlight flooding in through the window I broke caught my attention. If I had never broke the goddamn window, I would’ve never found that key. I would have dicked around there for a few minutes, got scared-got drunk and left. It was Marty’s key. We were so drunk that night that none of us even thought of the fact that I dropped his key during the fall. I was confused, why didn’t he notice it and pick it up? I wasn’t so surprised I mean he was shitfaced but…it was just strange.
The key was a huge golden key with embroidering that read the letters P A S.
“Pussy…ass….shit..” I think to myself holding back more drunken laughter to some invisible audience.
I twist the key in the lock and with my drunken might pull this huge iron door open. Sterile white light slowly floods out from behind the door. A big hallway. Looks like its straight from an apartment building. Yellow walls, brown carpet. Burning bright white bar lights on the ceiling. In my drunken state this was somehow hilarious to me. I manage to walk into this hallway and down about 3 quarters of it when I notice these huge red and gold double doors. Inscribed in wood on top it says
“Banquet Hall”
The hallway is silent. No ambience. I push open these doors and I’m greeted with an enormous room, mostly solid white wallpaper encompassing it. A dining table that was at least 13 feet wide sat in the center. Off to the left, a bar- to the right a stage that was empty. 7 people sit at this table. Not nearly enough to fill capacity. All are dressed exquisitely and each one of them look bloodthirsty. Among these 7 people I recognize 2 of them immediately. One of them my general manager at Gordons Gourmet. A 30 something year old man with an extraordinary, short beard that curled down his chin. He was wearing a purple dress shirt and a black tie. He was sitting next to..
“Marty? AYYYy” I point directly at him in drunken excitement. Everyone in the room is quiet and Marty doesn’t react to my calling. Marty is slumped on the chair, one of his arms resting off the hand rest and then other drawn on the table, unmoving. His eyes weren’t moving either not even to look at me. That’s when I noticed his face. It was hard to see with my double vision but it looked like it had been…stitched back on?
My general manager, Todd- cleared his throat- sat up and corrected his posture and just barely managed to get out my name through his shock.
“Joel?”
“Todd, whats this whats going on here? Marty ok?” I felt a weird sense of tranquility in this moment.
“Joel, you’re bleeding.”
When he said this I looked down, there was an open gash through the side of my leg that had been bleeding for who knows how long. It explained why I felt so peaceful, I suppose. I watch just about all the people sitting at the table go from rather unassuming yet surprised and taken aback to…angry. Hungry. My instinct could smell the switch. They all started tearing up, their eyes red. Looking at me so longingly. I knew this was not a good situation I’ve gotten myself in. Everyone in the room…except for Marty..
“Joel, run!” My general manager barks as his biceps fucking burst from his shirt, the sheer power of his muscles tearing the fabric at its seems. One of the women that was sitting at the table is already almost on me as I make my exit. Screaming primally, sharp nails- spitting everywhere. Luckily, I was right by the door. With one swift motion I stepped over the threshold and slammed the gigantic double doors shut and held them there with my back to the door. The rapid banging and howling on the other side of the door is enough to snap me out of my drunken haze and take things seriously. Just kidding. While all this is happening I cant help myself, I grab my half dranken bottle of liquor and partake once more. Maybe a final time. As soon as the bottle leaves my lips- a pale bony hand with multi colored long nails comes bursting through the door. I jump a little bit but I still remain holding onto the door.
That is, until that hand finds itself choking me out against the door from the other side. I can only manage to get out a faint “Stop it, stop it” before their claws dig into both sides of my neck. This makes me think that if the thing wanted to, I’m sure it could rip the skull right from the top of my head. Maybe my spinal chord would come along with it, too.
Think fast Joel….what do you have..? This is when I realize alcohol is flammable and I have a trusty bic in my pocket. While im wrestling to grab the lighter I can hear Todd yelling at this hungry crowd of goblins
“Back! Get away from the door that’s my employee!”
“Does this mean I get workers comp, Todd?” I cant be bothered to take my death seriously. The razor sharp nails digging into the side of my neck feel so wrong.
As a final act of my master plan, I tear the ever loving shit out of my shirt. Luckily I can only afford to buy clothes 2nd hand because with my drunken strength I was able to mame it just enough to tear off about a quarter foot of cloth. After that all I had to do was stuff the cloth in my bottle, set it on fire and I had made myself my very own Molotov cocktail. I’m too drunk to care about my surroundings so I clap the bottle and smash it right onto the hand, which happens to also be the side of my face.
Flame is purifying. My vision is desolated by the fire I just set off upside my head and I can hear the lady scowl and withdrawal her arm back through the door. The left side of my head was now on fire and I came to the realization I didn’t like that. Stop, drop- roll. As I’m consoling my face the doors burst open again. Its Todd. Big hunk Todd, and Marty. Marty looks like he cant stand on his own, only with Todd’s assistance.
“Am I getting workers comp or what?” I ask
“Stop asking me that, your hair is still on fire.” Todd says bluntly.
Todd is suddenly a ginormous fucking muscle monster of a man. I’m astounded.
“How’d you get like that you go to the gym now?”
“Ill have to explain that to you, but not now. How did you get here? Did Marty bring you here somehow? Joel, I really did not want you to be involved but seeing as your here and seeing as to how you’ve managed not only to disturb my quests but set them on fire– it looks like you have to be involved now.” Todd grunts, in his sandpaper voice disapprovingly.
“I just got drunk and *hic* thought it was funny, hey you never umm…never told me why Marty disappeared even though you apparently knew so…here I am.”
“Well, you have a lot to learn Joel. Talk to me about it tomorrow after your shift.”
“Tomorrow at my shift okay boss thats…I got that.”
“After, Joel. You’ll understand everything I promise you that.”
“I’ll understand why Mart cant talk or move on his own all the sudden ?”
Todd said nothing. Just looked down upon me in squalor. Like I trabbled through his garden looking for a baseball I threw.
“Go home, Joel. Now. Before I change my mind.”
Looks like now is the time to be an asshole. I raise my arms over my head and given him the universal drunken sign of “Whatcha gonna do about it?” This is when he drops Marty to the ground and walks out from my vision. I pick myself up so my eyes can follow where he went. When I peek my head in the doorframe I can immediately see him opening some sort of door. Worst door ever. He was opening the room he put all those rabid people in. The chick looks at me once and immediately begins that same old shtick of screaming and running after me but this time she was pumping her arm in the air with only a stump for a hand. Blood had soaked the fabric she was wearing. She was a mess and suddenly it seems like she…ate the hand she was choking me with? I say that because through the bloody mess I can make out stumps of varying sizes where her fingers should have been.
I have no time to think, I start running down the hallway to get the fuck out. Wailing constantly and gaining on me fast I cant imagine what she would do to me in just a few short seconds if I couldn’t keep my distance. I barrel out the window I broke (and cut myself on) and crash onto the cold ground. The dead grass feels so good on my hair. No time to stop and smell the flowers though, I have a psycho super powered prime bitch chasing after me. Every drunken bound I take makes me feel even more inebriated as I slam the door to the front seat of my car. As soon as I start the engine the lady jumps into the air. I mean, it must have been 6 feet or more I’ve never seen anything like it.
She lands right on my windshield, cracking the shit out of it. I can feel a few tiny tiny shards of glass hit my eyeball and I take that as a sign that I should probably pull outta there. The crazy bitch is clawing through my windshield trying to grab my burnt face as I start hauling ass down the dirt road leading from the factory into town. Her hand comes so close to my face, too close for comfort personally. By this time I had already pissed my pants. Not sure if it was because I was scared or if it was because I was drunk.
Even in this intoxicated moment, I realized that the situation wasn’t getting any better. My shitty 2009 cars tires where having the time of their life on the dirt road as I pushed the speed to 40, then 50 miles an hour. I couldn’t see a damn thing ahead of me because of the trees, darkness and uh…probably the vampire looking thing thats trying to claw my face off through my windshield. With a move that I was sure to be the death of me, once I was satisfied with the speed I was going I cranked the wheel to the right until it stopped.
The car was sent careening down the road spinning out of control. The motion of the car spinning and eventually rolling made me more sick than the sight of skinny mcfly and her bleeding eyes and body parts going spread eagle against my windshield as my car crushed the hell out of her. And I mean FLATTENED like a damn pancake. I wish I could tell you that I was in pain too, but the booze and shock from having to set myself on fire has completely numbed my body. That’s not to say this event didn’t end up sobering me up a little. What happens next, Ill say I’m not the proudest of just leaving my shitty car in the middle of the road along with… this person that was now dead but hey, I didn’t have insurance. What else was I supposed to do?
I had no desire to go back to the factory again after that. I climbed out of my devastated, flipped over car and popped the trunk, grabbed some tools to take home (which I happen to just keep in my car) unscrewed and removed my license plate. Looks like I was walking home. That night when I opened the door to my apartment I probably felt the most at peace I’ve felt in a long time. My reality falls apart around me in the matter of a few days, and I couldn’t get enough of it. Honestly, it was the most fun I’ve had in my life. I guess getting almost killed by some vampire lookin thing, setting myself on fire…I guess in all honesty I would do anything as long as it meant escaping my mundane, boring and un-special life.
Few more days pass by, I don’t see Todd. Given, those were the days off the week he is typically got the day off. For those few days I felt invincible. I’d go to work, float through the day. Go home, get drunk and pass out my on stained mattress with no bedsheet like a goddamn king. One of these mornings, strung out on my mattress in my small apartment there’s a sudden knock on the door. Its the cop knock. You can always tell.
I opened the door and the officer standing front of me barely had the chance to say
“May we speak with you for a moment?”
Before I realized that I left my goddamn registration in my car. I was always told you shouldn’t leave it in your car. I did. And it was about to fuck me in a way that my drunk self those few nights ago couldn’t have even comprehended.