Section 61
(Nick)
So, you choose the middle path. You hear a slight sniggering going on in the mist that surrounds you.
“What?” you ask. “Something funny about the middle path?”
“OH, NO. I’M NOT GIVING ANY HINTS. NOT A ONE. IT’S ALL TOTALLY UP TO YOU. IF THE MIDDLE PATH’S THE ONE YOU WANT, GO AHEAD AND GO. I’M NOT GOING TO STOP YOU. IT’S YOUR CHOICE.”
You shrug and figure that if death is waiting for you, you may as well face it. Plus, that “god” seems to be a complete and total ass, and the sooner you can get away from it, the better. You start off down the path and leave the continued sniggering behind you.
The same creepy mist that was seeping out of the woods around the Pit of Insufferable Misery surrounds the path on all sides. Occasionally, you see something move within the mist. Well, you think you see something. It might be the mist, or it might be demons or goblins or… *shudder* circus midgets.
You try and think happy thoughts as you walk down the path. Any happy little thought. Of course, it’s hard as hell to think happy little thoughts when you might get killed at any moment, so you settle for humming the theme song to Bonanza.
You’ve just about hit the crescendo when you’re forced to switch from humming to screaming like you just zipped “yourself” into your pants. This is the natural reaction to seeing what appears to be a pyramid made of gore dripping body parts.
After screaming for a good ten-fifteen minutes, your throat starts to get sore, and you opt to take a breather. You sit down and tap out the last cigarette from your pack. As you light your smoke, you let your eyes wander over the body part pyramid. Really, once you’ve gotten used to it, it’s not that bad. Sure, it’s bloody, and there’s quite a few flies, and it smells like rancid meat dipped in feces, but you’ve pretty much gotten used to all that.
That’s when you notice a head near the bottom of the stack. It appears to be a head. Your friend Dave’s head. With no eyes. This ends the “it’s not so bad” feeling regarding the pyramid pretty darn quick.
Against your better judgment, you walk nearer the pyramid to make sure you’re not just seeing things. Indeed you’re not. As a matter of fact, as you make a circuit of the pyramid, your friend Dave’s head seems to be joined by the heads of everyone you were supposed to meet at Lake Doomhole. You contemplate this fact as you take a final drag on your cigarette.
You grind out the cigarette butt on your friend Harlan’s forehead. You never really cared for Harlan, anyhow. He was pretty much fucking creepy. Not that the crushed out butt on his forehead has done anything to enhance his appearance, but it’s not like it could have hurt much, anyhow.
“Tsk, tsk… that’s not very nice.”
“Well, y’know- I never really liked the guy.” You pause. The voice came from behind you. You turn around slowly.
Standing behind you is a man in white clothes. Well, to be more specific- what had been- once upon time, long long ago in a galaxy far far away- white clothes. Now they’re blood colored clothes with the occasional speckle of white. The man is tall, skinny, and carrying what appears to be the biggest goddamned chainsaw you’ve ever seen in your life. The chainsaw is also blood colored. You are filled with could be called dread, but would more accurately be called “scared shitless”, or even “ohfuck” fear.
“Hi,” says the man. “S’pose you’d like to know why the heck why I dismemberized all your friends with ol’ Pete, here.”
“Yes, I would.” You’d also like to get out of here alive, and, Lord willing, with all your limbs and “fun parts” attached, but choose to not speak that part aloud, so as to not give him any ideas. A man who names his chainsaw most likely has a screw or three thousand loose.
“My name’s Wilbur. I got me a shack out here by the lake, and enjoys m’ seclusion. Well, these kids keep comin’ out here to Lake Doomhole, and havin’ their drinkin’ parties, and their pot parties, and their sex orgies, and I gots to where I couldn’t get a proper night’s sleep. So, when I seen this here group o’ young’uns gittin’ together to fornicate and get drunkafied and stoned, I figgered the best way to silence ‘em up for good would be to make an example out of ‘em.”
You ponder this for a while.
“But,” you say, “How can you make an example out of them when you’ve got this pile of body parts hidden deep within the woods? I mean, it’s not like anybody’s going to know that they’re back here. You’d have to leave a trail or something… to… lead… people. Here. Ohshit.”
Wilbur looks at you with a gleam in his eye.
“I was thinkin’ just the same thing m’self, young feller. I was gittin’ to where I was gonna use some of these here parts, but that would mean havin’ to restack the whole pile, and as you might’ve noticed, it’s gittin’ a mite ripe. So, if you wouldn’t mind standin’ still a spell, I’d be right appreciative if you wouldn’t mind lendin’ me a hand… or any other limbs I happen to lop of with ol’ Pete.”
For some amazingly idiotic reason, you actually stop to ponder Wilbur’s request. However, as soon as he yanks Pete’s chain and gets him revving, you decide to book it back whence you came. You turn and run, and proceed to trip over a large pile of entrails you’d missed during your earlier appreciation of the corpse pile before you’ve made it more than three feet.
Laying there on the ground, smeared with the assorted guts of your now mixed-and-matched friends, you can’t help but wonder how much it hurts to get cut by a chainsaw. You close your eyes and pray for a swift and painless demise.