Choose Your Own
Nuthouse
Section 68
(Nick)You grab several at random and pour large portions of each into a glass, which you then top off with just enough Coke to make it fizzy and caffeinated. You take a large swig and pause while your brain rewires itself from “normal” to “mildly fucked-up.”
You decide that nothing goes better with alcohol than nicontine-y goodness, and head out on to the front porch of the cabin to light up. You light your cigarette and take a much smaller swallow of your drink as you ogle the various attractively curved and scantily clad women that are wandering from cabin to cabin. Just as you’re beginning to feel the need to go refill your drink, someone taps you on the shoulder.
You turn around and see Harlan standing there. You attempt to stifle a scream, but only succeed in nearly swallowing your cigarette. As you choke and cough, Harlan merely stands there with his odd little grin, rather than pound you on the back or laughing like a normal friend.
Eventually, you manage to spit the now soggy cigarette butt into the bushes.
“Jesus tits, Harlan! Trying to fucking kill me?” you sputter.
“Just wanted to say… hi. Hi. Falafel,” he replies. “Catch you later.” And with that, Harlan walks off the porch and out of view. You shudder and go inside to mix a now much needed drink.
Several hours later, you have reached the “I love everyone stage” of drunk, and have made it your personal mission to make sure everyone knows that. After three attempted pummelings, five rib crushing hugs, two breaks for vomiting in bushes, and one rather enthusiastic young woman who wanted to show you how much she loved you, too, you’re quite ready to pass out.
You collapse into a deck chair on the porch and close your eyes. You snap them open again seconds later to stop the world from spinning like some out of control Tilt-A-Whirl. It’s then that you notice someone sitting in the chair next to you. It’s Dave. You tap Dave on the shoulder and are about to ask where the industrial strength aspirin is stored when Dave does something odd. Well, not so much Dave himself, as Dave’s HEAD. As in, “Dave’s head fell off his neck.”
It takes a few moments for your booze-soaked brain to process what has just happened. Your body begins shuddering and you realize you have about three seconds before you projectile vomit all over the corpse of one of your best friends.
Being as how your legs refuse to cooperate, you simply turn away from Dave’s corpse and make do with trying to throw up on yourself as little as possible. When the retching, dry heaving, and low scale weeping are done with, you realize that you need to see if you can find someone to help you.
You run to the nearest other cabin, and open the door to find the kids staying there stacked in front of the fireplace like so much bloody cordwood. Scrawled upon the wall nearest them is the word “REDRUM.” You are not so much impressed as offended that someone would be that cheesy.
Upon inspection of all the other cabins, the boathouse, and various parked cars, you realize that each and every person you know has been viciously murdered in some way. There are eviscerations, decapitations, mutilations, and what looks like an homage to the chestburster scene in Alien done with one of those cast-iron rooster doorstops.
Throughout all the cabins, you have an eerie feeling that you’re being watched for you reactions to the scenes that you find before you. You start to feel your heart pound harder and harder in your chest, and you’re becoming short of breath. You know you’re being followed, but by whom?
That question is answered as you lean against a tree, trying to get your wits about you. You see a form moving in the foggy darkness several dozen yards away and completely and utterly against your better judgment, you call out “who’s there?”
The foggy figure in the distance begins moving towards you much more quickly. You see what appears to be a large machete in their hand. The idea that you should not be leaning against a tree pops into your head. The idea that you should be running very very fast occurs to you, as well. You decide to follow both of these ideas and take off like a motherfucker.
“Hey, man, don’t run!” Wait, is that Harlan’s voice? you think to yourself.
“Listen, I HAD to do it. Um. Surge protector.” Yep, that’s Harlan. Your legs begin to carry you farther and farther from the sound of Harlan as he recounts each and every person’s seemingly minor transgressions against him. You think about stopping to reason with him, then realize that you’ve owed him five bucks for the past six months and, really, there’s no reasoning with a man carrying a bloody machete.
However, you realize that Harlan’s voice is coming from behind you, and the foggy figure is ahead of you. This realization gives you pause. You take this pause to remember Harlan’s words about watching out for the monkey. There’s no way a monkey could have killed all your friends, is there?
Nope. Harlan seemed to be slightly off in his warning, because as the simian moves closer in your field of vision, you realize that it’s an amazingly large silverback gorilla carrying a machete and wearing a hockey mask. At this, your brain shuts down completely, and your body goes into full self-preservation mode.
The ground begins to blur beneath you as you run far faster than any person with a pack a day cigarette habit and mild drinking problem should be able. Crashing into trees, shrubs, and what may have been Harlan in your mad dash to escape, all you can think of is the silverback behind you and how you once read that a fully grown adult can rip the arms from a fully grown adult human.