You’ll probably not believe me what I’m saying but I swear it’s true. This has kept happening to me these past few weeks and the more I think about it, the more and more I feel creeped out.

My name is Jake Henderson and I live in a small suburban town in the Midwest. I’m fourteen years old and I attend my local Middle School. My life is average as it is, my dad is working as an electrician and my mother is a housewife. I have an older brother and sister. Our relationship is good, not perfect but good. I also have several friends that I truly consider to be close to me. There is even one girl I have a crush on, her name is Mary, but I still haven’t gathered the courage to confess my honest feelings to her.

But my personal life isn’t the main thing here. I guess it is a major factor as it affects my life, but the truth is far more ominous. See, like I said earlier, my town is small and timid and nothing much happens in it, for most of the time. The only ever excitements we get is during the holidays, such as Thanksgiving and Christmas and even then, the euphoria doesn’t last long. Sometimes I long for something more interesting to happen. And I never thought that even in my wildest dreams my wish would be fulfilled in the worst way possible.

It was around noon, when I was returning home from school earlier because our teacher called in sick. Needless to say, me and my fellow classmates were overjoyed so we didn’t really waste time on getting out and hurrying to return to our homes. I usually walk with some of my friends from school to home until around midway through the town center and then we have to split up and each one of us goes their own separate way. My house is located in the northern part of the town, a quiet little neighborhood called the Darry. But as I strolled through the streets, a loud and ghastly scream rooted me in place as if someone had frozen me in solid ice. Going around the corner, I nearly fainted at the sight and couldn’t help but vomit several times on the floor at the sight in front of me.

There was a small crowd of people encircling and panicking around an eviscerated young man. He was white with brown hair and blue eyes and that was the only thing I could tell, and which had remained in one piece. His limbs and abdomen were split open, there was blood everywhere, his organs were splattered like an explosion tore them apart. I would have fallen to the ground if not for a man catching me and holding me tightly. After some time, I got better and looked up at my savior. My eyes went wide. He was a huge man, wearing a brown coat and pants with a black fedora. His face looked like if someone had scraped it with a razor several times and then coated it in sulfuric acid. His teeth were jagged and razor-sharp and his eyes crimson and sparkling. This time, I really wanted to faint. I frantically looked around myself to see if anyone would notice this monstrous man holding me, a simple teenager, but to no avail. Nobody even cared. All of the attention was diverted towards the eviscerated young man that was lying splattered on the ground.

Were they ignoring me on purpose? A sickly-looking teenager like me at that point probably wasn’t their priority so they tended to the matter that was more urgent. I could understand that. But what I didn’t understand is the fact that I felt so detached and oblivious from reality like never before. As if I didn’t belong here.

My parents were scared for me, especially my mother, who I remember, was crying so loudly that I had witnessed that sight, that I felt physically sick. One of the worst things that a human being can witness is seeing their mother cry in anguish. They took me to a therapist to treat my trauma and PTSD but to their shock, it didn’t affect me that much. My grandpa, who was a Vietnam War veteran joked that I was his grandson and that nothing could faze me. I like my grandpa, he is always full of stories and his own experiences, going in details when he talks his war stories. My parents don’t really like that, they think I’m too young to hear such things, but I digress. My grandpa is the bravest man I know and he’s fearless. Even though sometimes I can hear him crying and shaking when a loud noise bothers him and sometimes, he even screams at nights, shouting the names of his comrades who died in Vietnam.

The poor guy that got eviscerated was some bloke who dropped from college, was several thousands of dollars in debts and his own family had abandoned him. He took the worst decision and tragically ended his life by jumping of a five-story building. It is still unexplainable how he managed to get cut open by jumping off a building. The coroners said in their reports (which was posted in the morning newspaper that dad always reads) that a fall from that height would break many bones and limbs and enforce a violent death from blunt force trauma but nothing could explain his further injuries. It looked like someone had cut him open with sharp blades or a tiger or lion had mauled him, or an organ trafficking ring had stolen his organs. His death was still ruled as a suicide and the official cause of death was blunt force trauma from a fall but most of the town denizens were skeptical of this.

Be as it may, only four days later, another tragedy struck. A sixteen-wheeler truck had crashed into a diner in downtown and nearly destroyed the whole object. Seventeen people were wounded and thirteen more died. Once again, I was there. There were limbs scattered everywhere, organs, guts, I even stepped on a liver I think, and a police officer was yelling at me that I was tampering with evidence. It wasn’t my fault, really. I was returning from the cinema with my friends, and I happened to see this. I once again saw the large, disfigured man and as I went after him behind the corner, he vanished. Almost like a magician.

My parents found out again that I witnessed another bloody tragedy and this time they didn’t take me to a therapist. Instead, I was sent off to my grand uncle or ‘grunkle’, my grandpa’s younger brother, who lived around twenty miles away in a fishing town beside a large lake. The place was so calm and tranquil. We spent our days fishing and chatting about many things. Grunkle didn’t go to war since he was born with a shorter left leg, so he walked with a limp and didn’t need to enroll since he was legally disabled. His mental health was better than grandpas in that sense that he didn’t suffer from PTSD but as he got older, his shorter leg gave him some serious issues as chronic pain was eating him alive.

One day as we were preparing to go out fishing, I heard grunkle talking with some guy at the front door. I was in the kitchen, so I didn’t see with whom he was talking to, but the guy had a deep voice, which sounded as if he had recently risen from a grave. When they finished their conversation, my grunkle closed the door and I saw him carrying a large box up the stairs. I thought it was just fishing supplies, but it wasn’t.

Several minutes later, a loud bang from the second floor where grunkle had gone nearly caused me to fall down on the floor. I hid behind the counter in the kitchen, and I started shaking like I was in a frenzy. What the hell was that?! I grabbed a kitchen knife and slowly started to walk up the stairs.

I called for grunkle several times but nothing. No sound. I was scared shitless, even worse than seeing those deaths or that strange man. Still, I managed to stifle that dreaded feeling of fear and barged into my grunkle’s room and screamed.

He was sitting on the chair but most of head was blown off. Some lower parts of his jaw remained, his tongue, neck and the back of his head were ruined but were still hanging on somehow. His eyes and brain were splattered across the wall behind him and there was a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun lying on the floor. My eyes widened as I saw the same box that he was carrying just now and that was given to him by that man, lying on the floor and it looked like it was recently opened. Was he... did that man... give him the gun to kill himself?! There was no damn way...

Even though I was crying and hyperventilating, I was able to call the police and tell them the address. The deputy and another police car arrived, and they were shocked. They immediately contacted my parents who arrived, and I gave my statement at the local police station. I told them everything that happened that day, putting special emphasis on that strange guy that was talking to my grunkle and who most likely gave him the box and the gun inside. I was pretty sure that the man gave it to him since my grunkle was a huge pacifist and he never held nor owned a gun which was a huge contrast to his older brother, who was an avid gun enthusiast.

I didn’t go to school the next month. Instead, I was going to church and talking to various doctors and therapists and whatnot. My parents were afraid that I would also develop suicidal tendencies like my grunkle but that was all a moot point. To be bluntly honest, I didn’t feel nothing. I know it’s a terrible and apathetic thing to say but at this point, death didn’t frighten or sadden me. Instead, it fascinated and intrigued me.

The police investigation into the man who visited my grunkle proved to be fruitless. Nobody seemed to see a man matching the description I gave them, however limited it was, there was absolutely no record of that man ever existing or being seen anywhere in the vicinity of the fishing town where my grunkle had lived. Because of that, the case was closed and my grunkle’s death was ruled as a suicide, with no further developments made.

When I started to go to school again, I had already felt better. I had almost forgotten about all the terrible things that had happened the past few months, that my life was beginning to make sense after all. But like all good things, it was only temporary.

Mary, the girl that I had a huge crush on, accompanied me home one day from school because she had to go to the dentist who worked near my neighborhood. During the whole time that we walked together, my stomach was burning up. I barely contained my excitement as I was thinking of ways to confess to her my feelings without sounding too corny or awkward. Sadly, I wasn’t able to as she went her own way while I made it home. I needed more courage.

One night, some unknown number texted me and sent me a mysterious message which simply said:

YOU HAVE TO MAKE A CHOICE

I deleted the message and blocked the number as I dismissed it as just some silly prank... but there was one small part of me which said that there was something off about this.

Several minutes later I received another message, from another unknown number:

MARY OR YOUR DOG

I gulped as my phone fell out of my hands. Did they just guess or was this some planned attack on me? I mean, Mary is a common name and having a dog is very usual here but still, I felt terrified. Should I tell my parents? I don’t even know. How many fake numbers does this person have? I deleted the message and blocked this number too but as soon as I did it, another message arrived from yet another unknown number:

NEITHER? HARSH CHOICE KID

I did the same thing again and turned off my phone and pulled out the battery too.

Tomorrow, I changed my phone number and also asked at the mobile shop about the three unknown numbers that texted me those ominous messages last night. The shop clerk told me that neither of the three numbers were ever in use and he even accused me of pranking him. I was afraid of telling my parents or calling the police, so I went straight to school where I was met by a large mass of students and teachers alike. Some were crying and wailing in desperate agony while some just stood there in silence with their heads bowed down. When our homeroom teacher addressed us, I fell down to my knees. Everything felt foggy and dreary but after several minutes I was finally able to process her words.

Mary, my classmate and crush, had died this morning from complications of having her wisdom tooth extracted. Apparently, she bled out, contracted a blood infection, went into cardiac arrest and died, all in the span of half-an-hour. This was fucking bullshit... how can someone die from having their tooth removed?! And Mary of all people... if only I had confessed to her... but that would have made it even worse, knowing that she could have potentially become my girlfriend and died the next morning...

There were no classes that day and the day after. The whole school attended Mary’s funeral and the weeping of her mother will forever haunt my dreams. During the burial ceremony, she made howls and sounds that I never knew a human being could produce. Mary’s father was just staring blankly at his one and only child getting buried into the cold ground. His reaction actually scared me more. The mother was letting it all out, but nobody could know what was going through the father’s head. But then again, maybe it was better if I didn’t know such pain and grief. As I was pondering this in my head, a large hand gripped my shoulder, breaking me out of my thinking and I turned my head around and could only see a glimpse of a large man wearing a coat and a fedora disappearing behind a tree. Nobody reacted to him, not even my parents who were standing next to me and there was absolutely no way they didn’t notice such a large man approaching their son and putting his hand on him.

When we returned home, I felt like crap, so I wasn’t in the mood for anything. Not even crying. I could only pray that Mary didn’t suffer much, just like my grunkle. I went out into our backyard to attempt calming myself by staring at the sky and the clouds. I called out for my dog, but he didn’t answer. I approached the doghouse which was red, and the name ‘Sparky’ was engraved just under the roof. A large golden retriever, he was six years old, and we had had him since he was a cub. He was such a gentle and kind soul that I often thought of him better than any human.

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I called for him several more times but nothing. As I leaned down and looked inside of the doghouse, I saw some traces of blood. I was so desensitized by violence and cruelty at this point that I wasn’t even shook, but I still felt alarmed for my dog. Looking behind the doghouse, I saw him.

My dog Sparky was decapitated, his headless body laying down while his head was nowhere to be found. His neck was crudely cut off as if the attacker had used a dull blade. No, no... what was I thinking? I wasn’t shocked that my dog was killed but by the technique that was used in slaughtering him. I heard my sister scream from her room and went inside the house. Everyone was gathered in my sister’s room and there it was, Sparky’s decapitated head was stuffed inside my sister’s pillow. Whoever did this atrocity, must have done it while we were at Mary’s funeral.

My parents were seriously thinking of moving out. The police investigation proved ineffective as there were no clues or fingerprints from the perpetrator. A perfect crime, in the words of the assistant chief. I told them of the man I saw at the funeral who gripped my shoulder but still nothing. It’s as if he didn’t exist, except for my own eyes.

While I was attempting to sleep, I thought of something. Those weird messages made me feel uneasy but also intrigued me greatly. Whoever was sending them, asked me to make a choice. Mary or my dog. I refused to answer. They accepted it as me choosing neither which was true, since I didn’t choose either of them. And then the next two days, both Mary and my dog died. Almost like a coincidence. And then I saw that man again. I didn’t see his face this time, but there was no doubt that it was him. The same brown coat, fedora hat, tall and burly stature, there was no one else. And he was also a master of stealth and staying hidden since nobody had ever seen him. Almost like a ghost or maybe he was one. Maybe I should ask him one day?

Unbeknownst to me, my wish would come true sooner than later. When I was attempting to sleep one night, a grave voice nearly made my heart jump out.

“Greetings Jake. Are you still awake?”

At first, I thought I was in my REM phase, and it was a faint dream trying to lure me into a sense of reality. But it wasn’t that. The voice as unhinged and crocked as it sounded, was still clearly coming from my room. Cold sweat splashed my face, but I didn’t dare to open my eyes. My breathing hitched as my teeth started clattering. It would have been almost too goofy and cartoon-like if it wasn’t for the fact that a demonic voice was talking to me in the middle of the night.

“You are afraid. It’s only natural. But you have grown braver and bolder. Death doesn’t scare you anymore. Instead, now it fascinates you, intrigues you, makes you feel things that you can’t possibly describe. You are slowly becoming a master of death. Just like I am.”

Oddly enough, his words didn’t make me scream or yell. In contrast, they calmed me down. I still didn’t open my eyes, but my breathing got steadier, and I even pulled my hands out and put them over the blanket.

“Were you responsible for Mary’s and Sparky’s death?” I asked with all the courage I could muster.

“If you think that I killed them, you’re wrong. I merely redirected the fortunes and misfortunes to land in that way, for the ultimate outcome.”

“What about my grunkle? Were you that man that talked to him and gave him that box that contained the shotgun?”

I heard him take a few steps around my room until stopping and standing in one place again. I didn’t even realize the vulnerable state that I was in right now. This man could have finished my life any moment he wanted but for some reason didn’t. Yet.

“That man was in a lot of pain. He begged me to stop his suffering. And so, I did, I helped him. I helped release him. Death is our only release.”

“Who... what are you?”

“I am everything.”

He was right. The man was absolutely right in everything he said. I wanted to see more deaths, more suffering, more violence. I found on the internet a guy who sold bootleg and pirated snuff porn films and I bought some. I watched them all, not caring whether they were real or fake. I made sure to keep them hidden from my parents. I don’t think I ever got that hard from watching a film like that.

Days later, the guy that sold me those snuff films was found dead in his apartment. Apparently, he hanged himself naked and there was a lot of urine and feces on and around him. They say he lived like a pig and apart from the snuff and B-horror films in his secret stash, the police also found many jailbait and child porn videos and they soon launched a thorough search-and-arrest operation to search for all the customers of the dead creepy pig. I panicked as I couldn’t just throw them somewhere or bury them as the police had dogs to sniff the ground and our city wasn’t that big anyway, something like this was so spread around that I was in a critical condition. That’s why I was forced to summon him, to ask for his help. I called The Red Man to save me.

He accepted. One night, he appeared in my room but this time, he wore a black and white suit, and his face wasn’t disfigured. Instead, he was bald with olive skin color, and he had three eyes, one additional on his forehead. He winked at me as he took the snuff films and disappeared.

I dreaded the next week, being anxious about the police arresting me for the snuff films I bought from that guy, but nothing happened. He really got rid of them, forever. How he did that, I don’t know. But he wanted something in return, and it was another choice of who lives and who dies.

My brother or my grandfather.

I was stunned at first, but the choice was clear to me the next day. I chose my brother to live. He was still young while my grandfather was old. He had lived quite the lively life while my brothers' was just starting. Sorry grandpa, but it was time for you to join your wife and brother while my own brother was going to live longer.

A part of me still thought that The Red Man was bluffing as skepticism rolled in. Which was ridiculous, by the way. I mean, this... whatever this thing is (it definitely was not human), could freely teleport inside and outside of my room, was seemingly invisible to anyone but me, could kill (okay, in his words, he doesn’t kill but just redirects the fortunes and misfortunes in the desired directions), made my snuff film collection disappear forever so I was off the radar for the police investigation. I would have been the biggest fool to suspect The Red Man’s power and influence.

It was finally over. My grandpa had moved to a retirement home and died in his sleep from a heart attack. At least it was quick. They say that if you die in your sleep, you feel zero pain. Whether that was true or not, I can’t tell, since I’m still alive and haven’t experienced death while sleeping.

Since my grandpa fought in the Vietnam war, he had a military-themed funeral, and soldiers fired three shots in the air. My family was silently crying and mourning while I was faintly smiling. I looked at my brother. He wasn’t even aware that I had just saved his life by trading our grandfathers' for his. What would happen if I told him that fact? Would he get angry? Or would he just call me crazy and insane? Sometimes I feel like the only one who understands me in this mortal world is The Red Man.

But this way of thinking, was my fatal mistake. I thought that I was his equal, his friend. Oh man, oh man, how wrong was I...

When he manifested himself again in my room at night, I stood up and I wasn’t keeping my eyes closed. I was looking at him. I frowned at him. His appearance was completely different. He wore neither a suit nor a trench coat. Instead he wore Chuck Taylors, tight blue jeans with carved lines, a black belt, a white shirt with the Kiss logo, a denim jacket which was unbuttoned and had a white woolen collar, several round pins attached to his jacket, including a peace sign, a rainbow colored-one, a striped light-blue and pink colored-one, a Black Panther Party one, a Gadsden flag and finally one in the colors of the Union Flag complete with 35 stars. His hair was dark, long and straight, his face adorned with high cheekbones, a pronounced and chiseled jawline with a long face, gray eyes and a sharp look on his face. While his skin color was fair, his facial appearance reminded me of a Native American. Needless to say, he towered above me, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He smirked at me. Was he still The Red Man?

“You really did it... my brother is alive and healthy while my grandfather is gone... I have no doubt in your power now.”

“Yes... I believe you. But you made one big mistake. You thought yourself as being equal to me, when that is none closer to a lie. There are none that are equal to me. I am the one absolute force in this universe. And for that you must pay.”

I took a deep breath. He wanted to kill me. Just like that... I guess I had it coming after being so obsessed with death and suffering in the past few months and even causing the deaths of Mary, Sparky and my grandfather. Maybe this was also a test for me. If I pass this correctly, then maybe I can also become a master of death just like he did. Considering myself as his equal or friend was too arrogant in hindsight, but it was too late now.

“I must die?”

The Man snickered as he walked around my room and glanced at my belongings. He stood close to the large poster on my wall from the Avengers movie. I knew it was corny capeshit but I was too lazy to take it off.

“Heh, I remember when this thing was still only a drawing on paper, when it started... and to think that it grew to so many different adaptations, some good, some bad, truly fascinating. The curse of consumerism has swallowed this nation whole... of course, to my immense joy and satisfaction-”

“You remember when the Avengers first comic strip was created? How old are you exactly?” In the most ballsiest move of my life, I interrupted him as I folded my arms and looked him up straight into his eyes. If I was chosen to die by his hands, then I might as well quell some thirst for knowledge that I had.

“I was there... when the first men and women crossed from Africa to Europe and Asia... when the Ice Age froze everything... when the pyramids were built... when the Western Roman Empire fell... when the Mongols destroyed everything in their path... when the Europeans colonized the New World... when the United States fought their neighbors, the Indians and then nearly destroyed themselves... during the two world wars. I was there during every atrocity committed. Killing, torturing, raping, fucking, mutilating, abducting, stalking, causing pain and misery. I fucked everyone, including your ancestors. Nothing can get past me, nothing. And nothing can harm me. Now, I’m offering you a final choice. You or your mother.”

I looked at the door of my room and thought of my mother. Would I really be willing to exchange my life for her? If I pass this test and sacrifice my mother, I will become immortal. Just like The Man did. Maybe I can find a way to cheat death and get my loved ones back. My loved ones who were killed by this monster, demon, devil, whatever the hell he is. I... I became something that I hated. I wasn’t even aware of it; life is so fragile. I can’t just go around and choose who gets to live or die. I am not God. I am just a human being, a teenage boy. I hate myself so I must do the ultimate sacrifice.

“I choose myself.”

The Man’s face twisted and for a brief moment there was some sort of surprise carved upon the lines of his face but that was soon replaced by a vicious grin as he put his large and hairy hands upon my shoulders. He was freakishly strong, but he didn’t grip me too much. I guess he wasn’t going to kill me here.

“Every moment with you is a surprise. You want to die? I shall fulfill your wish then, kid.”

And with that we disappeared from my room. After moments of my whole body and soul bending around like rubber and flying through colorful and colorless worm-like creatures and human excrements and harrowing screams and moans, we suddenly stopped traveling. He let go of me at once and I looked around us. It was pitch dark except for a single nightlamp providing some pathetic source of light around it. I could see that we were standing on a grass field but that was it. I couldn’t see anything else, literally anything at all. And it’s not as if there was a wall or mist or fog obstructing my view. There was just darkness around us, and I didn’t even dare to think of what might be there beyond the dark.

“Is this the afterlife? Where the hell are we?”

As I turned around, The Man was holding a shovel and there was a wooden coffin lying on the ground. It had an inverted cross made from steel nailed to its front.

“Start digging.”

And so, I did. I grabbed the shovel and to my relief, the soil was very soft and easy to dig in. My arms started to hurt after a while and my hands were full of blisters and splinters, but I didn’t care. I was doing this for my mother. So that she could live.

When I had finished digging a man-sized hole, I got out and stuck the shovel into the ground. The Man slid the coffin into the grave by pushing it with his right leg... how strong must he be to push a coffin with ease that needs at least six adult men to carry with all their might.

“Open it and get inside. Then close it.”

I nodded. I climbed back into the hole but now I lied down into the coffin, which was bigger than me and as I wanted to close the lid, I looked at The Man one last time. He had a mysterious look on his face as he was calculating something in his head or maybe he was sizing me up, as if he brought a coffin that was too large for me.

“I have three last questions for you.”

“Speak.”

“You say that you don’t kill directly. Who killed my dog then? And what about the guy that jumped off that building and was eviscerated? Who sliced him up? And finally, what happened with the driver that ran his truck into that diner, killing and wounding all those people? The police said that there wasn't a single drop of alcohol in his blood so did he drive it on purpose?”

The Man genuinely laughed as he folded his arms and looked down directly into my eyes.

“There was this one man who harbored a deep hatred for dogs. You see, he had an accident with a neighbor’s pit bull in which the poor guy lost his penis and both of his balls, leaving him a eunuch. He was forced to urinate through a tube and had no hope of ever having sex or children. Even worse, he never had sex to begin with, he was a terminally online loser who had a chronic porn addiction. To ease some of his suffering and quell some thirst for revenge, I redirected him to your backyard when you and your family where busy with your grandfather’s funeral. But don’t worry, he didn’t live long after that, because I made some ‘arrangements’ in which the man ran into a moving train, killing him instantly and destroying his body into million pieces. I think they never got all the puzzle pieces from his corpse. The guy that jumped off the building was even thinking of not doing it, but I was able to persuade him to jump and end it all. While on the ground, he was mutilated by crackheads and other homeless scum who were throwing a fit because they ran out of their drug supplies. And the truck driver wasn't drunk, but I glued his right shoe and foot to the gas pedal and that's why he crashed. I did it because... well, because it was fun. Heh."

I wheezed despite feeling sad for my dear dog. Knowing that the bastard suffered a gruesome death made my own fate easier to digest. I did also feel sad for the guy who jumped off the building and the truck driver, but now it was time...

As I closed the coffin to myself, I heard The Man’s last words without seeing his face.

“You are a brave man.”

He called me a man. Not a kid, not a brat but a man. I guess I had finally fully matured, ironically in my last moments.

The coffin was fully closed. I was staring into darkness and awaiting. Dying from hunger and thirst is cruel. Getting buried alive is even more cruel. I heard and felt the gravel of the ground falling onto the coffin and after a minute or two, it was all over. I was buried in the ground in a coffin with no way of getting out. I couldn’t open the coffin, and even if by some miracle I was able to open it under the overwhelming heavy ground, I would get crushed to death by the same ground. It was over for me, but my family would live on.

Hours had passed but I wasn’t panicking. Honestly, I felt bored. I just wanted it to be over. Can I just please die already? I only got sad because by now it would be morning and my parents and siblings would have realized that I was gone, and they were never going to see me again. Or my body.

Did I die a hero, or did I live long enough to have become a villain? I know, the line was corny and cheesy by this point in time, but it felt real to me, to my situation. What if he saw my future somehow and was trying to save me from becoming a villain? Maybe he made sure I died a hero before I descended into darkness...

The coffin had already started to crack under the immense pressure. Getting crushed to death wasn’t the way I thought I was going to die but neither of us can predict the way and time of our death. Spiders, worms and maggots were now creeping inside the coffin and were all over me, entering my ears, under my clothes, everywhere. They were hungry but they'll have to wait a while. I was still alive. A loud thump made me fully open my eyes, even though my face was crawling with maggots and leeches.

A large dark-blue snake was slithering around my legs and making its way across my body. I could feel its weight on me but what truly disturbed me about the snake was its body; the snake had two heads, each fully functional with jarring red eyes, and each had some sort of horn on the top of its head. I have never seen a snake like this before, it reminded me of those mutated snakes in those post-apocalyptic video games. It didn’t bite me, instead it crawled to my head and crushing its way through all the insects and vermin that were assaulting my body, the snake wrapped itself around my neck and started to squeeze, harder and tighter.

I started to gag and gasp for air. I was choking on nothing, but my windpipe and throat were getting crushed. I couldn’t see it, but I suspected that my face was the color of the snake now. I couldn’t breathe anymore... I tried but I just couldn’t... I...