Knowing Malcolm, Annabelle half expected him to go on again about how he felt about being told a scary story taking place in a dark forest while they themselves were stranded in a dark forest. But perhaps by now Malcolm had learned to read the room before making any attempts at cynically humorous remarks. Because instead he said, “Another happy-ended palate-cleanser after how your last story ended, nice.” Which was somewhere along the lines of what Annabelle had been hoping he’d say, as opposed to what she’d expected to come out of his mouth.
And of course, the other two in the front seats also didn’t draw attention to this, instead commenting on what they each thought about the story they were just told. Henrik went first, “Nice story indeed. Though I must say, I couldn’t help but notice there were quite a few parallels between this one and the last one… just saying.”
“I thought you might say that, because I too kinda knew this back when I was first fleshing out the idea.” Annabelle replied. “Main character with love-related issues being terrorized by a malicious entity imitating their loved one, isn’t that right?”
Annabelle thought she could make out Henrik nod, to which she spoke again, “Mind you, I still did my best to give the two enough variety-“
“We never said you didn’t.” Malcolm piped up. “In fact, if you got any plans to write these stories down somewhere after we’re out of here, I think you definitely should. Because I can see these last two ones working well as two contrasting companion pieces on a similar idea.”
“Oops, there he goes again…” Annabelle thought to herself upon hearing Malcolm briefly mention something about them getting out of their current predicament. However, she said nothing to bring it up. Neither did Henrik and Luna as Malcolm finished, “Not only that, they’d just make really good reads in general, like everything else we’ve seen from you.”
Annabelle muttered a flattered, “Thanks.” At that. In truth, Malcolm was kind of right, as these stories were all ideas she just hadn’t committed to paper (or keyboard) yet, after all. So she figured they would indeed be better off written down in some form – who knew, maybe they could come in handy for any future assignments she could be doing during her second semester.
“So what was the inspiration behind this story?” Luna asked, breaking off Annabelle’s thinking. “Something similar to the last one, or a completely different source?”
“The latter.” Annabelle replied. “Not too long before I got this idea, I’ve been reading Stephen King’s Pet Sematary. That’s gotta be the scariest freaking Stephen King story I’ve ever read so far, largely thanks to the subject matter.”
Malcolm asked, “Lemme guess, death?” to which Annabelle nodded and continued, “That, and how destructive being unable to let go of those we hold dear to us when death comes for them can be.”
“Deep stuff…” Malcolm mumbled under his breath, while Henrik said, “You always did love reading that guy’s work, huh? Hence the subtle It reference in that other story of yours.”
“Mm.” Annabelle nodded, before adding, “That’s what I intended the part near the end to signify, where the protagonist runs forward and away from the disembodied voice without looking back. Because if there’s anything I got out of what I said Pet Sematary is about, it’s that death is like parts of a past you can do nothing about no matter how much it hurts, except to just let it go and carry on with what matters right now, rather than get hung up on and eventually consumed by it.”
Annabelle heard Malcolm softly clap a few times next to her and say, “Ay-men!” as if he’d heard some kind of awesome inspiring speech. This more typical and less cynical attempt at humor from Malcolm would’ve gotten a chuckle or two out of Annabelle. Then the mood for that was immediately thrown right out the window at Luna’s following words.
“Then don’t you think it’s about time you do the same with us too, Annabelle?”
Annabelle stared at the back of the front passenger seat in utter confusion. “Do what with you lot?” She asked.
“Let us go no matter how much it hurts, just like you said.” Luna replied.
“What?” Annabelle was filled with more and more confusion by the second. “Why would I-“
But even before she had a chance to complete her sentence, Annabelle was abruptly interrupted by something flashing past her mind – a sliver of a memory, one in which she very briefly but clearly saw herself just beginning to wake up from being knocked out by the car crashing.
Except in this particular memory, the events that transpired weren’t quite the same as how Annabelle had remembered them. Most notably, what had greeted her senses when she’d come to and called out to her friends.
“Ringing a bell now, buddy?” Asked Henrik, and for some reason Annabelle couldn’t make out his dark silhouette moving even an inch in the driver’s seat this time. “You woke up and tried calling out to the three of us, but none of us replied…”
At this, another sliver of another memory flashed past Annabelle’s mind, burning its mental image into her vision like the afterimage of a bright light in the eye; Annabelle saw herself slowly taking in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the dark, before realizing the car had crashed down a slope and into a tree. What was more, all three of her friends were showing no signs of movement, unlike herself. She then nervously called out to them, expecting to get any kind of reply… while also refusing to expect the worst-case scenario.
“…because none of us could reply.” Malcolm added. “And you couldn’t bring yourself to accept that.”
The hyperventilation started coming back as Annabelle listened to Malcolm’s words. He too appeared to have gone completely still along with Henrik, and presumably Luna as well. Beads of sweat formed and fell down the sides of Annabelle’s head, as did tears from her eyes.
And then Annabelle saw a whole storm of mental images flash before her mind’s eyes – images of her screaming and gasping for breath in terror at the revelation that she looked to be the only one in the car still moving. Images of her calling for help on her phone before its battery died. Images of her having the biggest panic attack in years, before she began telling tales that only fell on deaf ears. All of these pieces gathered one by one to form a big picture; a memory that had been subdued this whole time somewhere within Annabelle’s head from the trauma of both the accident…
…and knowing that it had left her as the only living person in the wreckage.
Barely able to form coherent words amidst her rapid terrified panting, Annabelle wheezed in sheer denial, “Guys… guys, if this is your idea of some sick joke to keep our minds off things, you’d better stop!” She slowly reached out with a trembling arm to where she thought Malcolm was sitting, continuing her refusal to accept what her previously subdued memory had recalled to her upon its resurfacing, “You hear me?! Stop this right now and answer me, damn it!”
No answer. As far as Annabelle could see in the darkness, the silhouettes of all her three friends were still and silent as everything else in the surrounding forest.
“Guys, please…” Annabelle begged for any sign of life from any of her unmoving friends to give her an answer, “I can’t take it anymore… please tell me this is just some cruel prank…”
And that was when she felt the hand she’d been reaching out towards Malcolm hit something. This was immediately followed by the familiar clack of plastic on metal, as well as the sound of a long, flexible something being pulled back.
Annabelle felt like her heart missed a beat. Her ears unmistakably recognized the noises as those of a seatbelt coming undone. Not only that, but yet another memory came back to her in relation to the sounds; how Malcolm, Henrik, and Luna had said they were all unable to unbuckle their seatbelts because they seemed to be broken.
On top of that, when Annabelle felt around the front of Malcolm’s unmoving body afterwards, she sensed his shirt was completely wet. Was it damp with water or something?
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Feels a bit too strange to be water, Annabelle thought, and she pulled her hand back to inspect it. As soon as she did so and brought her hand closer to her face, she smelled a faint iron-like scent coming from it that hadn’t been there before. Additionally, despite the lack of proper light, Annabelle was able to see that her hand somehow looked significantly darker. Even more, there was not only a wet sensation on her palm and fingers from whatever they were stained with, but also a slightly sticky one.
That was when Annabelle realized what exactly it was that both Malcolm’s front and her hand were soaked in; his blood.
Pure, unadulterated horror like she’d never known before erupted from within Annabelle, to the point she thought she might explode into pieces on the spot. No, forget ‘might’, she wished she could indeed just explode right there and then, if it meant she wouldn’t have to be left all alone in the darkness of both the forest and this living nightmare. She wished everything about her could just come to a quick end, if it meant she wouldn’t have to crumble and crack so vulnerably under the unbearable weight of this ungodly, terrible truth.
And as soon as this had registered with her, Annabelle really did feel like everything about her came to an end when every inch of her body was drained of all strength, and her vision faded to black.
***
“…hello…! Miss… can you hear us…?!”
“There… she’s coming to…!”
“…are there any other survivors besides her…?”
Seemingly distant voices somewhere in the pitch blackness Annabelle found herself in immediately came into focus, loud and clear. At the same time, her sight was suddenly flooded with a bright light.
Disoriented and groggy, Annabelle could do nothing but furrow her brow at the light shining directly into her eyes and face. Then the light was removed, and for once Annabelle was able to actually see something before her – first there was the smashed interior of the car she was stuck in, now brightly illuminated by many other beams of light coming from the outside. Then there was a latex glove-wearing hand holding a small flashlight, which had been the source of the light in her face. As it turned out, this hand belonged to a person who was gently turning Annabelle’s head around to face him, speaking in determined reassurance, “Hang in there miss, we’ll get you out of here in no time.” Before calling to someone over his shoulder for a stretcher and some sort of tools.
Despite her grogginess, it didn’t take long for Annabelle to figure out what all of this meant; help had finally arrived for her and her friends.
Yes, she remembered the things that had happened before she’d supposedly blacked out. But surely none of that could have been real. It had to be some really messed-up nightmare her brain had subconsciously cooked up in the nerve-wracked state of mind the accident had left her in… right?
Right…?
It was then Annabelle looked over at where Malcolm was and saw him sitting motionless in his seat like what she vaguely remembered before blacking out. Except this time, with the car’s insides being fully lit by the emergency service workers surrounding the site, Annabelle had a proper visual of what had become of Malcolm – his head was seen limply sticking out of the shattered window frame of the car door next to him. Annabelle could just make out what appeared to be a big, jagged piece of glass still remaining in that window frame… onto which the left side of Malcolm’s neck had been deeply pierced in the impact of the crash. It was from this pierced neck that great gushes of blood had apparently come from to soak the whole front of Malcolm’s shirt.
The shirt Annabelle now remembered herself touching as she stared horrified at the still bloodied hand she’d done so with.
Breaking her eyes away from this ghastly sight, Annabelle lifted her gaze to look at Henrik in the driver’s seat. He too was as still and silent as Malcolm in a slouched pose over the steering wheel… the upper part of which had been smashed straight into his mouth and ripped his jaw wide open in a grotesque, bloody mess.
Eyes wide open and hyperventilating yet again, Annabelle barely paid attention to whatever the paramedic standing next to the car spoke to her upon noticing her behavior. Instead, she tried to avert her eyes from Malcolm and Henrik’s horribly mutilated corpses and focus on anything else but them. But as her luck would have it, the first thing her vision happened to land on right after that was the sight of a couple more paramedics pulling Luna’s body – her bloodied, lifeless body – out of the front passenger seat to place it on a stretcher, where they covered it up with a white sheet.
This was it. Annabelle wished to no longer see or feel anything, to just fade away on the spot and be put out of the hell she’d found herself in. The pain of however many parts of her body she may have injured in the crash couldn’t be felt anymore over the tidal waves of agony crashing against and eating away at her heart.
The tears returned. Her terrified hyperventilation turned to blood-curdling screams. Her brain knew nothing else other than these two, unable to even bother noticing the paramedic calling to a few others about something.
Not too long after this, there was the sensation of a bunch of hands getting ahold of a still screaming Annabelle’s right arm, a single sharp prick, and then Annabelle was engulfed in darkness once more.
***
Annabelle lay motionless in the white hospital bed sheets, staring blankly up at the ceiling of the hospital ward she’d been admitted to for some time now.
After being carried out of the wreckage she'd miraculously survived, as well as a full day of being tended to with the utmost care by the hospital’s staff, plus another day of recovery, and she’d gotten just well enough to properly greet her extremely worried yet relieved parents in bed.
According to them, they’d rushed to the hospital as soon as they heard the news, and had practically spent a whole night here until the doctors told them they could see their daughter. And the second the three of them had finally reunited, what unfolded had been a pandemonium of emotions, during which both sides were grateful beyond anything words could express that they were able to see each other again. Not only that, but Mr and Mrs Deckard had also taken the time to express their most sincere condolences to Annabelle for the loss of her friends. This had resulted in several more fits of crying from her, as well as her parents at the sight of seeing their daughter so devastated.
Once all this had eventually passed and everyone was recovered from their half-relieved, half-sorrowful outbursts, one of the doctors called Mr and Mrs Deckard out into the hall for a minute to give them an explanation of their diagnosis on Annabelle’s condition.
This was the moment in which Annabelle laid down in her bed and did absolutely nothing but lock her gaping eyes onto the ceiling. All while the doctor’s almost inaudibly muffled voice quietly carried itself into the ward through its ever so slightly ajar door. However, Annabelle had the feeling she didn’t need to eavesdrop on the conversation between the doctor and her parents to get the gist of what was wrong with her.
Back in the forest, when she’d come to and realized all of her friends had died, the immeasurable shock this revelation undoubtedly had on her, coupled with the even more devastating trauma of the car crash, had done a number of things to her psyche. With her mind unable to withstand such massive mental blows to it in such a short amount of time, not only had it made her forget about ever seeing her friends dead in their seats, but it had also done something it hadn’t done in several years since her mentally unstable “darker days” – it had made her see and hear things again.
Except this time, rather than the hallucinations being unspeakable horrors she wished she could unsee, they’d been still-living versions of Henrik, Luna, and Malcolm – more specifically, hallucinatory representations of how she perceived each of them from all the time they’ve been friends. That, as well as her own thoughts that had passed through her mind at the time. Almost everything Annabelle had thought her friends had said had been nothing more than what her mind envisioned they would’ve said if she really was talking with them. Or rather, what her mind had hoped they would’ve said in its state of thinking she really was talking with them.
Their personal thoughts on all the stories Annabelle had told them had just been her imagining them saying such things, based on her previous experience of receiving feedback from them about her class assignments. Similarly, them saying their seatbelts were all broken, as well as their phones being smashed or lost in the accident had been her mind unknowingly making up excuses as to why they couldn’t move or call for help on their own phones.
This would also explain the occasional subtle anomalies Annabelle had noticed but never paid much mind to during her “conversations” with her “friends” – Luna’s knowledge of a college class subject Annabelle had never told her about before, Henrik referring to a movie only Annabelle had seen only to not answer her question on whether he too had watched it, and Malcolm saying something that uncannily aligned all too well with Annabelle’s mindset from her darker days (which, lest she forget, none of them had any way of knowing about); “Ain’t nothing from the fictional story we were just told any scarier than our current reality.” Those had most likely been some of Annabelle’s memories or fragments of her other thoughts having made their way into her hallucinations.
Maybe that was why her hallucinatory friends had suggested she told them stories to ease their nervous minds while waiting for help to arrive in the first place. Because similar to what she used to do during her darker days as a coping mechanism for her pain, her traumatized mind had subconsciously decided it would sooner escape to and indulge in an imaginary plane of existence with the undead, violent sentient trees, man-eating lakes, and disembodied voices in the dark, rather than force onto itself the torturous agony of facing something infinitely scarier than all the previously mentioned things combined – the truth.
The same could quite possibly be said for the hallucinations themselves; her mind had likely also determined without her knowledge that it would much rather make itself think that Henrik, Luna, and Malcolm were alive with her. Because it refused to accept the truth that she was the accident’s sole survivor.
But like with any dream or fantasy, waking up from it had been inevitable. And like so many times during her darker days, Annabelle had gone out of her way to wake herself up from the visions of her friends too – except this time, inadvertently. The parallels between what was actually happening to her and her own fictional story about someone being unable to let go of a loved one who’d died in a car accident had – again, subliminally – ended up acting as a reminder of sorts, reawakening her subdued memory and snapping her out of it.
Out of a dream… and into a nightmare where there was no waking up from.
A nightmare called reality.