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Dear Friend

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Summary

"It gets so lonely, friend, living in fear." A man's best friend is his own thoughts.

Genre:
Thriller
Author:
runicholid
Status:
Complete
Chapters:
1
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
18+

Dear Friend,

They are everywhere. Mrs Green across the street, the Smiths, Adrian Summers from number 42, old homeless bloke down the alley, the postman. Even the dogs--oh the dogs, I didn’t notice before but I do now. The men in black have surrounded me. No no no no don’t laugh--don’t leave me, friend. They are real. Yes, yes they are. I know, I’ve done my research. I used to work at a lab, very smart. But then my. . .wife.

“Oh. . .oh Ruth--”

Ssh! Calm yourself you bloody moron.You saw the baby yourself. What a proper minge. See-through skin. Ginormous head. Webbed fingers. An alien put that cringing bun in your wife’s bloody oven. Not you. Not you. Not your fault.

I have of late--but wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth--

Slap!

Focus. No time for Shakespeare.

It won’t be long before the men in black get to my son and replace him. I have to stay alert. I have to protect him. And when I fail to do so, I need to be ready to take the drastic action. If they get to me then I’m done for.

Oh how they’d love to wrap their pale alien fingers around my throat. Snip snap, no more loose ends!

foulandpestilentcongregationofvapours

It gets so so lonely, friend, living in fear. I keep seeing those ruby red lips of theirs stretching into a joke of a smile with the light glinting off their hairless head as the grim reaper takes my soul or the three weavers cut my lifeline or my soul leaves my body to witness the sordid scene as a spectator--whichever you believe, friend.

“What you up to mate?”

“Oh nothing, just choking the life out of a sad ugly twat, having a laugh.”

Ha ha. Quintessence, quintessence of dust.

Oh look at you--no, no, don’t look away from the mirror. Yes, ahh. Why, you look like a fucking shit stain on a pavement. Have you bathed these last few days? Nope, didn’t think so. No wonder Old Bill down the road was looking at you all weird. Or maybe, maybe the men in black had gotten to him as well.

“Oh, oh no.”

Old Bill was a decent man. He cooked us dinner the few days following. . .following. . .

WEAK! SAY IT!

I. . .I can’t--

OH YOU MUMBLING FOOL, JUST FUCKING SAY IT ALREADY!

“. . .following Ruth’s death.”

“Dad?”

My son’s home. Your son’s home. My son’s home. Your son’s home. My son’s home. Your son’s home. My son’s--

“Dad, are you OK?”

Act the part. Do not show your fear. You are fine. I am fine. Just dandy. Swell. Couldn’t be better.

“I’m fine, son. Couldn’t be better.” Now smile.

Yes, that’s right.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.” A little chuckle. “What’s got your knickers in a pinch?”

“Heh. I don’t know Dad, I was just talking to Ms Stewart from next door. Said she was worried about you, something about making a crap ton of noise?”

Oh no, no one can know about you, friend. They’d take you away. I can’t have that. I need to play this right. Start with a scoff.

“You know how she is, ever the hyperbolic. Must be right glad to have a new rumour to spread about.”

“Yeah, thought so too. Took it with a pinch of salt.”

Silence.

Silence.

Oh God, oh God, it’s taking too long, just end it, just END IT FOR CHRIST’S SA--

“Dad?”

Bloody finally.

“Are you sure you’re OK?”

Exasperated sigh. “How many times are you going to ask me that?”

“As many as it takes for you to answer me truthfully.”

“Listen, son--”

“No. You listen, Dad. It’s all right. It’s all right to not be OK. I mean, mum’s dead, you can’t just run away from that and pretend all’s fucking sunshine and rainbows!”

“Now you watch--”

“I think you need to see a psychologist, Dad. You know, get it all out.”

Did you hear that? He said it. He said the keyword. He just basically handed you a letter from the men in black saying:

Real fucking sorry sir, but we’ve replaced your son with one of our own. Check mate, mate.

“Dad? What are you doing with that candle holder?”

Steel your will.

“Dad?!”

Bring it down.

Shut the cries.

Bring it down.

Shut your eyes.

Bring it down.

Not your son.

Bring it down.

Warm, wet, blood.

Continue Reading
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