Dog Eyes

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man wakes up in the dark, with no idea who he is or how he arrived there. He begins journeying into an unfamiliar and unnerving place.

Submitted: October 08, 2016

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Submitted: October 08, 2016

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Crimony. That name popped into my head as I woke up in the dark. Crimony. It had a strange quality to it, as if I knew it by heart, and yet had just encountered it.

It occurred to me then that I didn't know how I had come to be in the dark. Where had I gone to sleep ?

I tried to move, and I realized I couldn't. It didn't feel like I was bound or anything, I just didn't seem to know where my body was. I couldn't feel my arms or legs. I just felt I could open and close my eyes, though it was dark either way.

All this left me with a feeling of terrible helplessness. I realized I had never been in the dark so completely as now. In our modern world, light has a tendency to blur out everything else, so that we come to depend on the light.

 

The first thing I ever consciously killed was a dog. I remember its eyes most of all. The eyes of that creature were terrifying.

Every evening when going out to play, I would always avoid the house with the dog. Each time our paths crossed, it would bark at me. Somehow, I wasn't scared by the suddenness of the barks, or the teeths that showed when it growled. I could only see its eyes.

Its eyes were bright black, but in the middle there were two red spots that seemed to shine like flames when you watched them.

One day, I remember I was walking in the street. It had been a really nice day at school, and I was rather happy. I picked up a stick to play with, and suddenly I felt its presence.

It was strange, though : I didn't just sense the dog right behind me, waiting to bark. I also could see its consciousness. Every little bug it had ever squashed or ate, every child it had barked at. I could see its malevolence, and that malevolence hurt.

I wanted to end it all. Just end it. I grasped my stick tightly, turned around, and pounced on the dog. I hit it with the stick.

I remember its eyes looking at me, with all their hate. I continued to beat the hound in its back until it collapsed.

It had started bleeding, but I didn't care. Watching the blood spill from where I hit was satisfying.

The dog was still. Its eyes had become lightless. No hate spilled from them any more, and thus I, Jack,  felt sorry for the thing.

 

Somehow, everything went bright. A light had been turned on, and I blinked several times as my eyes grew accustomed to the sudden brightness.

My surroundings slowly came into focus. I was in a strange room. The first impression was the color. Everything was red. The walls were red, the ceiling was red.

Before me was a narrow corridor that led into great darkness, like the one I had just left.

The corridor gave me an overall impression of foreboding. I was already in a strange enough situation, without wandering into any dark corridors.

Besides, I had a feeling I needed to do something inside this room, something involving Crimony...

I rotated the opposite way, and I realized in doing so that I still didn't know why I couldn't move. My eyes looked down. I seemingly had no legs. "What the hell ?" I thought. "Is this even my body ?"

Panicked, I lowered the eyes as far as I could. There was, in fact, a body.

But not any body. It wasn't human. On the floor, a puddle of red ooze was forming, and I could see that my lower body was just a pile of goo. It looked like some sort of slug.

There were things in the goo. An ear. An arm. A shoulder. All sticking out in different places.

I felt my whole being shudder with disgust. None of these were my body parts. "What's going on ?" I couldn't think straight. I didn't remember the last time I wasn't like this.

Crimony. The word rang again through my head. Why was I coming back to that word when I had just discovered I wasn't human anymore ?

I lifted an arm. It wasn't an arm. It was a leg. A human leg was attached to where my arm should have been. It was a lot heavier, which probably explained why I hadn't managed to move it before.

I looked up, and what I saw utterly terrified me.

 

He was a runner.

A natural one. It's not often you see a guy manage to beat an entire school at running, including the teachers. He had complete job safety. He knew what he would do later, and knew how to get there.

Since the dog's slaughter, I had tried keeping away from other people. I felt I wasn't quite normal, but I figured it didn't matter. I didn't think I would kill any human being.

And yet, thinking about him irritated me. His legs were his pride. The pride of his life. THe pride everyone would like to feel.

One day, there he was. In front of me.

"Hey, Jack. Listen, man, uh..." Oh, how I hated him. "Me and my pals on the running team see you everyday, right, looking at us." I could see where he was going with this. "So, we see you looking at us, and, uh, well, we were wondering if you wanted to join us on the team."

He was asking me innocently to join the running team, but I knew better. His legs were all I needed to know he was mocking me. I could almost read his thoughts. After his inquiry, he would go back to his friends and laugh. So I declined his offer and left.

He was the first person I killed.

After class, I caught up to him while he was crossing a bridge near his house.

"Hey, Jack. Doing okay ? Here, man, take this cigarette, will you ?"

It was then I first tasted the smoke.

"So, did you think about what I asked you ?"

I said nothing and pushed him over the edge of the bridge.

He fell in the river. His head hit a rock and he was knocked out.

Nearing him, I could see his legs, sprawled in the water. Even unconsious, he seemed to be gloating.

I looked at my own legs. They were small. They were tiny. Thin. Thin as sticks.

I took the rock and used it to crush his knees, both of them.

I could still feel the gloating.

I picked him up and buried him deeply in the river. Extremely deeply.

I could still feel the gloating.

So, that night, I went and burned his legs, after having dug him up and in again. I let the ashes from my smoke disperse before heading back home.

 

I was in a red room. There was red everywhere. And in the back of the room, there was a human being.

Or what was left of him. He was pinned to the wall. Both his legs and arms were missing, and his veins had been pulled from his body and stretched next to him. It seemed they had been forcefully driven into the wall.

And, from the ceiling, dripped the red, oh so red, blood.

Crimony. The body made the name ring into my head again.

I turned and started moving toward the corridor. I wanted to run, to get away from the room as fast as I could.

Crimony. I wanted to run to find Crimony. I felt he was the source of the mistery.

Crimony. I wanted to run. But I could not. All I could do was sluggishly move across the floor. The body I had was painfully slow. It was like I was dragging myself.

I could not bend over to put that single leg I had upon the ground. I could not go faster. It felt like the ooze was moving at its own pace.

And the indomitable fear I had felt in the room urged me to go faster, along with that need to find Crimony.

Suddenly, I was in the corridor.

It looked like a hall of horrors. Gallows were lined up along the sides of it. Diverse torture instruments hanged from the ceiling.

As far as my eyes allowed me to watch through the darkness, I could see the blood oozing out from the fearful room I came from onto the floor. Puddles had formed at diverse intervals.

The walls were not, in fact, walls. A long series of vertical bars stretched from floor to ceiling, all along the corridor.

Inside those gigantic cages, there were animals pacing maddeningly back and forth.

As I wandered through the corridor, the fear inside me slowly gave way to a sick feeling of disgust. All of the gallows had a person hanging from it. Each of the torture instruments were likewise latched onto a person, and thus bodies as well as screaming victims hung from the ceiling.

I realized then that I could hear, though the sound came from where the actual ear was in the goo, which was around where my right knee should have been.

Distastefully, I glanced at it as muffled screams came to me.

The exit seemed to be so far away, the urge to find Crimony was still so frantic, and I was moving so slowly...

 

The third victim was... my family. Though the one person I indeed killed was my mother.

It was some time after I'd entered twelfth grade. The runner I had murdered had been reported missing, and was never found.

I'd begun to come home earlier and earlier, ditching classes. I felt sick every time I went out of my house.

Inside, it was no better. My father was a corporate executive. A nameless  wheel in the machine. He was not happy with his job, or his family. He'd probably never been.

I had two sisters and a brother. None of them were really close to me. And the more my father drifted away, the less I felt any connection to them.

Then there was my mother. She was still relatively young, she was still pretty.

And she was a slob. A real one. She took care of herself, and went to work. Then she took care of herself until she had to go to work again.

She wasn't interested in doing anything. She liked to sit and look at herself in a mirror. She hated work. And she hated us.

I didn't like her, but I didn't hate her. That is, not all of her. There was just one thing...

Her hair.

She had long hair, beautiful hair. It was pale brown, not quite auburn.

It fell down in these strands, down to the base of her neck. There were little curls poking out in front, but the strands seemed like pure rain. A pretty auburn rain.

One day, I came to see her, in the office she worked at. I could see all the female co-workers looking at her in spite.

She didn't seem to care, but there was her boss. He was a man named Lois. He obviously liked my mother, and she was obviously aware of his feelings for her.

She used them to avoid work. She would flash a small smile at him once in a while, giving a little shake of her head and hair. And he'd arrange for some other employee to replace her, hoping he'd get a kiss in return.

But she did nothing : she didn't work, she didn't speak to her colleagues, and she didn't even try to flirt with her boss.

She sat. And sat. And sat, all day long. She would occasionnally get up to go to the bathroom and such, but otherwise she sat and admired her hair, touching it, feeling it. Smelling it.

Back home, she would lie down and let her husband give us dinner, which was never a very jolly affair. At the time, I had begun to smoke several cigarettes a day, but she didn't even care.

A real slob.

I could feel nothing coming from her. No love, no compassion. No will to do anything, to change anything. She just wanted to stop wanting.

One day, it happened.

She was lying in the bathtub, doing nothing as usual. I had lived with her for so long that I knew exactly what I wanted to grab. I took the hair-dryer. Hers, the one thing she considered so precious.

I made no noise as I entered the open, unwary bathroom.

There it was, that long auburn hair which taunted me, the same sign that she was the same person. Like her, it was lying down, not making any efforts.

In a way, she had always been like her hair. It was lazy, constantly going downwards, never disturbed.

Its existence was flowing, but at the same time so vain. Pretty, but fragile and futile. Like a doll. Like a slob.

I quickly and soundlessly plugged the dryer into the wall. Taking one last look at my mother, whose eyes were fixed on the ceiling, and her hair, of which the strands were fixed on her head, I launched the dryer in the water.

Her body jerked a few times as sparks danced in the water, and the lights dimmed briefly. Her mouth opened and silently screamed, and her eyes, still fixed on the ceiling, froze in an eternal shocked expression. Her hair splashed in the water. I smiled satisfyingly.

The electrocution was painful, but quick. After that, I could not stop killing.

 

As I neared the end of the corridor, I felt my need to know who and where Crimony was, growing.

My body mass finally, slowly, reached the exit. My eyes accustomed themselves to the red light which reached me. They saw the walls. The walls were flesh. They saw the ceiling. There were hanging bodies. They saw where I was walking. It was a pile of dead, bloody carcasses, making up the floor which I could not feel.

And they saw what was in front of me. In front of me, there was a mirror. In that mirror, they could see me.

I was terrifying.

It was more than just a nondescript ooze which composed my lower body. It was a whole pile of body parts and carcasses, all so covered in blood, leaking blood so badly, that they were slimy. Body parts were sticking out of seemingly random places. An ear. A leg. Filthy.

My "upper body", which I guessed was where my head would have been, was just a congealed mass of things I recognized as hair.

The mass which was my body recoiled in horror. It was an abominable sight. It looked like someone had tried to craft a body, but abandoned the attempt halfway through and just slapped everything together hastily.

It then occurred to me that among the pile of seemingly random body parts I was made of, there was no nose. That was why I could not smell the bodies. It was the one thing for which I was grateful. The smell was bound to be horrible.

There was a great opening in the ground that seemed to descend to the center of the world itself. I was suddenly assailed by a great sense of foreboding.

I had advanced to this point, not knowing where, who or even what I was, but I somehow knew that if I moved on forward, I would be unable to go back. The corridor of torture was still behind me, but if I entered the great void, it would be a step torwards the end. And at that point, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the end of my ordeal would be.

However, I knew only one thing for certain : Crimony. That was my truth, my only clue, my one goal. It was the only thing that propelled me forward down the dark opening.

 

After I killed my mother, I was lost. I was trapped in this body of mine, and I knew I lacked something, something essential.

My two reliefs were the cigarettes and the killings. I was smoking a pack a day. I knew if I kept going, I would burn out, but I somehow didn't care.

For my family had been another victim of my mother's murder. My father fell into drunkenness, and as I was an only son, I quickly left him and moved out, because there was nothing in him that I was searching for. I had been killing neighborhood dogs for a while now, but none of them brought me the satisfaction of human beings.

So I wandered the streets of the city, killing the homeless and abandoned. But if these killings satisfied my immediate needs, I knew I desired only one thing : a fourth victim that I could absolutely hate.

I found him one night, as he was gaping at an advertisement on a shop window. I followed him to his house after watching him buy the television he had seen. It was a luxurious mansion atop a great hill, with many useless but expensive items : a car, a pool, a jacuzzi, more than three floors.

I knew from that night he would be the next real target. I refrained myself from killing the next few days for the express purpose of enjoying this murder all the more.

What galled me about him was his obssessive need for more and more expensive items, for one more car, one more house, one more pet, when he had everything and I... I had nothing. He was the worst glutton I'd ever seen, and he even looked it, with a beakish nose that seemed to constantly search for the price of everything around him. He would accost random people in the street, asking them their coat's price or something, anything, else. And yet he was a big business magnate. Pathetic.

I was determined to kill the bastard. I prepared myself for several days, making my plan perfect. One night, I knocked at his house. He opened the door.

"Hello ?" he asked, but his eyes were already on one of the expensive cigarettes I had put in my mouth.

"I was wondering if –" I started, but as I had expected, he interrupted me.

"Where did you get these ?" he said brusquely, pointing at the especially expensive pack of cigarettes in my hand.

"Oh, those ?" I replied, feigning surprise. "They're special, I got them imported at the lowest price possible from –

-Can I have one ?"

Just as expected. I selected a cigarette I'd previously modified and handed it to him.

I could see his nose, smelling the quality of the tobacco, and I wanted him to smoke it.

"Here." I handed him a lighter.

He lit the cigarette. I watched with a satisfied look as his overlong nose inhaled the smoke, greenish and foul-looking.

He smoked the half of it before he finally keeled over and died, suffocating under the poisonous gases.

I prepared to leave, but his nose...

I squashed it thoroughly, leaving his face bloodied. Though he was already dead, it was thoroughly enjoyable to kick his ugly face in, the face of a fat bastard who had always wanted more.

It was a mistake, though. There was one part of the plan I hadn't counted on : I had calculated everything about the man, except his  wife. In a way, I was stupid. I should have seen that a man who only collected trophies would have a trophy wife.

So she came, and I had to kill her as well. And their children. I killed them all, then burned down their house, thoroughly inhaling the nice smoke.

 

I arrived in... a palace. That's what it looked like at first because of the gigantic marble pillars, but then I saw that there was no ceiling and that the pillars stretched up to nowhere. There were no walls either.

The darkness seemed to stretch eternally in all directions.

I moved my sluggish body, thinking of Crimony, inside the dark emptiness with the pillars, when I came across something unprecedented : a being, alive and well.

It was a small boy with long legs. But he was blurry around the edges, as though he was only part reality and part nothingness. He seemed sad and lonely, wandering around aimlessly.

I wanted to signal my presence, but I had no hands, nothing. So I moved closer to him.

As soon as he saw me, he let out a piercing scream and backed away, eyes widening in horror.

"What – what are you –" he let out.

I'm not a monster ! I can speak, I can talk ! I'm human ! I wanted to shout at him. But the only difficulty was that I had no mouth. I couldn't make a sound, let alone speak.

One of my hands stretched out, seemingly of its own volition, from the bloody pile of carcasses that made up my body.

The boy ran away. I wanted to shout, to cry to scream. Come back ! Please ! Who are you ? And for that matter, who am I ?

But I had no mouth, and I couldn't scream.

Crimony. The name came once again, firmly, as though I was being reminded of what I had to do, by an unknown entity.

Why was I here ?

Was I cursed to wander the halls of limbo, for eternity ? Did I have a meaning, a purpose, a goal ? Crimony, yes. But what did the name mean ? And why, oh why, was I stuck in this mess of flesh and blood ?

I wandered, just like the boy, aimlessly. I met hundreds of other faces along the way, none of them familiar. A woman with long hair. A portly man with a beakish nose. Each of them fled when they saw me.

The woman, though, lingered a moment. "You," she said in a voice. "Why you ? Why come back now, when everything is over ?"

You recognize me ? I wanted to ask. But I kept shut the mouth I did not have.

It was the dog, I think. It suddenly struck me.

Jack. My name was Jack, and I had killed all of those people.

 

I became a celebrity after the businessman's murder.

The whole country was in uproar... "An outrage... the murderer, a young man named Jack, killed the business magnate and his whole family..."

What seemed to be most outrageous was my murdering the children, even though the whole family had pushed the daisies.

I went straight to jail. I could now smoke however I wanted, but my health was rapidly declining. However, it didn't matter, because I was stuck in jail and could ask cigarettes to the other inmates. We socialized, we talked.

It was as we were watching television, one evening as they had let me out for good conduct.

The man was a politician. I remember, he was insulting his political opponent, the preceding man-in-charge. Saying his economic assessment was terrible, his political status was nil, and his term had been an absolute disaster.

I felt rise up within me an anger I had not felt since the day I killed the businessman. I don't know why. I never knew why. The only thing I knew was that I needed to kill this man, spouting lies and calumny right before my eyes. I think it was the facct he was jealous, and obviously so, that he had never been elected. The envy coming from his mouth filled me up with the rage of killing.

I had been discreetly picking off inmates day-to-day, making their deaths seem like "accidents", but I wanted to kill the politician in the most violent way possible.

So I escaped. I don't remember how I did it. I don't even remember when. I only know I needed to kill the politician I hated, because he was jealous for such a petty reason.

I had the chance of crossing him in the street one night. I didn't even care how many people there were. I jumped onto him and started clawing at his eyes, his legs, his hair, his nose, his mouth.

I tore up everything. My rage had not been this blind ever since I'd killed the dog. By the time I had finished with him, his mouth had been split in two and his face was mutilated.

I watched the passer-bys looking at me with a mixture of awe and horror on their faces. I dragged the politician's body into a back alley and quickly got out, before someone called the police.

I remember how I evaded them. I offered a cigarette to a taxicab, and he drove me away, far away, from the city.

 

I asked myself if this was what my punishment would be, if this was hell and I was to stare at the faces of my victims for eternity, not being able to talk to them, to tell them I didn't feel remotely angry towards any of them.

I was starting to feel sorry for myself. I was all alone, and it quickly became tiresome to see the people running away from me. What was most frustrating was the fact that, for some puzzling reasnon, they all seemed to recognize me as their murderer, and not as a disgusting pile of human carcass.

Time stretched on and on, and I had the distinct impression that I was beginning to lose touch with reality. To be honest, though, at that point, I couldn't have cared less if I'd just keeled over and died. I was utterly hopeless. In short, I was lost amidst the pillars of limbo.

Crimony was both the cause of my frustration and its cure. I knew, I knew, that he was the answer to all my problems. Otherwise, why was it the only name that came to me, apart from Jack ? I had no memory of my past life, only the knowledge I had killed those people, and the feeling that Crimony was linked to it all.

Iwas beginning to hope that one of them would simply straight up kill me in revenge, instead of just running away, when I saw an exit. An actual door, in a wall I'd never seen before.

I passed through the door and found myself in a great cavern. In my excitement at having finally managed to escape the void, I had not noticed what the cave actually contained.

I saw the cave, and it horrified me. I still wasn't used to seeing horrifying sights in this place, so the familiar feeling of disgust and fear returned yet again.

It was... a pool. A pool of lava. I was standing (if I can even call it standing) on a sort of ledge above the pool and could see the entire revolting show.

There were cages of great solid metal, big cages that contained piles upon piles of screaming men and women, all naked. The cages were being lowered into the lava and the men and women were all boiled, leaving only charred remains, that were quickly piled under other humans.

This was definitely hell. I was dead, and this was the most stereotypical depitction of hell I had ever seen.

The worst of it all, though, were not the burning men or the lava. It was the... the creatures. They seemed a monstrous cross between people and birds. They had great, skeletal wings, legs made of feathers and ending in sharp talons. They had a human waist and chest with nothing covering them, but their heads... their heads were the worst. All of them (and I mean all, for there were female chests as well) had balding, wrinkled heads of an ugly beige color, with beaks as sharp as their talons and eyes as dark as the limbo I'd left behind.

It seemed like it was feeding time. They had all been watching the show of humans burning with excited looks in their eyes, but now were congregating under two protuberant rocks, with a hole in the middle.

A snake erupted from the hole. All of the creatures eagerly lined up, their wings flapping, in front of the snake. The snake, a big, greenish, slithery thing, started moving back and forth between the rocks at an incredibly fast pace.

When all that could be seen was a green blur, a green liquid suddenly came from the snake's mouth, and the creatures eagerly lapped it up from under the snake.

I had begun to move towards the other end of the ledge, wishing to escape this disgusting sight as quickly as possible, but before my slow body could reach the door at the far end, the creatures had spotted me.

They all flew to me.

And then, a violently painful sensation spread through what I could identify was my waist. They were eating it, all at once, picking at it, and seemed to be fighting for it.

As suddenly as it had started, it was over. The creatures had returned to perches overlooking the cages, which were again being filled by humans.

Trying to ignore the pain that tore across my body, I finally reached the door. It was wooden and had a golden handle. I reached up, and with a huge effort, managed to extract a hand from my cadaver and open the door.

I had time to wonder why it had been such an effort this time to move my hand when before, it had been seemingly moving all on its own, when I was suddenly propelled into a great darkness, and all feeling left my body.

 

Apparently, the politician wasn't very popular. As soon as I'd killed him, newspapers were all showing my picture.

I had suddenly, in contrast, become what seemed like an icon. People would shake my hand in the street, and once when the police were close to finding me, a great mass of a man positioned himself to hide me, and I was sure I saw a wink.

Now the headlines weren't portraying me as some kind of monster anymore... "A troubled young man... politically conscious... brutal but profoundly human..."

And so I found myself a wife. I was a wanted criminal and violent murderer, and yet I was enormously popular since my last murder.

So ladies were clamouring to sleep with me. When I passed through the city streets, they all stopped and gazed at me appraisingly.

One night, I was returning to my shelter in the middle of town, smoking my cigarettes, when a female voice said :  "Can I spend the night with you ?"

She was young and good-looking. What struck me particularly were her hips. She had killer hips.

So we had sex. And we had sex again. And our lustful relationship continued, until that morning when she asked : "Don't you want more ?"

And that was how we married. I was satisfied. I could fulfill my primary needs, and for the first time in my life, I'd lost the desire to kill. Sex fuelled my nightly hours, and cigarettes fuelled my daily hours.

But by then, I was starting to become extremely sick. I would cough blood out. I knew I didn't have long to live.

This worried my wife. She wanted me to stop cigarettes. And one fateful evening as I was smoking in front of the television, she said : "I'd prefer it if you didn't smoke, dear."

We had an argument. I hadn't realized it until that stupid catalytic event, but I was growing increasingly tired of her good looks. She had started to annoy me, strutting about the house all day long with that waist of hers. And I had a sneaking suspicion that, lustful as she was, she didn't just sleep with me.

So that evening, because of the cigarettes, all my resent at her burst out at once. Her insatiable need for sex didn't fulfill me any more, and I wanted to kill her.

What I did was, I hit her hard on the head and she collapsed. Then I tied her up in a chair and poured gasoline all over her. Finally, I lit a cigarette and stuck it in her vagina.

She burned to death, screaming and struggling.

I didn't have to pretend I hadn't killed her. They immediately concluded it was an accident, what with my popularity.

And so I wandered the streets again.


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