The Demise of Justin Hill

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young man lets anger and alcohol consume him till death.

Submitted: November 24, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 24, 2011



Jason A. Fusco about 1600 words

PO Box 386

Bridger, Mt.


The Demise of Justin Hill


Jason A. Fusco

Justin Hill was not long in age at all. At twenty-five, he viewed himself healthy and quit wise as to what the world could bring. Spending most of his time working at the lumber yard his Father built and run, he never really had too much of a chance to get out and enjoy true freedom. What spare time he did have, he spent at home drowning his sorrows in liquor, and at the bottom of a bottle, putting down all of those who had a source of power in his life.

One afternoon in the middle of August, the heat of the Montana day had finale got the best of him. As he attempted to wipe the sweat from his eyes, he missed his mark with his forklift, and plunged one of the steel forks straight through the bed of a customer’s pickup. Justin’s father infuriated sent him home. “Why does he have to be such an Ass?” Justin screamed to himself as he sped his truck down the road and away from his Father’s establishment. Banging his fists against the steering wheel, the answer hit him. A few miles away, he pulled into the liquor store, and bought himself a liter of his favorite whisky. After that he stopped by his house to grab a sleeping bag and a few essentials. Before he headed out the door, he poured himself a drink for the road. As he climbed into his pickup truck he looked back at his house, shook his head, started the engine and headed for his escape.

The switchbacks into the Basin twisted like the ripples in the water caused by a swimming water snake. He drove in silence still stewing over the harsh words of his Father, “How could I have spawned something so stupid? Can you answer that? Can you? Get out of my sight you worthless piece of crap!” The more Justin thought of his words the madder he became. By now the whiskey was taking affect, and mixed with the heat his head took off in a slight spin. Justin kept making his way through the basin until he came across a small lake. Stopping his truck alongside the road, he got out to examine his find. The entire lake was surrounded by spruce. To his left lay rocks peppered with spruce and sage, and along the edge of the lake, tall grass stand in the still air reaching for the sky as if begging for some rain to quench it’s thirst. Large rock formations stood to the right of the lake. The spruce trees were thicker as the rocks disappeared into the dense woods. Straight ahead the mountain range looked down upon the lake like a parent looking down at they’re child. To Justin, the mountain seemed intimidating and evasive. But he could not stop from looking at the stillness of the lake. There was no breeze at all, so its surface looked like highly polished glass that reflected everything that surrounded it. Here and there you could see swirls in the water from the creatures that dwelled within, and insects flying about. Every so often, Justin would see a small splash and a swirl when a fish would come up to grab an unsuspecting fly who tried to rest atop the water. Justin breathed in deeply, and without a second thought, he headed to the rocks on the right side of the lake. The tall and impressive face of the stone gave him a feeling of safety and comfort, like a protection from whatever it was that he was running from. After a quarter of an hour of searching the rocks for a good place to make camp, he found a deep crevasse in one of the walls. “This is perfect” he thought to himself. He stopped for a second to look at all of the walls around him covered in moss of greens and grey and browns. Even pink was present in a lot of the rock formations due to the layer of stone, and what kind it was. Then he went into the crevasse and set down his gear. He grabbed his bottle and after unscrewing its cap, took a few good swigs. He stopped to look at the sun, and using his fingers as a gauge, came to the conclusion that he had about four or five hours left of daylight. Just time enough to gather materials for his shelter in the rock side, and get it built.

There were plenty of materials to choose from, so it took him no time to find the right branches that he needed. After getting its frame up, he went and gathered some freshly cut spruce branches from nearby trees to cover the walls in. He remembered his days of Boy Scouts and all of the forts that he and his friends had built as children. A few hours past, and the construction was complete. He positioned some larger stones around his fire pit to reflect the heat off of, and he was finished. Justin stood back and looked at his work with great admiration, thinking to himself “yeah that’s what you can do with your lumber yard you old bastard”. “That should work just fine” uttered a voice from behind him. Justin, tripping over a spare branch spun around to see who it was. The man that stood before him wore skin of red, aged by time and sun. He was adorned with old brown boots, ratty jeans and a dear skin vest. Around his neck were tribal necklaces with all kinds of bones and claws on them. Angry at the intrusion, Justin glared at him, “you scared the shit out of me old man” was the only greeting that he was willing to give as he moved the branch out of the way with his foot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to” replied the old Indian, “we do not get many that visit hear.” Justin stared at him for a brief moment, “well I am just hear for some peace and quiet old man, so if you don’t mind.” The Indian Gave him a shallow smile, “This is Lake Crying Widow, she also likes it quiet, a bit of advice though,” staring straight into Justin’s eyes with an expressionless face, “Those who seek it’s peace will find it, leave your darkened thought far away, or it will overtake you in the dawn.” Justin shook his head and sneered, mocking the old man, “whatever, I got a fire to build alright, so take your advice and babble elsewhere.” Justin looked back at his stack of fire wood for a second, when he turned back to where the Indian was, he was gone.

Darkness began to overtake the land and the fire that He had built was already going strong and providing more than enough heat. He sat with his back against the wall, drinking his whiskey and mumbling curses at his father, as if he were there, “Stupid old fool, hope you’re damned lumber yard burns to the ground”. After a few hours of this, he through a few more logs onto the fire, sitting back down he looked at the bottle of whiskey, making sure he had enough for the next day; he gulped down a few more chugs and put the half of liter back down to rest for the night. By now his head was spinning, he stared into the fire for a few minutes, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep.

Looking as he awoke, he saw it was Four am. It was still dark and his fire was still going. The camp fire, being close enough to the lake provided enough light to where he could see a heavy fog covering the body of water. Holding on to the walls for support, he arose and headed down to the water’s edge. For a moment, he felt as though he should turn back, and return to the safety of the walls, but now he was being pulled, he could not seem to stop moving forward. Being drawn to the water like a nail to a magnet, panic began to set in and his breathing started to get heavy. Behind him there was a noise, branches crunching beneath a heavy foot. He stopped and tried to spin around, but his feet were stuck into the bottom of the lake. In his panic he had gone past the water’s edge and into the lake up to his knees. A wind began to blow, and to add to his feeling of despair, the fog was getting thicker and remained still. Fear had turned to anger, “Come you son of a bitch!” He yelled, “If you want it come and get it! I’ll take you’re…” His yelling was silenced. He reached up and grasped his throat. Blood began to enter his esophagus as he looked down and saw his insides spilling out into the water from an incision that ran from his sternum, all the way down to his pelvis. A splash was made as Justin fell back, his feet still stuck in the lake bottom’s grasp.

Two days later, the authorities found Justin’s truck parked by the lake along the road. Investigating the area, they found the black spot where the fire had bean. All that remained was the black spot, and an empty bottle of whiskey.

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