The Obsession

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 09, 2018

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Submitted: April 09, 2018

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For reasons somehow unnoticed to others, one customer in particular of my grocery store in a sleepy nowhere town has been the object of my obsessions; a man who, for twenty consecutive years, has consistently bought nothing but raw meat from the back freezers.

Maybe he just likes meat, one voice says. I ignore it, and in my deepest thoughts, I consider sneaking into his home in the night, perhaps even killing him. But that’s a normal thing, right? Everybody has those kinds of thoughts.

“I’m trying to pay, here!” I snap out of it and the man is before me; cart full of meat, and myself behind a cash register.

“Ah… Erm… sorry, sir.”

I quickly ring up his items, and send him along his way, off to do whatever horrible things he must do when in his home. Any rational person would simply smile as they watch the ’57 pickup truck drive off into the distance from the parking lot, but I am no rational person.

Just as he turns the corner, I run to my car, and follow him, from a respectable difference, memorizing every twist and turn of the pavement as I do.

I find out in this adventure that his home is the remains of an isolated old barn on the outskirts of town, the perfect place not only for murder, but for hiding some horrible secret.

A secret which I am determined to expose.

Parking the car back in the lot at the store, I buy one kitchen knife from the shelves, and walk back to the barn, the trek lasting until dark, just as I have planned.

What am I doing, I think to myself. I can’t kill this man! I… I…

I walk back to the empty parking lot, and drive home in a ride of shame. How could I have even planned this? He’s probably just a crazy old man, taste for raw meat aside.

A half hour of driving later, I am home, and I go straight to bed from there. I don’t even know where to begin processing what I’ve done. I fall asleep within seconds, exhausted by the long walk.

I wake up to a strange, sticky sensation, like when a string of mucus finds its way off of a tissue and into your hand, and for a moment, I think nothing of it. This sensation spreads from the tip of my toe to my entire leg, and I begin to panic as the smell of rotten meat fills the room, and the strange, fatty ooze continues to cover my body.

I scream, but no one hears it, because my mouth has now been completely covered, and my nostrils have been filled; I’m slowly suffocating, losing air.

“No!” I jolt awake, and realize that it was all just a horrible nightmare, real as it felt.

A nightmare, in which I smelt the stench of rotten, uncooked meat, as if someone had gathered an enormous pile and let it sit for hours, to eaten by the flies and maggots of an old barn.

Leaving the house once again, checking my watch.

2:05 am.

The car sputters and starts and I head out to the old barn in the night, only the chirping of the crickets and the sputtering of the engine the only sounds saving me from being enveloped in silence.

An hour later, I come near the final stretch of road leading to the old barn, and I park the car on the side of the road before walking the rest of the way there, army crawling through the old man’s lawn with knife in hand.

I slowly creak the door open, its frame outlined by the light of a lantern inside. What I see inside is beyond full description.

Sets of jaws clench, and eyes roll about in my direction. A hideous mass of fat, flesh, and bones are piled together like a child’s drawing, all together, all alive; a huge assortment of hieroglyphics and pagan symbols etched into the surface of the creature’s skin. And between two human lips, a piece of raw meat protruded, the frost still there from when it was pulled from the freezer at my store.

I walk around the creature’s huge mass, and the strange old man is sitting on a stool, squirting milk from a set of udders into bottles, and he just begins to notice me, grabbing for the butchers knife hanging in his belt.

“I- what the hell is this?!” I stagger back, and fall, a piece of farm equipment impaling my stomach.

“It’s the Machine,” he says with a delightful cackle. “Does everything a cow, tractor, and plow can do. And your parts will be the next big expansion.”

I scream for help, but it is a futile attempt; we are much too far away from any home or business to be heard. He walks away, retrieving a saw, with which he moves on to dismember me, somehow keeping me alive with some bizarre magic.

 Next come the stitches, and he sows my head onto the Machine next to those of a pig and a cat, forcing a chunk of raw cow liver down my throat. I try to scream, but my voice box is gone, and nothing comes out but spit and blood.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he says in hysterics, “And now, it’s killed you!”

 


© Copyright 2019 Zach Reynoldson. All rights reserved.

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