The Willow on The Hill
“Michael,” whispered the woman, “Michael come hold me, dear,” She was elderly, frail. But for some reason, Michael got the distinct feeling he should leave. As he turned around to do so, he was faced by a seemingly steel wall, hard, thick, and cold. Michael started to panic
- he had no idea how he’d gotten here or who this woman was. "Its ok Michael, I won’t hurt you, like that bad ma-"
“Stop it! Stop talking to me like that!” Michael screamed, “I dont know you! I don’t know where I am or how I got here! Just stop,” fearing he would start to cry, he turned to face the wall. As he turned, the lady started to change. Not growing or shrinking or anything, very subtle. As if she shimmered, but only for an instant. It was so fast that Michael didn’t have time to blink. He snapped back around, unsure if it was a trick of the light or if he were going crazy, then was proven that it was neither because that was when the old lady spoke: “Michael, you know me. You’ve known me your whole life, you just don’t remember. You remember nothing of me.”
This sent chills down his spine, it turned his blood cold when she — it — spoke. The voice it spoke in was deep and gravelly, ice cold with hatred and evil. Michael didn’t have anything to say, so he just stood there, at the end of the windowless, doorless room frozen in fear. It spoke once more, “But I know you, Michael, and we’re about to become a bit more…” the thing bored its gaze into him, with black, irisless eyes, “Accquainted.”
Then the whole creature shifted, it’s eyes becoming large, it’s body growing and becoming not that of a weak old lady, but of an unknown, terrifying being. Michael stumbled as he tried pointlessly to run from it, finding only gray walls which he ran into in his attempt at escape. When he fell, Michael stayed there, pulling his legs up to his chest as the horrible beast advanced towards him, the nauseating odor of the thing wafting towards him, speaking in a language Michael didn’t know. Petrified, he could do nothing to protect himself, and screamed as the floor beneath him suddenly gave way to a blackness darker than the vast emptiness of outer space.
“Did I miss anything important?” he asked.
“Not unless you think the hippies singing with Professor Greenwood is a profound discovery,” Austin replied with a small smile.
“Oh, I see,” Michael chuckled.
“So did you do anything worthwhile last night? Or did you just sit on reddit all night like always?” Austin queried jokingly.
“Actually I got a little sleep last night,” said Michael, knowing it wouldnt really be considered sleep.
“Shocker,” Austin said, thus ending the conversation, and michael turned in his seat to face his laptop, an ancient thing that was quite heavy. As he started working on last nights homework, he noticed someone standing in the doorway to the classroom. They were wearing all black, but the cloth was strange, as if it were sticking to their skin, as if it were their skin, but with a sort of trench coat as well. Then, slowly, sickeningly somehow, the figure turned to face him, and Michael was repulsed by what he saw
The face was mutilated, the jaw hanging from its skull, an eye was dangling from a deep, bloody socket. There were countless deep incisions in the rotting flesh, oozing gore and pus, revealing brown tinged bone underneath. Then it spoke: “I know you, Michael,” and, at least Michael thought, it smiled as he screamed bloody murder.
“Michael! Michael whats wrong?” asked Austin, “Michael answer me!” then the rest of the class joined in; “Are you alright?”
“Are you okay?”
Professor Greenwood stepped through the crowd that had gathered around Michael, wearing a worried look. “I think you should rest for the remainder of the day, Mr. Kelley.” he said.
“Alright,” said Michael, shaking from what he had just witnessed. He stood, thinking to himself Am I going crazy? Was I dreaming? No, Michael distinctly remembered everything that happened that day, so it couldnt have been a dream. He started down the aisle of seats, feeling every eye in the room upon his back, and hearing the rustle of whispers on everyone’s lips. Michael quickly left the room and sped down the hallway. When he arrived at the exit door for the building, he was bombarded by the sickening stench of the beast that had manifested itself in his sleep. Michael hurried out of the building to the bus stop to go home. As he arrived, so did an elderly woman dressed in a flowery sundress. “Oh, Michael!” She exclaimed, after looking at him for some time, “Michael don’t you remember me?” she said. Although the lady did look vaguely familiar, in light of recent events Michael apologetically declined and got on the next bus that stopped.
Once he got home, Michael surveyed his apartment after feeding Butler canned dog food. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he resolved to retire to his bedroom to study. As he opened the door, he screamed at the top of his lungs at what horror that lie within.
The walls were covered in blood, what looked like semen, intestines, body parts, and any number of other unmentionable substances. The stench of rotting flesh and urine permeated the air, Michael’s nose, his very being, it seemed. The floor of the room was covered in vomit and gore, with chunks of meat floating to the top of a particularly deep puddle in the corner. And at the center of it all was a terrible, horrifying sight — the woman-beast from his dream. Michael turned to run, but some sort of hand, comprised of bone, latched onto his ankle and pulled him through the carnage of decomposing corpses and blood that was his room, covering him with vomit and someone’s half-rotted jawbone. He was lifted into the air as he screamed, and the Thing spoke to him: “Do you remember me now, Michael?” It said in its demonic, horrible voice. Throughout all of this there was a cacophony of screaming and hysterical crying in the background, just loud enough for Michael to hear, but not so loud as to allow him to decipher what the tortured souls were crying out for.