Jason

Jason tensed, dropping to one knee. The weight of his body making

soft crunching noises in the light snow, his hand automatically reaching for

an arrow on his back. His eyes scanned the dense snow coated brush, staying

almost perfectly still, a slight twitch of his left eye as he knocked an arrow

and slowly drew his bow to half draw, was the only outward sign of the fear

that racked his mind. The bow was of a fine make, made of Yew wood, with

gilded gold and silver caps, perfect draw weight for him, and flexible, yet

sturdy. Strangely, if you had asked him any of these questions, he would

have had no idea the answer. At the moment, he couldn’t have recalled his

own name; such was the greatness of the fear that engulfed him now.

As he knelt there, shivering slightly from the cold, his breath turning

to ice particles even as it left his lips, and tinkled softly on the cold, hard,

packed soil beneath. He knelt there, barely daring to move, and he wondered.

He wondered how he had come to this. How he could have ever let this

happen. Then, he thought grimly, that psycho murderer who wants to kill me.

He shook his head grimly at the thought, thinking back on how just an hour

and a little earlier, his biggest worry was whether or not his football team

would take the state championship, or whether Jessica Livingston liked him

or not. Now he was running for his life through a snowy forest, a bow in his

hand- a bow! - and wondering whether or not his next breath would be his

last.

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 Jason stood up slowly, his frozen limbs straining in protest. If this

doesn’t end soon, I might not make it back up from a sitting position for the

rest of my life! Jason thought dully. He sighed warily.

A rabbit. That was what had caused him all the trouble. A rabbit. It

had put him on edge; on the very verge of panic. A rabbit. He sighed again,

thinking hard on the events that had led him to being terrified of a rabbit.

He felt like sighing again, but was afraid to make any more noise. Erik. The

name rebounded off the walls of his skull inside his head, as if desperate to

find a way out and somehow cause more harm than its bearer already had. In

truth it couldn’t have. A slight noise, and he was convinced yet again that

Eric was out there, over there, or right behind there, always there, always

watching, waiting, watching.

He wanted Jason dead. So Jason would die.

Jason set off again, walking fast, but not yet running, breathing hard.

Not tired, driven on by the insane drive to live, to survive, and to win. Jason

knew he would die. But he would live for as long as possible. Until he was

murdered. Murdered and forgotten. No-one would know why. But he would.

Eric would know, and he would move on, always moving, never stopping, always

hunting; moving and hunting.

With a grunt, Jason lowered himself slowly down on the wet ground,

leaning his weight against the trunk of a shattered tree. Shattered on

shattered the spirits of the two rested, leaning on one another for support.

Jason closed his eyes, and rested. It was too late to escape now, the

race was over. He felt it. He knew it. He was it. And he was finished. Erik

was here. And he was hungry.

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 For the last time, Jason thought back on his life. He had it pretty

good; he was good at sports, (or at least football anyway) he had good grades

in school, had a great family, his dog Marley was the best pit bull in the

world, his little sister was only annoying sometimes, and his parents were

pretty understanding. He was sixteen, with his life all ready for him to come

and take it. He would be joining the Marines in a couple of years, and he was

confident that he would rise up through the ranks fast enough to make a

carrier out of it.

But that all seemed like just a distant dream now. He would never

graduate, never join the marines. He would never even wake up the following

morning –a Saturday – and rush to get ready for football practice He would

never wake up from this nightmare that was real, and he would never taste

the sweet taste of victory again.

If only I hadn’t been so tired as to go to sleep early… Jason thought

sadly to himself. If only….

“If only, boo hoo hoo!” Mocked Eric’s voice from behind Jason’s right

ear. As tired as Jason was, he leaped up and away from the noise, only to run

directly into Eric in front of him. Eric shoved him backward with inhuman

strength, and sent Jason sprawling into a snow bank, where he lay unmoving

in a heap.

Eric smiled cruelly and lifted Jason up until his feet were more than a

foot off the ground. He then smiled cruelly and dropped him back on the

ground saying, “Get up, and pick up that bow before you wet yourself.”

Jason stood up, barely containing a whimper. No, he would not shame

himself with that. “I am no longer afraid of you!” Jason replied defiantly, his

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voice cracking. “I welcome death now, after so long running and hiding. I do

not fear you!”

Eric’s smug smile vanished. “Is that so?” he asked. “Then do you fear

pain?” he finished, punctuating with a hard punch to Jason’s kidneys.

Jason struggled to his feet, his strength and resolve ebbing. “I do not

fear you!” he shouted back.

Eric kicked him in the face, and pushed him to the ground. “Then wake

up!” he shouted, kicking Jason again. “I already told you, you can’t wake up

and escape me unless you truly do not fear me!” He reached down and

grabbed Jason by the throat, picking him up, and slamming him against the

tree he had been resting on, cracking the tree down the center with the

force, and breaking three of Jason’s ribs with a loud crack.

And then Jason laughed. It was a horrible sound, and one that no-one

should ever hear. The laughter of a dead man. A man who is insane with pain

and fear, and welcomes death like an old friend. A noise that was all too

familiar to Eric, and he reveled in the sound. The sound of pain. The sound of

fear, and misery. Eric’s theme song.

Eric stopped at the sound of it. He was ready. He could smell it. He

could feel it. And the best part was, he was still scared, so he was his. Eric

could already smell the blood in the air, the soft sound of flesh tearing from

bone, and the crack of bone as he sucked the marrow out and the sluicing

sound that blood makes as it flows from a wound, and the sweet of tangy

iron. And the pain. The pain as he ripped apart the man, feeling him break

beneath his jaws, and squirm as he ripped open his innards. Eric was

quivering with the anticipation of the kill, and the feeling of death.

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 Eric dropped Jason’s limp body back down to the earth, and took a

step back. When Jason composed himself and found out where each of his

feet were, he stood shakily back up to his feet, glaring at Eric.

“Burn in hell, you snot-faced-un-forgiven-fiend!” was all Jason could

sputter out, as his chest burned like fire with every breath.

Eric laughed cruelly at Jason’s pitiful display of defiance, spitting on

the ground before him.

Jason drew a deep breath, slowly and shakily, and drew an arrow, but

he didn’t knock it, no, he lunged forward toward Eric, leading with the arrow

like a spear.

Eric easily sidestepped out of the way, and with inhuman speed,

grabbed the shaft from the air, and snapped it in half, driving the end he

still held –the one with the head- downward into Jason’s left thigh, all the

way to the bone, and through the other side, the shaft shattering at the

impact, sending sharp pieces of shrapnel in a spider web pattern through

Jason’s thigh.

Jason cried out in pain and terror as his legs failed him and he fell to

the ground. Jason had taken life-guard training the year before, and he

knew that the arrow had severed his corroded artery, and that if he didn’t

stop the bleeding, he would go into shock. He knew that would mean certain

death with Eric.

Jason grunted in pain as he struggled back up into a crawling position,

and slowly made his way back to the shattered tree stump, only ten feet

away. It took him about five minutes to finally reach the stump, while Eric

watched casually from the sidelines, not attacking, but not offering help

either.

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 White-faced, and panting from the loss of blood, Jason heaved his leg

up onto the stump, and lay on his back on the ground, to keep his leg higher

than his heart, in order to slow the bleeding. Then he set to work.

It took him the better part of a minute to finally tear a strip off of

his shirt that was usable to act as a bandage and tourniquet. It took him

another minute to tie it off properly, the white cloth turning scarlet as soon

as he pressed it upon his wound. He knew that he had only minutes left to

live if he didn’t get to a hospital soon.

Which meant he had to wake up. Which meant that he couldn’t be

scared. But he was. And this only made his fear worse.

“Oh come on and get up so we can end this.” Eric said, sounding bored.

“How? Will you let me go-“

Jason’s answer was cut short by a wave of pain, and he barely

contained a yelp, as he gasped for breath.

“Hmmm… good point.” Replied Eric. “No, I will not let you go. It’s not in

my nature to let prey escape. No, I think that a duel should do it. A classic

style duel, you know. Twenty paces, turn, draw… and shoot!” Eric giggled like

an exited child, drawing a bow from underneath his boot.

Jason did a double take. There was no way that Eric could have pulled

a bow from underneath his foot. He thought that he might be hallucinating

from lack of blood flow to the brain.

“I can’t.” Jason replied through gritted teeth. “My leg is dead. As will

I be here in a second. I have no time to play solder with you.” he finished.

Eric made a tut-tut sound and walked up to Jason saying; “I will fix

your little scratch. As for the duel, I doubt you have much anything else to

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do here. If you don’t duel me, I wont fix your drumstick.” Eric caught

himself and amended; “So sorry, I meant leg.”

Jason felt the nausea rise in him (along with his Dinner), as Eric

walked closer to him, and bent down, his face drawing level with Jason’s.

“What will it be?” he asked, and Jason noticed that Eric’s face had

taken on a different appearance. Where as before, all Jason could see was a

mask of hatred and hunger, now he could make up individual distinctions that

made Jason want to puke. His features were the same as his own, although

they seemed more feline, and streamlined, and grotesque. He had the same

brown-black hair that all the males in his family had, and the blue eyes. His

Irish eyes, as his mother always said. Jason was as Irish as you can be, and

proud of it. But Eric was different. He was staring at himself, only the worst

possible version of himself. This doppelganger of himself, would not hesitate

to slaughter an innocent baby to get what he wanted. He was looking into a

mirror of anger and pure hatred.

“What will it be?” Eric asked again, and Jason knew what he had to do.

“I will agree to this madness if you give me your word as a man that

you will not cheat.” Jason replied, fully hoping that the demon would back

down from the prospect of being fair, and that perhaps he might get let go….

“Deal!” Eric shouted happily, as he reached over and placed his hand

deep into Jason’s wounded thigh, and pulled out the shaft, breaking the bone

the rest of the way in two in the process.

Jason was in so much pain, he couldn’t even scream out, and he knew

he was seconds away from shock.

“Quick.” Was all he could get out, before he passed out, into the

welcoming darkness.

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 When Eric woke up, the sun was low on the horizon, and the snow was

all gone. Completely. There were apples, on the trees, and a squirrel was

leaping from branch to branch.

Jason looked down at himself, and gone was the heavy wool coat and

fur lined boots, and in their place, he wore combat boots and BDU’s. In his

hand though, the bow, strangely remained the same.

He knew he needed to wake up, and he tried desperately to, he tried

pinching himself, running in place, and even going to sleep, as he couldn’t go

to sleep in his dreams, and he knew that once, when he was younger, he fell

asleep inside of one of his dreams and woke up in real life.

“That really is quite pathetic.” Eric-Jason said with a short giggle. Eric

opened his eyes, and found that they were inside of his bedroom. He blinked

again and they were back in the clearing with the snow, and the shattered

tree. Jason glanced back down at himself and found he was wearing his

swimming trunks. “As you see, I have complete control.” He said. “This is

your dream, but you can’t control it unless you can conquer your fear of me.

But I can do anything I want to make you fear me!” he giggled that short,

evil giggle again. “But enough of that. I fixed your leg, and you gave me your

word that you would ‘agree to this madness’ if I did.” Eric finished, reaching

his hand out to Jason, offering him help up.

Jason reluctantly accepted the help up, confident that Eric-Jason

wouldn’t hurt him until the duel. As soon as he touched his skin, Eric-Jason

pulled him up so fast, that Jason was lightheaded, and pulled him up to face

him, their faces inches apart. “You will die!” Eric-Jason shouted, his face
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going insane, and his black eyes burning a blazing red-orange. The outrage

left as soon as it appeared on Eric-Jason’s face. So fast that Jason

wondered if he had actually seen it. He blinked, confused. And realized that

he and his doppelganger were back to back, bows strung and in hand.

“Pace off twenty paces!” Shouted some unknown announcer. Jason

looked around confused. He was standing inside the gym at his high school;

the bleachers full of people cheering silently, people who looked like…him!

Jason groaned in frustration, and looked down at himself to find that

his swim trunks were gone and he was now wearing an all-white jumper, and

his first-twin was wearing an all-black one.

“You heard him, pace off!” Eric-Jason growled, quietly at Jason. Jason

glanced backward to where his twin had been just a moment before. He was

now about ten paces off, and Jason, realizing that his torture was soon to be

over, started walking, carefully counting out the paces.

When he finished and looked up from his feet, they were all alone in

the woods again, where they had been when they first arrived.

“Draw!” came the nonchalant voice of his mocker behind him. He

turned around and did as he was told. Jason looked over at Eric.

A cold smile perverted his lips, into an unnatural sneer, as if smiling

was the most unpleasant thing his body could contort to.

Jason felt himself shiver.

Just as Jason’s arm began to shake, Eric-Jason ordered the shoot.

And shoot Jason did.

He felt a surge of hope as his arrow flew right at Eric’s head, then he

felt like crying when it altered course mid-air, and flew just past Eric’s head.

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 At that moment, Jason knew that this fight wasn’t going to be fair.

And he knew again that he would die. The demon had given him his word. And

he had lied.

A second later, Jason’s twin fired. Jason tried to move out of the way.

‘If he will cheat then I will cheat!’ He growled to himself. But he found out

that he couldn’t move. Somehow he had been rooted to the spot.

Jason felt a surge of panic rise in him, even as the arrow flew at him.

It struck Jason’s right leg, right in the kneecap with a sound like an axe

striking a damp log.

Jason yelped with pain, and fear. Eric laughed his cruel and evil laugh.

Jason looked over at him through eyes blurry with pain, and felt a surge of

hope flow through him.

“Neither of us has died yet!” Jason shouted, defiantly, as Eric’s

laughter came to an end. “This isn’t over!”

Eric-Jason glanced over at him and nodded his head, his eyes flicking

hungrily to the blood flowing freely from Jason’s kneecap.

“Five steps forward then, as is the rules.” Eric-Jason replied, taking

the required steps forward. Jason nodded and tried to follow suit, almost

falling to the floor when he discovered that he couldn’t move his right knee

the proper way as the arrow pinned his knee in place.

“Draw” Eric-Jason said. As they both drew, Eric said; “Shoot.” Closely

followed by the twang of their bows as their deadly projectiles rushed at

one another.

This time, Jason’s arrow flew true, and struck Eric right between the

eyes… and flew out the other side. Eric’s arrow however, struck Jason in the

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left shin, going halfway to the fletching, and burrowing its way through the

bone and out the meaty flesh on the other side.

Jason grimaced in pain, but didn’t falter. His eyes glazing over as he

went into a form of shock. He shuffled his feet forward the required five

steps and growled; “Take your steps you-!” the rest of his words were cut

off as he struggled through another spasm of pain, his face pale, yellow foam

at the corners of his mouth.

Eric was taken aback by his prey’s continuance, but he liked his prey

fresh, and struggling, barely a moment from death, and Jason wasn’t ready

yet, so he continued with his preparation. The lust for kill frothing up inside

him, just as the bile was rising in Jason’s stomach, he doubled over and tried

to puke, but only producing a dry heave. As he opened his eyes and caught

site of the blood splattering the ground, he had to heave again.

“Draw and, well you know the deal! Just go!” Eric said, as he drew and

released. Caught by surprise, Jason barely drew before the arrow hit him,

and his aim was altered so that the arrow flew well off its target.

The arrow struck Jason in the abdomen, and went right out the other

side, leaving Jason to hold his intestines, and stomach in his hands, the

meaty organs warm to the touch of Jason’s hands.

Eric could barely contain the urge to gorge on his prey’s flesh, and

suck the blood straight from his artery’s the heart still pumping furiously to

keep up with the loss of its precious ether… but no, he mustn’t until the time

was right. Not yet.

“Again.” Jason barely whispered, “Draw a- the rest of his words ended

in a gurgle as blood erupted like a fountain from Jason’s mouth, his white

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jumpsuit now completely scarlet from the blood, and his face and hands the

same deep arterial red as the liquid pouring freely from his chest and legs.

Eric was shocked at his resilience, but took his five steps, they were

now only a few feet from each other, and Eric’s senses were on full alert.

Dropping his organs and bloody tissue to the ground, Jason drew to

half draw (All that his body could muster) and shot, the arrow clattering to

the ground in front of his adversary.

Eric shot again, this time aiming to kill.

The arrow took Jason through the throat, and out the other side.

Jason dropped to his knees, grasping his throat, the blood spurting from

behind his fingers, all fear escaped from his being, and he died then, the last

sound he heard was the sound of which was made by Eric ripping away at the

flesh from his exposed stomach, as he gorged on his fresh feast, and the

blood-filled laughter of his enemy, as he sucked the blood straight from his

fading heart.

Jason woke with a start, his heart beating furiously in his chest, his

blankets discarded onto the floor, and his breath rapid. He looked down at

his mattress, the soft fabric of his blankets and his light green and black

room, with the words ‘Irish Pride’ painted on the wall in red. Blood red. He

shuddered at the thought as he remembered the dream he had had that

night, and he laughed softly to himself at first, and then, with mounting

intensity, he ended up on the floor of his room, laughing so hard, it brang

tears to his eyes, as he speculated how foolish he had been to believe that

that could be real.

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 Then he heard the clash of pots from down stairs as he heard

someone making breakfast down in the kitchen. ‘Mom!’ He thought as he

didn’t assume anyone else in his house, other than perhaps his dog Marley

would get up before eight on a Sunday morning.

He glanced at the clock, worried he might have slept in too late, and

frowned. The clock wasn’t on. He crawled over on his hands and knees to his

bedside table and reached behind it, grasping around blindly for the power

cord, as his thoughts strayed elsewhere.

The dream had been so real. The fear, the pain, and the cold. And

Eric. Eric was real. He knew it. Yet he was safe now. Because Eric was a

demon of dreams, and he was now awake.

His hand now grasped the power cord, and he drew it toward himself.

As he pulled it out, he thought he felt a tug on the other side of the cord,

and for a moment, he thought someone was behind him.

As a surge of fear welled up inside him, he stole a quick look over his

shoulder, and, for the briefest of moments, thought he saw a man standing

behind him, but a startled blink later, and the figure was gone.

Shrugging to himself, he turned back to where his hand disappeared

behind the desk, and cried out in alarm, pulling his arm to his side, and

jumping back ward a few feet as a hideous severed head stared back at him.

Jason’s severed head.

Looking back, he saw the head was gone, and in its place, was the clown

head that he had kept since he was a boy.

He got it at the first circus he had ever been to. He had begged and

begged until his parents let him play the ring-toss game, and he won the

strange doll head as first prize. He had kept it in his closet ever since.

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 But it wasn’t there now. He knew that he had never moved it, and

wondered if his little sister had anything to do with it. Shrugging, he

grabbed the clown doll by the tassel of its cone-hat and heaved him into the

wall as punishment for scaring him. Sentence carried out, he picked the head

back up and took it to his closet where he deposited it back by the others in

his collection of animals that he couldn’t bear to be rid of when he turned

thirteen and was ‘too old for that kind of stuff’.

He shook his head realizing that the dream was to have the lasting

effects of jitteriness and fear of clowns… and probably the reflection of

himself in the mirror. He half smiled of the thought of being scared at his

own reflection, and crawled back on hands and knees to his night stand.

Reaching back, he pulled on the cord again and met no resistance.

“The head must have been caught up on something,” he assured

himself quietly. But he knew this wasn’t true.

His head jerked in surprise when he saw that the end of the wire was

bitten off and the remnants frayed out like the hair on his clown.

“Rats,” he told himself. “Must have been rats.” But he knew that that

wasn’t true either.

The door to his room slammed shut behind him, and he jumped in

surprise. He glanced over at his open window. ’Must have been the wind,’ He

thought to himself. But there was no wind. Not even a whisper.

His phone rang on his desk, making him jump again. ‘If I keep jumping

at every little thing, I should become an Olympic high-jumper,’ he thought,

and couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

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 The phone rang again as if agitated that it was being ignored. He leapt

to his feet and quickly closed the short distance between himself and the

phone.

“Hello?” he asked as he picked up the phone.

“Come” said the voice on the other side. A shiver raced down his back.

It was his voice. It was Eric’s voice.

He dropped the phone back down to the receiver. Quickly picked it

back up and dialed nine one one. No answer. The line was dead. He glanced

down behind the desk already knowing what he would see. The power cord to

the phone was cut.

Then his alarm clock blared its daily call. He started, and shot a glare

at the object. The face read 9:11am

He felt his breath increase, his heart hammering inside him, as if

eager to get out. And Jason knew. He knew that it would get its wish. He

knew that staying awake wouldn’t save him from Eric anymore. And he knew

what he had to do.

Walking slowly as if in a trance, he slowly walked over to his door, and

opened it. He walked slowly down the hall, stopping momentarily in front of

his parent’s door. He opened the door slowly, wincing at the sound that it

made as it creaked open. He looked in only long enough to see that there

were two people in the bed.

His parents. Another pot clanged downstairs, as if to remind him of

his fate. With a shiver, he slowly closed the door again, his mouth working

but his voice nowhere to be found. Good bye. I love you.

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 He walked down the remainder of the hallway and down the stairs. His

dog looked at him expectantly. Sorry boy, not right now. He tried to say. His

heart was frantic now, but his breath was as even as ever.

He walked through the dining room, his feet making a soft pat-pat

pattern as they walked across the room, stopping in front of the door to the

kitchen, a lump rising in his throat.

With a final sigh, Jason opened the door.

There was a single man in the kitchen, wearing an apron that said ‘Kiss

the Cook!’, and sharpening a long knife on a wet stone. The man smiled.

“Really,” He said, setting the stone down on the Formica counter. “Did

you really think that you would get off that easily?” He asked.

Jason shook his head.

The man laughed mockingly. “Didn’t think so.”

Jason wanted to scream, scream so loud, and so long that Eric would

get annoyed and leave, so loud that his parents would wake up, and they

would save him, and he would be safe. But he didn’t. It was time to be done.

He had lived a good life. But it was over now.

“My parents…” Jason inquired, not being able to finish his horrible
sentence.
Eric shrugged. “It’s not their turn. Everyone gets a turn with

me eventually. But not today. Not your sister either. Or your dog. Or anyone

else you know, though believe me, I’m looking forward to young Miss

Livingston. Yes, she shall be especially tasty.”

Jason closed his eyes. He wouldn’t let Eric get to him.

“Fine then, I am ready now.”

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 Eric smiled. “Are you sure? No final last words? Most people have to

say something… they think that what they have to say is so important.”

Jason kept his mouth clamped firmly shut. He had nothing left to say

to him. He would have preferred a proper good-bye to his parents, and his

sister though. And his friends. Eric shrugged.

“Okay then, I guess it’s time to eat…”

And Death lunged.

The End…Or is it?

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