Pocket Wilderness & Other Horrors

by Jason Ingolfsland

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want you to feel alone.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Who?”

  She tilted her head to the left and gave me a look that said you know who. When she titled her head, I saw something in the background. A face. And the closer I looked, I realized it was the old man. He smiled with his wrinkled hands strangling the cell bars.

  I nodded. “He’s behind you.”

  Frightened, she slowly looked over her shoulder. Turning back to me, she shook her head. “No one is there, Jerod,” she said, a new fear dripping from her lips, trembling.

  “He’s right there!” I exclaimed, standing and pointing.

  She took a step back.

  I felt pins and needles in my hands and my whole body flushed with a weird concoction of anger and shame.

  “I’m sorry. I’m really stressed right now.”

  “Did you do what they said you did?”

  I shook my head.

  She didn’t believe me. It was written all over her face.

  “It was him,” I said.

  She wiped a tear away from her eye. “I’m going to do something stupid, okay?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to believe you.”

  “What?”

  “I think you’re a good guy, Jerold. And I think you’ve been under too much to not have at least one person give you some kind of hope.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m going to pay your bail.

  “Thank you so much!” I exclaimed.

  She held up her hand to stop me. “But then I want you to burn my number and never contact me.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, I want to see you.”

  “Do you want me to pay your bail or not?”

  “I won’t let him take you away,” I said, pointing behind her shoulder.

  “Jerod, look at me, do you want him to take me away like he did to that other woman?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then you have to let me go.” She took a step forward, locking eyes with me.

  “It’s not fair.”

  “You’ll beat him. You’ll find a family. Children. Love. Hope. It’s all in your future. But you have to let me go first.”

  I bit my lip and looked away. My eyes welled with tears. I nodded.

  “Good,” she said. She took a few more steps, kissed me on the forehead and lifted my chin. “Be at peace.”

  She turned to leave and called for the guard. The old man remained, but he moved out of the way of the door and waited for it to open. When the guard opened the door and they totally ignored him, I couldn’t believe it. I must be crazy was my first thought. Then the old man reached out and touched Candace’s hair, slipping his nasty fingers through it. Suddenly, she slapped her hand on the back of her head and her eyes shot open. Her eyes flashed to me and then darted all over as if she were thinking of something, but then she shook her head and marched away.

  I wanted to scream out and ask her if she felt him, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  The old man entered the jail cell before the guard closed the door. As the lock clicked into place a smirk flashed on the old man’s haggard face.

  “Who do you think you are, Jerold? Achilles?” he said, shaking his head. “You got balls trying to stop me like that.”

  “What are you?”

  “It’s funny you ask that.” He hobbled over and sat down next to me. “It’s not too often guys like us meet guys like you.”

  “Guys like me?”

  “Guys that can see.” He saw the confusion on my face and continued. “Because by all rights you shouldn’t be able to see us. It’s against the rules. I have my theories why it might be possible, but I won’t bore you with any of that.”

  “Oh, well, thanks for thinking of me.”

  “I warned you not to get involved. Not to play the hero. Now I’m going to have to make it hurt.”

  I gritted my teeth and prepared myself. “I’m ready. Do whatever you want with me. I don’t have much to lose anyway.”

  He chuckled. “Oh no, not you.”

  “Who then-“ I said, but stopped when it hit me like a freight train. “No, you leave her alone!”

  He smacked me across the face so hard my entire body fell to the ground.

  “You don’t tell me what to do, worm,” he said with a hiss. His body contorted into his beastly form for a brief second, but went back to being the old man. He towered over me. “I want you to know this is your fault. You saved that woman. You did a good thing, but pretty little Candace is going to pay. Get used to that. You try to interfere with our work and there will be a reckoning.”

  He vanished before my eyes with a hideous laughter that followed and echoed into the air. I shuddered and wrapped my body into the fetal position and wept, begging Candace for forgiveness.

  Candace followed through and paid my bail. When I tried to contact her, she didn’t answer.

  I returned to the theater every day, hoping she’d be at the counter. She was never there.

  I wandered down the darkened aisle, gently touching the rows of seats, and found a place in the middle. I waited for someone to show up, but no one came. The movie started and allowed me to drift away.

  Eventually I stopped seeing people at all. Only the wraiths prowling the streets, looking for their dose of trouble. I couldn’t say it bothered me.

  It felt much like it had before.

  Peace of Mind

  The compact hotel room had a unique smell, like mold with hint of stale coffee and cigarettes. Even though the hotel strictly forbade smoking, it was obvious the thousands of guests before me disobeyed, and the hotel did everything they could to cover it up, but to no avail. It wasn’t home, not by a long shot. It didn’t have the warmth of my wife’s garden or the comfort of my brown leather recliner. It didn’t have my children bustling around or my dog Bart begging for attention. If anything, it was the exact opposite of a home. A cold, lifeless void where businessmen like me go to work and eat and sleep hunched over on the small excuse for a desk.

  The time read 7:42pm and I had just gotten off a four-hour flight from Minneapolis to San Francisco. My company paid for the travel expenses, but in return they chose the hotel: Club Chateau. The fancy name did not match reality. Reality would title the hotel “Box with Toilet Inn”. I set my carry-on bag down on the bed and my laptop bag on the small desk, mentally preparing for the work ahead. I worked some on the plane, but the man next to me snored like a bear in hibernation, making it impossible to concentrate. It would be a long night. As Senior Claims Analyst for Freedom Fund Insurance, I approved and declined most claims that came in the door, depending on the severity and my authority. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. Truthfully, the overwhelming stress had weighed me down for some time. I couldn’t handle it, sometimes waking in a cold sweat from the nightmares.

  I did what was required of me. I wrapped up my prep work for the case I was assigned, a nasty situation about a factory gas leak. Several died by the poison and afterwards more died by the fire that exploded inside the factory building. I denied the claim. That’s why I was in San Francisco, to testify at a hearing. A class action lawsuit was filed against our company and we were trying to defend our decision.

  After a few hours of making sure I covered all my bases, I called my wife, spoke with my kids, and passed out on my bed with my clothes still on. I took pride in my ability to fall asleep within minutes. Nine times out of ten, I slept like I was in a coma. Nothing could wake me. Sometimes my wife would shake me violently, but I still struggled to wake.

  But, the sound that night, the sound that chilled me to the bone and made my stomach feel like it crawled up the back of my throat, woke me.

  At first I thought I dreamt it, but as my consciousness became more aware and I figured out my surroundings, I continued to he
ar the noise. It was a hideous, guttural wheezing and groaning like a man was dying and choking on his own blood. The intensity, volume, and clarity of the sound were only a foot away from me on the other side of the bed. Realizing I wasn’t alone in the room, terror slithered down my spine. I leapt from the bed and fumbled to turn on the bedside table light, but my hand shook so violently that the lamp spilled over the side and crashed. I swore under my breath. The hideous noise grew loud and aggravated. The light of the moon glowed through the blinds, providing minimal light to help me find another light switch.

  My breath sucked out my lungs as something rose from the shadows and stood in the striped moonlight. Though most of the figure was a silhouette, I could see its gaunt body hunched over with both limbs wobbling at its sides. Its big round eyes glowed in the darkness and three strands of black hair were plastered against its forehead. It was beyond hideous. I couldn’t shake the thought, was it lying there the entire time I was in the room?

  I froze. My state of mind only handicapped my thoughts and paralyzed my actions.

  It climbed on the bed and inch-by-inch clawed its way toward me, moaning and slobbering all over the blankets. Pressing my back against the wall, I wanted to flee, but I couldn’t stop watching in utter horror as it approached. I took a step to the right, trying to get away, but I didn’t want to provoke it either. I didn’t want it to rush me.

  When it reached the other side of the bed, it stood, but stopped and heaved. With a grunt, it hacked up glob of blood on the carpet. The splash and splatter of the bile made me gag and wretch. Nausea swirled inside my guts.

  It’s head snapped up and viciously lunged toward me.

  I screamed and moved just in time to avoid being caught. My fear left me, and my survival instinct kicked in. I ran toward the front door, but the chain and deadbolt was locked. I scrambled to undo them, but I heard an angry growl behind me and froze. No. No. No.

  The creature’s fingers, one by one, wrapped around the corner of the wall. Then its head appeared with those big bulging red eyes staring at me, the eyes of a madman. Its haggard teeth snapped and hissed, hungry to sink into my flesh. “Come on, come on,” I muttered to myself, trying to undo the lock. I unlocked the deadbolt, but my fingers refused to unlatch the chain. I didn’t have enough time. With the creature only a few feet away, I panicked and slipped into the bathroom instead, slamming the door behind me. It clawed and scratched on the other end with an unquenched malevolence.

  With my back against the door, I let out a series of swears and tried to calm down. I prayed it didn’t know how to turn a doorknob.

  The doorknob turned.

  My heart stopped.

  I clamped my hands down on it. For a while it was a back and forth struggle to keep it from entering. I pressed my whole weight against the door while keeping the doorknob in check. But, then it stopped. The groaning and hissing ceased. It was like it vanished all together. I slowly pressed my left ear up against the door and waited. Waited. Waited.

  “Yooouuuuu won’tttttt getttt aaaawwwaayyy witttthhh thisssssss,” an old man’s voice whispered.

  My eyes wide and my heart pounding in my chest, I pulled away from the door. I couldn’t feel my fingers and the sweat on my brow dripped all the way down to the floor. What the hell was happening? In a wild panic, I grabbed the nearest weapon, which happened to be the plunger, and prepared myself. My shaky left hand slowly reached for the doorknob, clutched it and paused a moment. Then, in one swift motion, I turned it and pulled on the door, expecting the worst.

  The creature was no creature, but a skeletal old man with red and black lesions all over his flesh. He had no nose and his eyes were sticking out of his skull. He hunched over with his arms held out in front and his hands limp and lifeless. Green ooze dripped down his chin and splashed on to the floor. He didn’t attack, but merely stood, wheezing with each inhale from his black lungs. A sinister grin spread across his thin, chapped lips. With a snarl, he lunged forward, reaching his boney hands toward my throat.

  Instinctually, I swung the plunger like a baseball bat at the skeleton man’s head, but he grabbed it with his left hand and yanked it away. He tossed the plunger to the ground, and hissed. Globs of spit rocketed onto my face. I grimaced at the smell of his rancid broccoli breath.

  I backed away, panicking, holding my arms out to stop him.

  “L..ll...Look, I don’t know wh...wh...what you want, but I’ll call...”

  “I want flesh,” the old man said with a haggard voice. “Every inch.”

  He slashed his fingers at my face, but missed. I yelped and screamed with each swipe. He finally lunged at me like a rabid dog.

  We fell back into the bathtub. I banged my head against the porcelain, but remained conscious. The only thing I could see was his noseless face smiling at me while he pinned me to the ground. He leaned in, getting closer and closer to my neck. I squirmed, gnashing my teeth together, and stretched my neck away from his snapping jaws.

  “No, no,” I whined. “Please.”

  “Yesssssss,” he said. His hot breath hit my skin, making my neck hairs stand up on end.

  In a fit of desperation, I slipped both of my thumbs up to his cheeks. In one swift motion, I plunged them deep into his eye sockets, squashing the eyeballs, feeling the soft tissue, puss, skull, and blood. The hot blood splashed all over my face, but I didn’t stop. I kept pushing as far as my thumbs could enter.

  He shrieked and wailed, but I didn’t stop. I enjoyed it. I pushed my thumbs in, then pulled them out a little, and pushed them back in. The pain and shock was enough to push the ragged old man off me and to get back to my feet. I didn’t even notice my hands were drenched in blood. I didn’t care. I took the man’s skull in my hand and bashed it against the porcelain. He yelled, but I kept bashing it. Over and over I bashed his skull and with each deadly stroke the brains and blood splattered all over the white tub, running down like a river and swirling into the drain.

  When he stopped moving, I dropped his head and it went down with a final thud.

  I washed the blood off my hands the best I could, which took a lot of time and complimentary soap to accomplish. I ran an ice-cold bath until it reached the top. Then, I dropped his legs inside, letting his body slip down to the bottom. I left the room, grabbed a bag of ice from the ice machine down the hall, and then came back and filled up the bath full of ice. Feeling the urge, I zipped down my pants and pissed inside the tub. I closed the door behind me and walked over to my bed and sat down.

  I thought for a moment. I didn’t feel guilty. I murdered an old man with my bear hands and I didn’t mind one bit. I chuckled under my breath.

  I slept like a baby that night, and that morning I gave my testimony.

  Of course, I lied through my teeth. I needed to save my job, after all, not to mention my company millions of dollars. Yes, we denied the claim because they failed to follow our safety guidelines. No, we didn’t realize they were dealing with hazardous chemicals. All lies. I kept my composure and didn’t fall for any sneaky tricks.

  “You’re under oath, Mr. Quinn,” the lawyer said.

  “Yes. I realize that,” I replied.

  He asked me a few more questions, but proceeded to let me go.

  I stayed and watched their closing statements. That’s when it hit me. That’s when it felt like someone had wrapped their boney hands around my throat and choked me out. One by one, the prosecutor showed slides of the deceased to gain sympathy from the jury.

  The last picture he showed was of an old man with lesions all over his body.

  I panicked and raced out of the courtroom, undoing my necktie and wiping the sweat off my brow. I didn’t look back. I didn’t go back to my apartment. I took a cab straight to the airport and grabbed the first plane to Minneapolis.

  For weeks, I wondered if the police were going to come knocking on my door, but they never came. Weeks turned into months and months turned into years. Nothing. Sometimes I wished they would come. I wished
they’d lock me up and throw away the key. Then maybe I would feel safe. Fear was the only way for me to feel safe.

  The moment I get any peace of mind, it returns.

  Orphan’s Hollow

  A New Fiction Serial by Jason Ingolfsland

  While the North Family Farm was historically held in high esteem for its work in adoption and foster care, over the years its reputation eroded. Whispers and gossip spread across Hopewell about the strange and odd happenings at the farm at certain times of the year. Slightly ashamed of the family reputation and unable to do the work at the farm due to his disability, Josiah North, the only biological son to Obadiah North IV and heir to the farm, studied in secret, hoping he will be accepted at the University of Minnesota and start a new life for himself. But the farm has other plans, and when his parents leave for their anniversary, Josiah will be forced into a struggle to survive the mysterious horrors of Orphan’s Hollow.

  Orphan’s Hollow: The Raven – Part 1 will be available December 2016.

  Contact the Author

  Jason would love to hear from you. Feel free to send happy thoughts, good messages, and well wishes at the following places:

  Like Me on Facebook

  Follow me on Twitter: @jaingolfsland

  Email: ingolfslandauthor@gmail.com

  Address:

  Jason Ingolfsland

  PO Box 43421

  Minneapolis, MN 55443

  United States

  About the Author

  When he’s not working, collecting vinyl, or ice skating, Jason Ingolfsland spends his free time reading and writing. Since high school, he’s made it his passion to hone his writing, working as a writer for school newspapers and publishing short stories in local literary magazines. He’s written two short screenplays that were successfully funded, filmed, and featured at the Twin Cities Film Festival, Revolution Film Festival, and Z-Fest, and published two novels under a pseudonym. At the present, he’s a Contributing Writer for MinnesotaConnected.com, and lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota with his wife, two kids, and guinea pig named Darth Vader.