At the Edge of the Forest Read online

  Feeling a twinge of pain in my right leg, I wince slightly, only to find that I'm back in the forest. I look around, but all I see is the wooden shack and I realize that the vision, if that's what it was, has already faded. I tell myself that it was just a hallucination, that my mind isn't working properly ever since the accident, but at the same time I can't ignore the fact that I seemingly hallucinated that particular BarraBuy store way before I ever set foot in the place. It's almost as if somehow my mind has found a way to look ahead and warn me about the consequences of every major decision I make, in which case...

  If I let Mason get away with his crimes, that shooting at BarraBuy might become a reality, whereas if I go ahead and deal with the bastard, apparently nothing will change. I'll get away with his murder.

  Still uncertain as to what I should do, I turn and limp into the shack. When I open the hatch, I'm forced back by the foul fumes, but after a moment I wave them away and hold a hand over my mouth as I look down. Sure enough, Glenda's body appears to have completely dissolved in the acid bath, and I can't help imagining Robert Elmer Mason's body tumbling down there to join her.

  Maybe I have no choice. Maybe I have to kill him. Hell, for the first time in years, I might actually do the world a favor.

  II

  “Oh my God,” Alison says with a grin, her face bathed in the flickering blue light of the T.V. screen, “did you see that?”

  “Yes, honey,” I reply, even though I've barely registered a single second of the dumb dance talent show she's insisted on watching. I swear to God, while I was in a coma my wife seems to have embraced reality television to a degree that's genuinely terrifying. I guess it must have been hard for her to adjust to being alone while I was gone, but she didn't have to surrender quite so readily to this insipid garbage. “It was quite impressive,” I mutter, just so she'll think I give a damn.

  Seriously, though...

  She changed while I was in that coma. She became far less... impressive, as a person. It's clearly going to take a while before she bounces back to her old, fun self.

  If at all.

  She laughs as one of the performing idiots launches into a fresh round of buffoonery, but I can't help glancing toward the window. Alison has no idea that I left the house today, of course, but all evening my mind has been wandering. There's a part of me, just a small part, that thinks I should just set fire to the shack and abandon that part of my life. Maybe the death of that Glenda Rabindale bitch should serve as a warning, one I should heed, and maybe the thing that lives in the forest will just let me go. After all, it clearly didn't end our deal just because I vanished for a couple of years. Maybe it's gone, maybe it's dead, maybe I don't need to keep giving it what it wants.

  Still...

  Hearing the sound of gunfire, I turn to the T.V., half expecting to find some advert for another dumb action show. Instead, however, I watch two so-called celebrities engaged in something called a 'dance-off', but a moment later the gunfire returns and I realize that it's coming from somewhere else. Turning, I look toward the kitchen, but now the gunfire is echoing all around and when I turn back to the T.V. I realize that it's about to happen again.

  Another of those visions.

  Feeling a sudden shiver of fear, I close my eyes and immediately see the BarraBuy store again. This time I'm closer to the door, as if this is a continuation of my earlier hallucination, and I can tell that the gunfire is coming from somewhere deep inside the building. The automatic doors slide open and I take a cautious step inside, unable to contain my curiosity as I head toward the aisles. Someone is shooting the place up, but there are no screams, no cries for help. When I look along the first aisle, however, I spot a figure on the floor, wearing an orange t-shirt with a pool of blood slowly spreading out across the linoleum floor. The poor bastard's clearly dead but, as I get closer, I realize it's definitely not the girl from my earlier hallucination. Instead, it's a guy with a huge bloody wound across his belly, which has allowed his intestines to come spilling out across the greasy, muddy floor. Leaning closer, I spot a badge on his shirt bearing the name Joe.

  “Oh my God, look!” Alison says suddenly, nudging my arm as she starts laughing.

  Opening my eyes, I see that one of the dancers has taken a tumble. For a moment, part of my vision intrude and I see the dancer's intestines slopping out as she's helped up, but the image quick returns to normal.

  “I knew that'd happen,” Alison continues. “Last week, when they had to do a tango, she was the one who got it wrong. She can dance, but she over-thinks it and then the mistakes start creeping in. I've actually got this theory, you'll think it's really sad, but I feel like -”

  “I have to go out,” I stammer, getting to my feet. I feel a little wobbly, but I'm sure I'll be fine.

  “Out?” She stares at me. “No, sweetheart -”

  “I'll be good,” I tell her, taking a step back. “I've been cooped up in this house all day and to be honest, I'm getting a little claustrophobic. I saw the car was low on gas yesterday, so I'll just drive to the station and fill her up. Just a short, easy trip to get me used to being outside again. You understand, don't you?”

  She sighs.

  “Please,” I add, trying to hide the fact that I'm so short of breath. “Just let me have this.”

  “Sure,” she replies, “but I should come with -”

  “No,” I continue, hurrying to the door and grabbing my coat. Taking my car keys from the hook, I hesitate for a moment before taking her keys as well. Just in case. “I need a little independence,” I tell her, forcing a smile even though my chest feels like it's about to collapse. “Come on, you know what I'm like, I'll go stir crazy if I can't poke my nose out into the real world every so often. Five minutes there, five minutes in the gas station, five minutes back, you won't even know I'm gone. Thirty minutes at most.”

  She stares at me for a moment, but I can tell I've won her around. Besides, her show is just getting to the results stage, and she won't want to miss that. Not now she's such a T.V. addict. “Be careful,” she says finally. “You don't feel weak, do you?”

  “Fit as a fiddle,” I reply with a smile, despite the pain in my legs and the sensation of my lungs trying to climb up through my throat. “I'll be back in half an hour, honey. Enjoy your dancing show.”

  ***

  “Come on, you cock-sucking lowlife piece of...”

  My voice trails off as I sit alone in the dark car, watching drunken idiots staggering out of a local dive bar. Based on my research earlier today, this seems to be the place where the great Robert Elmer Mason likes to get drunk before driving home, and closing time came and went a few minutes ago so I figure he should be spilling out at any moment. There's a truck parked near the exit, and I'm fairly sure it's the exact same vehicle that plowed into me two years ago. I swear to God, it's a miracle I haven't gone inside already and beaten Mason to death.

  Hearing a buzzing sound from my phone, I look down and see that I've received a message from Alison. Without even bothering to read it, I give her a quick call. As I do so, I check my watch and see that I've been out for almost an hour now.

  “You won't believe this,” I tell her as soon as she answers, trying my best to sound annoyed, “but I ran out of gas on the way to the station.”

  “Okay,” she says with a sigh, “I'm coming to get you.”

  “No, it's fine, I'm just heading there on foot to get a can. I'll be home in an hour, tops.”

  “On foot? Are you crazy?”

  “It's a lovely night,” I continue. “I'm enjoying the fresh air. Just stay on the sofa.”

  “Absolutely not,” she replies, “I'm going to come and pick you up.” I hear her heading to the front door. “Where the hell are my keys?”

  “You know what?” I continue. “I have them. God, do you know what must have happened? In my confusion, I must have picked up my keys and yours. Wow, that's... Dumb old me, huh?”

  She sighs again. “Brian...”

&n
bsp; “I'll be okay,” I tell her, as I spot a larger gentleman stumbling out of the bar and heading toward the truck. When he passes next to a streetlamp, I feel a shiver of anger in my chest as I realize that it's definitely Mason. “Listen,” I tell Alison, “I've got to go, I need to get to the gas station but I swear to you, I'm fine. I'll be home just as soon as possible, okay?”

  “Honey -”

  “And stop worrying,” I add, before cutting the call and slipping the phone back into my pocket. Gripping the steering wheel with my trembling hands, I watch for a moment as Mason drunkenly stumbles to his truck. I could run him down right now, but there are too many witnesses about and besides, the bastard should suffer first. As his friends head away, Mason climbs into his truck and pulls the door shut, and then it seems to take him a few minutes to get settled before he finally starts reversing out of his spot. Sure enough, he backs into a trashcan and knocks it over, before stopping for a moment and then starting to drive forward, heading toward the exit of the parking lot. By the time he's reached the turning to the main road, it's clear that he's far too drunk to drive, and he almost hits another vehicle as he swings out into traffic.

  Muttering a few curses under my breath, I start the engine and set off after him.

  For the next half hour or so, I follow Mason as he drives out of town, heading into the countryside. His truck regularly veers from one side of the road to the other, and it's a miracle that he manages to keep from crashing, even with very little other traffic around. By the time we're out on the road that passes through the forest, my blood is boiling at the thought that this dumb little piece of shit is able to keep getting away with this madness; hell, he could probably plow into a whole gaggle of elementary school kids, and his friends in high places would still get him off the hook. My mood isn't helped by the fact that, a few minutes later, we drive past the exact spot where he ran into me two years ago. How fucking poetic.

  And then, without any warning, he pulls over at the side of the road and comes to a stop.

  I stop too, even though I know he must have noticed me by now. For a moment, still not sure what to do, I wait for his next move, before suddenly he clambers out of the truck and stumbles into the forest. I crane my neck to watch his silhouette as he stops next to a tree, and then he leans down and starts vomiting like the pig that he is.

  “Disgusting piece of garbage,” I mutter, gripping the wheel with pure hatred.

  Although I expect him to get back into the truck, instead he stumbles a little further into the forest and starts peeing against a tree. I guess I was aiming to just keep track of him tonight, but as I cut my engine and climb out of my car I can already tell that I have to do a little more. After all, he's stopped so close to my shack, it's almost as if he's drunkenly delivering himself to me, and I might not get such an easy opportunity again. Reaching back into my car, I open the glove compartment and take out the knife I stashed earlier, before making my way to the side of the road and down into the undergrowth. This is just too perfect, too easy. It's almost as if my friend in the forest is reaching out and drawing the pig to a perfect spot for slaughter.

  Ahead, silhouetted against the dark forest, Mason is still peeing, while singing some drunken song to himself. He doesn't seem to have noticed me at all.

  “Man,” I mutter as I get closer, approaching him from behind as he shakes himself dry, “what a piece of shit.”

  “Huh?”

  He turns, clearly startled.

  Before he has a chance to say anything more, I grab him by the shoulder and pull him closer, driving the knife into his belly in the process. He lets out a gasp and slumps against me, spluttering a fine spray of beer-soaked saliva across my face, but I ignore my sense of disgust and instead focus on twisting the knife in his guts. Realizing that he might try to fight back, I slam him against a nearby tree and pull the knife out, and then I slice the blade across his neck, cutting through the flesh and immediately bringing a fine spray of blood arcing through the darkness. Stepping back, I watch as he staggers forward and drops to his knees, and then I can't help smiling as I slam my knee into his face, sending him sprawling down to the forest floor.

  “I'm sorry,” I say as I stand over him, watching him die, “I suppose you maybe don't recognize me. After all, you probably lost track of all the poor bastards you hit with that truck of yours.”

  Clutching at his throat as blood pours out over his hands, he stares up at me with wild, shocked eyes.

  “You really don't recognize me, do you?” I continue, unable to stifle a smile. “My God, man, do you really care so little for human life?”

  “Pay you,” he stammers, “I'll... pay you...”

  Stepping around him, I reach down and grab his wrists before starting to haul him through the forest. My entire body aches, of course, and I know I should be taking things easy, but this opportunity was too good to pass up. Besides, I'm sure some hard work won't be too bad for me. Dragging Mason's writhing body toward the shack, I can't shake the feeling that I'm doing the right thing, and when I briefly close my eyes I realize that I'm no longer tormented by visions of someone firing a gun in that dumb BarraBuy store. I still haven't quite worked out what I think about those hallucinations, but they certainly seem to be linked to the decisions I've made since I left hospital. Whether there's any truth to them or not, I'm uncertain, but my mind certainly seems to have been strongly hinting that I should take care of this Mason asshole.

  No regrets.

  Ever.

  By the time I get to the shack, I have to let go of Mason's wrists and lean against the wall for a moment, just to get my breath back. Glancing down, I see that the bastard isn't quite dead yet, but all he can do is gasp in agony as more blood spills from his throat.

  “What's wrong?” I ask, still a little breathless. “Worried I'll just leave you to die? Oh no, that's not my style. I'm going to finish what I started.” I try to think of something else to say, some way to hurt him, but finally I step closer and kick him hard in the side of the head. “Fuck you,” I mutter. “Fuck you for what you did to me, and for what you did to that little girl you mowed down!”

  With that, I open the shack door and drag him inside, before stopping to unbolt the hatch door and pull it open. I immediately step back, horrified by the foul stench coming from the chemical mixture at the bottom, but I figure this is no time to get sentimental. Grabbing Mason's collar, I drag him to the edge.

  “You see that?” I sneer, tilting his head and forcing him to look down at the gray soup. “That's your oblivion, my friend. There's no heaven and no hell, there's just a pit waiting for each of us, and this is yours. I hope you understand that it gives me immense pleasure to be the one who sends you tumbling down there, and I hope you're under no illusion that some angel is going to come along and save you.”

  I wait for him to reply, before realizing that he's unconscious.

  “Hey,” I add, slapping the side of his face, “come on, wake up. I want you to scream.” I slap him again. “Mason, wake the -”

  Suddenly hearing my phone, I pull it from my pocket and see that Alison's calling.

  “Shit,” I mutter, staring at the screen. “Now? Really? Right now?” I stare at the screen for a moment, before tapping to answer. “Hey honey, I -”

  “How's it going?” she asks, interrupting me. She sounds tense. “Are you nearly home?”

  “Well, actually I'm just getting to the gas station.”

  “That took you a while.”

  “You didn't want me to hurry, did you?”

  She pauses. “I guess not. Have you bought some gas yet?”

  “Almost. Just about to do it now, so I should really get inside and -”

  “Can you get Pop-Tarts while you're there?” she asks. “And almond milk?”

  “Pop-Tarts?” I pause, as Mason starts to stir. “Um, okay, what brand of almond milk do you prefer?”

  “The usual's fine.”

  “Um...” I try to remember, but
I can't. “You're gonna have to help me out with that, honey, I don't -”

  Suddenly Mason bites my hand and I let out a gasp of pain.

  “Brian?” Alison asks. “What's wrong?”

  “Just stubbed my foot on the door,” I reply, even though I know that makes little sense. Grabbing Mason's head, I hold his mouth firmly closed. His eyes are open, but he has the vague, semi-conscious stare of a man who's already slipping away. “Pop-Tarts and almond milk, okay, I'll be going inside now so -”

  “Honey, are you -”

  “I'll be home soon,” I add, before cutting the call and tossing the phone aside. Turning to Mason, I let go of his head and stare at him for a moment. “Did you really think that would achieve anything?” I ask. “Are you that goddamn stupid, you piece of shit human being?”

  He stares at me, but his pupils are distended and it's clear that he's losing consciousness. I want him to still feel some of the pain that's coming to him, so I waste no time in grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him closer to the pit.

  “And this,” I mutter, “is for all the people whose lives you ruined. For that little girl, I don't remember her name, the one you ran over while you were drunk. I'm doing this for them, not for me. I'm finally doing something that'll make the world a better place.”

  With that, I shove him over the edge and watch as he crashes down into the mix of chemicals at the bottom. I'd expected the acid to need topping up, but it immediately starts to fizz and hiss as soon as there's a fresh body to devour and Mason starts screaming as he desperately tries to climb back out. Staring down for a moment as he thrashes desperately in the toxic mixture, I can already see parts of his face and chest being burned away, exposing the bones beneath. After a moment I slam the hatch shut, figuring that I really don't need to see the entire gruesome spectacle. It's enough to just sit here and listen to his gurgled screams so that's precisely what I do until, after thirty seconds or so, everything falls silent.

  I sit calmly for a moment, with the only sound being a continued faint bubbling sound from beneath the hatch, which I can only assume is Mason's body being dissolved. Finally I lift the hatch just a little, to double-check, and sure enough he's already starting to fall apart. Closing the hatch and sliding the bolt across, I grab my phone and then get to my feet, gasping a little as I feel a sharp pain in my knees.