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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Dark · #1960859
Some wishes are worth hoping for.
         Jack had the gas pedal to the floorboard, his Ford truck spinning down the gravel road in a frantic dance of sand and steel. Grime and sweat painted his distorting face, as his eyes strained to make sense of the spiraling path that lead towards his lonely cabin.
         Jesus give me time ...
         His thoughts were already beginning to convulse. His head shook as visions of his wife and daughter began to melt into a landscape of unspeakable carnage. He fought back against the growing darkness inside of him the only way he knew how.
         He suddenly bit down hard on his tongue. His scream echoed inside of the truck's cabin, while blood began pouring into his mouth. His swelling tongue began inching back into its cave, away from the painful betrayal of his new incisors.
         There you go you sick Fuck! Drown in me!
         A terrible calm began to sink in, as he quietly swallowed one iron rich stream after another. Disgusted, his tears soon followed as he began to realize that time was most definitely not on his side. It was coming for him, coming for his mind. Its appetite only awakening, it was an appetite that he feared more than God himself.
         Just a hundred yards more ... I can make it!
         Dusk was beginning to settle into a frigid evening as Jack hastily swung his truck between two rows of pine trees, skidding on to the uneven drive that led up to his cabin. Once a refuge for his writing, it was now a secluded prison for his deepest fear.
         Only he wasn't the only one here. A large black Range Rover was parked near the west side, the same one that he and his wife had bought together two years ago.
         No! How?
         He slammed on to his brakes, causing the front end of the truck to skid violently into the base of the nearest pine tree, finally stopping about seventy feet from the cabin's front door.
         Pain seared in his side as blood now poured from his forehead as well as his mouth. He slowly gazed up towards the cabin, praying that Vicky was unaware of his arrival, praying that she had not brought their daughter Sarah along.
         Nothing. The cabin was dark, only the cicadas marked his arrival with their dissonant chanting.
         Run ... I have to get away now! Oh Vicky Why?
         The truck was useless now, as steam rose eerily from the front end. Jack clamored awkwardly to get out, his sanity beginning to fade with every movement.
         But... where? Where the hell can I ...
         The wishing well.
         Of Course! It's deep ...
         The old well was built around the turn of the century. Dry for about as long, it had held a quiet fascination for his young wife, a place to relax during her pregnancy. When Sarah was born, Jack had even fixed up a small gazebo at its edge.
         His stomach was burning with an unearthly hunger, and Jack began to painfully make his way towards the southern end of the property where the well was. He wondered if he'd even survive the fall, but he knew that It would. His tongue was now healed.
         The well stood in front of Jack harboring a new hope. Peering into its depths he wondered if it was deep enough to save them all.
         It would...
         It Will
         Kill... Them... All
         Then as a terrible warmth burst inside of his brain, and a roar bellowed from his chest, Jack leapt down into the darkness. His fading wish to awaken to sunlight in the pit below.

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