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Hastur. Part I - Hastur - 06-10-2015
"When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home."
- Tecumseh
- Tecumseh
Hello... this is the story of how I died.
Really? This is how you're going to start this? With that lame line?
It's the truth isn't it?
No. Are you dead right now? Are you fighting someone as a ghost? No. Start again, and do it right.
Fine... This is my story.
Better.
My story starts back in late 2014. 2015 is around the corner and I'm laying face down in a dark alley. I have no idea why, it's as if someone plucked me from whatever life I was living and pushed me deep into that dark spot. My eyes gaze up at the falling snow and slowly down to the blood gushing out of me, making imprints in the white snow; staining it with a thick, red substance that shouldn't be on the outside of my body. I try to stand but my body aches so much I fall back down immediately, crashing into the powder and coughing up my guts.
The pain. As if someone sliced my skin off and left the matter of muscle next to a foul smelling dumpster. Every twitch of a finger, every blink of an eyelid feels like a razor blade is being jabbed into me. Then I hear a voice.
G͟͜e͞t̴̀ ừ̴p!
I try to look around to see where the voice is resonating from. So loud. Echoing around my skull.
G̤̱̜̱͔̱̀e͕̤͚̙̭̟͍t̬̗̜̠͈̖̘ ̟̞̪̮̝͟t͕̤͢h͚̝̠̭̀è̪ ͍̥̠͝f̣̝̣̙̮̠u̴̖͓̮̫̤̣c̜̠k̢̖ͅ ̘̣͇̗́ͅu͔p̘̩͙̟̫̞ͅ!
Again. Louder. Angrier. I cover my ears, trying to ignore the pain and just block out that damn ringing. That's when I feel the layers of bandages around my head and my hands. Vomit fills my throat but I involuntary push it back down. Fuck.The pain. I'm burning. Dying.
!̶̪̖̙̰͓̣͉͔͋̆̆̅ͨ͒̈́!̓̇̓̆ͮ̿̕҉̭̖͓͟G̡͍̘͉̅͋̽͛̐̀͌̄̚ͅḘ̛͇͐ͨ͌ͭ̂ͩ̒T̳̺͈̬̣ͨͬ́͌̓ͥ̕ ̧̺̼̜̼͔̿U̞̟̩͎̳̻ͯ͊ͩ͜ͅP͔̣͔͎̟͈̐̃̌͑ͭ̄͌ͩ́!̻̫̻̤̪̦̜ͭ̋ͫ̆̂͗́!̶̪̖̙̰͓̣͉͔͋̆̆̅ͨ͒̈́!̓̇̓̆ͮ̿̕҉̭̖͓͟!̶̪̖̙̰͓̣͉͔͋̆̆̅ͨ͒̈́!̓̇̓̆ͮ̿̕҉̭̖͓͟!̶̪̖̙̰͓̣͉͔͋̆̆̅ͨ͒̈́!̓̇̓̆ͮ̿̕҉̭̖͓͟
I let the voice down. My vision fades and I return to the blackness.
My vision comes back followed with a headache, I still feel sick to my stomach. I'm standing in an empty bar, thick snow fills the street outside the large pane glass window as flakes pass down and pile up. I take a look around the quiet bar. Trashy dive. Looks like someone was playing pool before this place closed, game looks half finished. I'm making myself stand by pushing my arms down on the bar, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels beside me. Did I drink that? Fuck. My head. How long was I out? And how did I get here?
I look behind to see the shelves of cheap booze and a large mirror, I hesitate going to it for now. I continue to look around, not much going on. Can't even see a clock it's so dark. I say fuck it and push away from the bar, my legs almost buckle and I trip over myself falling into the shelves and smashing several bottles of this piss that gets served daily. I find my balance, my body feels numb, thank god. Couldn't stand the pain any longer.
I make my way to the mirror, slowly but surely. The bar's dark as hell, but the streetlights help, I step closer to see my reflection. A torn trench coat, black sweater and a shit load of bandages. Stained with blood. I stare at myself, breathing heavily. It's hard to breathe. My hand trembles as it reaches to my face to tear away the bandages.
"I wouldn't do that."
The voice from before, I panic and twist around. "Who said that!?" My heart is racing. I was alone in this bar, I know I was.
"Turn back around buddy, let's talk."
I continue to look for the source, my pupils frantically dashing around the room. I obey the voice and turn back to the mirror slowly, seeing a calmer version of myself smiling through the wraps. I stare into his/my cold blue eyes, a feel sweat cover my body as my breathing turns ever so heavier.
"Hey, calm down there killer. Don't want you having a heart attack and passing out on me again."
My reflection is talking to me. The fuck is happening? "Hey!" it clicks to grab my attention. I stare back at myself, reaching behind to hold myself up on the bar.
"Like I said, calm the fuck down."
"I'm calm... I'm calm..." It cocks it's head, not believing a word coming out of my mouth.
"Don't go fucking lying to me now. I hate being lied to."
I find some courage and decide some answers are needed. "How did I get here?" It laughs at me.
"Well, since you decided to pass out in that alley. I took matters into my own hands, dragged your sorry ass here and let myself in."
"And where is here exactly?" I question as I continue to look around the bar. It cracks a smile.
"A bar.What else?"
I simply give my reflection cold stare. I push myself away from the bar and walk around it, my boots stick to the wooden floor. Something was spilled here. No time to play detective and examine the scene, need answers. "Do you know what happened to me?" I turn back to the mirror, it cackles and walks away to the dart board, retrieving the darts and moving back towards me only to turn and start to throw the darts into the cushioned board.
"Sure I do. I know I found you in an alley and you were leaking blood."
It continues to play darts. I stare at the back of it's head. "And?"
"And that's it. Listen killer, I don't know your background history and your fucking dental records; and I sure as hell don't know why you're dressed up like me, talking to me in some mirror at a rundown bar. All I know is I don't like it."
It's words sting.My head is spinning. "Do you know my name?" It scoffs at my question.
"I know my name.I just met you tonight."
"And what's your name?"
"Hastur."
Hastur.The name rings a deafening bell in my head. Hastur. "It's pretty clear I'm not going to get anything from you, goodbye." I head to the door, Hastur scrambles and drops the remaining dart shouting after me.
"Heyheyheyhey!!! Wait a minute. Hahahee, maybe I was being a little vague and for that I am sorry, truly, deeply sorry. But maybe I can help you out, help give that nasty amnesia the old heave ho. What do you say killer?"
"Are you just playing with me? If you know something, just tell me."
"I think it's pretty clear that we're the same guy here. One of us is standing in an empty bar, talking to himself in a mirror. Which one is it? I dunno, but I'm guessing it's the man who knows his name and still has his memories. Mind has snapped a little with how this conversation is going but still could be the genuine article."
Could Hastur be right? Am I just a figment of a madman's imagination? My eyes scan the bar in front of me, something shines from the streetlights outside. Blood. Mine? I check my body, head and limbs just to see if any blood has seeped through the bandages covering my body. Not a drop, any amount of red dripping from me before has dried now. I look at Hastur who seems nervous, yet proud? I stand away from the bar and look around, I feel something in the pocket of my trench coat hit my thigh. I dig into the pocket, a flashlight. Perfect.
"Are you even listening to me? Come on, put that thing down and let's talk."
"What are hiding?"
"Me? Nothing."
Hastur taps the bar. His body language is all I need, he's hiding something alright. Here in this bar. I click the switch on the flashlight and a flash emits from it but quickly dies, I smack it across my palm. Hurts like hell, but necessary. Light fills the room and I pan the flashlight around. Blood covers the bar and floor, been here a while from the looks of it. Too much to have come from me, I would be dead if that was the case. I walk across the wooden floor, the soles of my boots sticking to the substance as I get to the side of the pool table. Hastur is quiet. Silently watching me pass.
That's when I see it. Two corpses, man and a woman, mid twenties. This is the first time I've seen a dead body, at least I hope it is. But I don't flinch, instincts tell me to look at the damage, check for identification. I kneel down to the man, Caucasian, looks to be twenty-six. Light crow's feet, fingernails are a dull yellow, with a sickly blonde tinge to his black facial hair. Heavy smoker. Imprint on the bridge of his nose, wore glasses but not over his eyes any more. Cause of death plain to see, pool cue snapped in half and stabbed through his neck. Painful death, chest is raised, blood in his lungs?
"Hey killer, you still around? What you looking at?"
"Shut it."
"Oh Bambi has an attitude. Fine, carry on. I'm having a drink."
I search the male's pockets. Carton of cigarettes, Lucky Strike, four left. Matchbook, has a name on it. Claren's Pub. Name of the dive I'm in possibly. Car keys. Wallet. I open the brown leather wallet and check his driver's license, New York state. That narrows down where I am. Got an address too, could be helpful. Twenty-five years old, name; Tyler Manson. I put the wallet on his chest, not feeling too good about myself as I stuff the previous owner's thirty dollars into my coat pocket.
I move onto the female, shot black dress, tights, black high heels. Beautiful girl. No obvious signs of death. Eyes rolled back into her head, contusions around her neck. Choked. I look at the pool of blood formed around her skull, her short brown hair stuck in the puddle. I move her head to the side with a little difficulty and see a wound. Blunt trauma. Blood on the bar most likely linked to this. Choked, head smashed into the metal railing and thrown behind the pool table. I look at the felt, four pool balls scattered, no white and large scuffs on the green felt. She was thrown over the table. No pockets, no purse to be seen. I get back to my feet, definitely signs of a struggle through the bar. Bodies haven't been here long, an hour at most. I go back to the mirror, Hastur is rummaging through the bottles. I clear my throat. "Did you do this?"
Hastur stops his searching, jumping a little as he hears my voice and turns to me with a chuckle. He looks at me puzzled, I aim the flashlight towards the pool table and the bodies behind it. Hastur leans in and looks to them, he laughs under his breath and relaxes, looking back at me with a shrug.
"They're on your side of the bar pal."
"Enough of this bullshit! Did you kill these people?"
"Maybe. Or maybe Mr. Amnesia, you blacked out, killed the couple and you're just so guilty you're pushing the blame on me."
"I could barely move before! You said you dragged me here. Now tell me!"
"Listen here you piece of shit! I helped you out of the goodness of my heart! If I knew you were going to frame me for murder I would have let you bleed out in the cold."
It's obvious I'm not going to get a straight answer from this clown. What he said before about us being in the same body could be right, makes sense. Perhaps he's another side of me, a killer. A psychopath. But what the hell does that make me? Just another crazy person?
"Hey killer, hate to break your train of thought but there's a police car outside."
I twist my head to the window to see a police cruiser parked on the street opposite, don't think they've seen me yet. I shut off the flashlight and everything goes black.