Tanner
Everything is fragmented, like I’m skipping through a movie and picking frames at random.
I’m not in the swamp anymore. Instead, I’m standing at the back of the house where the fuse boxes are.
How did I get here? The last thing I remember is Amos’ hand against my forehead, pushing, forcing. My eyes trail out toward the cemetery, but there’s no movement out there, no telltale shadows amidst the cypress trees.
Why am I here? At this point, I notice a weight in my hand and look down. To my confusion, I realize that I’m holding a hammer, gripping the handle so tightly that my knuckles have gone white.
I turn back to the fuse box, which is hanging open on one mangled hinge. The whole thing is destroyed. Bits of metal and plastic litter the dead grass underneath. A tang of burning electronics lingers in the air.
Did I do this? I have a vague impression of swinging the hammer, but no memory of an impact.
“What the fuck?” I groan as the tools slips from my grasp. My throat feels raw, as though I’ve been screaming, but I don’t remember that either.
I blink, and when I open my eyes, I’m no longer in the backyard.
I’m in the driveway, nestled in the shadow of the house. Dusk curls across the horizon. Several hours must have passed since my brief moment of clarity by the fuse box, but I have no memory of how I spent them. All I know is that night will fall soon, and I don’t want to be here when it does.
It’s a good thing I’m in the driveway. I’ll jump in my truck and get the hell out of this fucking place. Bailey will be waiting for me to pick her up at her mother’s house, and then we’ll finally be free and clear of Amos.
But when I turn toward my vehicle, my hopes plummet.
The hood of the truck is up. I’m certain I didn’t leave it that way earlier. Dread builds inside of me, brick by heavy brick, as I approach the vehicle. One look under the hood only confirms my fears that most of the engine has been tampered with.
“Fuck!” I growl, kicking the side of the truck.
I think I know what Amos is trying to do. First the power, then my one means of escape. He’s trying to keep me here, isolate me.
The hood clangs loudly as I let it down. If I can’t take the truck out of here, I guess I’ll have to walk. This afternoon’s rain has softened the driveway to mud, but I’m already covered with slimy filth dredged up from the bottom of the swamp. It’s not like I can get any grosser.
But before I can even make it a few steps, I blink, and the scene has once again shifted.
It’s fully dark now. I’m standing in the kitchen of the house, staring into the hole in the wall. Dimly, I struggle to recall why I haven’t finished putting up the new sheetrock yet, but I can’t get my mind to focus. It’s like somebody is inside my brain, trying to steer my thoughts in a different direction.
“Hello?” a voice calls from the front of the house. “Tanner?”
My blood chills. That’s Bailey’s voice. What the hell is she doing here?
“She’s here for you,” Amos’s voice hisses in my ear. It’s like he’s in my brain and all around me, engulfing me in his putrescence. “She’s here for us.”
“No,” I force out, so quietly that it’s barely audible in the suffocating darkness of the kitchen.
Amos’s grating laugh lances through my mind. I want to wince, but I can’t move my face. In fact, I can’t move at all.
“I want you to see this,” the thing croons. “I want you to feel this.”
Bailey’s quivering voice rings through the house as she once again calls, “Tanner?”
I want to call out to her, to yell at her to run as fast and as far as she can. She’s not safe here. Amos is in control, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop him. I don’t want him to hurt her.
I don’t want to hurt her.
Careful footsteps echo down the hallway as Bailey creeps closer. I start to ask myself why she hasn’t turned on any of the lights when I remember the busted fuse box out in the backyard. Amos did that using my body, I realize. Bile rises in my throat as I think about the destroyed engine of my truck.
Those things weren’t meant for me. They were for Bailey. Amos wants her here, wandering around blindly in the dark with no way to leave. This is a game for him, a hunt.
And Bailey is his prey.
I hear her step across the threshold of the kitchen. “Tanner,” she says in a relieved rush of breath when she catches sight of me. I want to turn around and tell her to get away from me, but I’m stuck here with my eyes locked on the hole in the wall.
“Tanner?” she repeats, her hand coming to rest tentatively on my shoulder.
My body turns toward her, but I’m not controlling the movements. I can feel hideous delight welling up inside of me, and I realize sickly that the anticipation belongs to Amos. Whatever he’s planning for Bailey, he's going to enjoy every second of it.
“Bailey.” The voice that comes out of my mouth sounds like mine, but the words belong to Amos. “I’m so glad you’re finally here. I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time.”
Using my body, Amos takes an imposing step toward Bailey. She’s pale in the moonlight, her eyes wide with fear. Desperation and terror line her features, and I wonder if she knows this isn’t really me, that Amos is pulling the strings.
“It’s time to go, Tanner.” She speaks slowly and carefully, as though she’s addressing a wild animal.
I barely register whatever Amos says next. I know what he wants to do to her, and I’m determined to fight him every step of the way. Blood rushes in my ears as I struggle against the demon’s hold over me. I almost don’t notice that I’ve been talking and moving until Bailey’s knee smashes into my crotch, sending stars dancing across my vision as pain bursts between my legs.
I double over, and for the briefest moment, my actions are my own.
It’s the pain! The demon can’t use me when I’m in physical pain!
The thought flickers quickly through my brain, planting the tiny seed of a plan. But then Amos is back in control, and I can only cry out in my own mind as he uses my body to chase Bailey down and smack her head into the doorframe.
Amos drags her by the arm into the kitchen before lifting her easily and dumping her semi-conscious body into the hole in the wall.
Was this his plan all along? Every time I’d try to fix the drywall, there would always be some problem, some reason I couldn’t finish. And now, as Bailey begs for her life, I realize that Amos truly has been waiting for a very long time.
I’m not going to let him get what he wants.
Amos is slowly but surely securing the fresh sections of sheetrock to cover the hole. He’s already got the bottom panel finished and is now working on the middle. He’s using the nail gun, the one that Terry had been working with earlier today.
Sour fear curls through my body as I realize what I have to do.
Amos is distracted, gloating to Bailey. She’s terrified and confused. The sight of her with blood running down her face from the nasty gash in her scalp gives me the courage for what I do next.
I line the nail gun up with the back of my hand, but it’s Amos who presses the trigger.
I let out a yowl of pain as the nail passes through my flesh. Almost immediately, I yank the metal out of my hand and let it fall to the ground with a clatter.
Bailey screams from inside the hole in the wall, but I can’t understand what she’s saying. It’s taking every ounce of my focus to push Amos back.
Blinded by agony, I stumble out of the kitchen and into the hallway. I’ve worked on this project for so long that I know the layout of this house like the back of my hand. Killing the lights won’t slow me down.
“You can’t have her!” I howl as I scramble out the backdoor. “I’ll die before you take her!”
And it’s the truth. I can’t hold Amos off forever. Even as my hand throbs where the nail pierced it, I can feel the demon clawing at my mind, trying desperately to get back in.
I can’t let that happen. If I’m gone, Bailey will be safe. She’ll hate me for what I’ve done, for what Amos has made me do, but she’ll survive. That’s the only thing that’s important right now.
Bailey.
The dead grass is slick beneath my boots as I claw my way across the backyard. At long last, I feel the suck of mud at my feet and the welcome rush of water that tells me I’ve reached the swamp. Despite Amos tearing at my mind, I push forward, wading through the water until I pull myself up onto the mossy outcropping of the cemetery.
If I go any farther out into the marsh, the water will be deeper and more treacherous. It’s my only option.
“Don’t do it!” Amos snarls.
I laugh into the night. It’s a demented noise, the sound of man driven to madness. “Or what?” I shout into the night. “You’ll kill me? You’ll kill Bailey?”
“I can give you anything you desire,” he wheedles. He’s desperate now, his emotions leeching back into mine. He knows what I’m planning, but the pain in my hand is too great for him to take me back fully.
“Anything?” I ask. I’m panting with exertion as I haul myself up using one of the crumbling tombstones for leverage. I’m worried the mossy stone will give beneath my weight, but it holds.
“Anything,” Amos promises.
I turn my back to the cemetery and the house beyond. When I squint out into the darkness, all I can see is black water and the trunks of the cypress trees rising from the swamp like the rib bones of some huge, ancient creature.
Let the roots be my pallbearers and the mud be my mausoleum.
“I’ll tell you what I want,” I shout into the night.
“Anything, anything,” Amos assures me.
I stare down into the depths of the mire. “I want you to go to hell.”
And then I jump, losing myself to the embrace of the swamp.