Not surprisingly, there were Bloody Knuckles competitions. You know, that game where you slam a fork between the other person's fingers as fast as you can without stabbing them? There's a rumor some of those forks have something... well, wrong with them.
Some dude was spreading his fingers out as much as possible one day, preparing for his tournament that night. He could almost put them at a 90 degree angle, and he was proud.
"I'm gonna win today, Chris"
He told me. I just shrugged and walked on back to my dorm house. It was 5:00 PM, I had to rest up for staying up all night to watch those tournaments.
Damn, it's hilarious to watch the guys scream as their fingers are being punctured. They have a large supply of band-aids there to help with those situations. As I walked in the tavern that night, the normal bartender was gone. In his place was a sickly looking woman.
I didn't really mind, the guy must've been sick. "I'd like a round of Whiskey, please." I said.
"That will be $10." She rasped, in a rugged voice. I thought, wow, that's pretty cheap. I decided to get it anyway. I tried a sip. It was delicious! I saw one of my friends sitting at a table across the room, having his normal round of vodka.
"Hey, Rob! How's it doing tonight?" I yelled to him.
"C'mere, Chris. I gotta tell you something." He replied with a moan.
I walked over to him. "You okay, Rob?"
"Dude, I feel like shit. Could you try this stuff real quick?"
"Alright. What's it called?"
"I think it says 'Onslaught' on it or something. I can barely read this writing." I looked at the bottle. It had horrible handwriting on it and I could see why he thought it said Onslaught.
I tried a sip. It tasted like shit.
"Ew, god! Dude! That's horrible!" I yelled out.
"She gave it to me, really. Said I was a frequent customer, and gave it to me free."
"But... how would she know that you're frequent?"
"I don't know, man" I shot a quick glance over my shoulder, glaring at the ghostly looking bartender.
"Dude, let's get the fuck out of here. I'm starting to get creeped."
Rob walked out with me, but he limped slightly. He looked like he had just taken a beating by a sledgehammer. "You sure you alright?" I asked.
"Like I said dude, I feel like shit. Can I crash at your place tonight?"
Rob and I walked down to my dorm house, Rob still limping. I then noticed something above his ankle.
"Rob, look at your ankle..."
Right there, in plain sight, was an unknown symbol. I had no fucking idea what it was, and I got creeped out. "Dude, we gotta get in quick..." I took his arm and put it over my shoulder. I helped him all the way up the 2 flights of stairs (I had a 3rd floor dorm).
He walked across the room and collapsed onto the couch. "I'll be in my room, if you need anything" I said, giving him a worried look.
His voice had an evil-like tone. I just sauntered into my room and turned on the mini-TV in front of my bed.
Just to be sure, I walked slightly out of my room and checked on Rob. He was just lying there. It almost looked like he was unconscious already. I went up to him. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing normally.
I looked at his ankle and the symbol was still there, but I didn't heed it. Hopefully it was just a tat. Just as I was thinking about those things, he wakes up abruptly and screams. It's the worst sound I've ever heard. It was like a little girl, just more sinister. He turns his head slowly and looks at me.
His eyes are wide open and staring directly into my soul. His eyes were almost all pupil. I fucking lost it. I sprinted to my home phone (I couldn't afford a mobile plan) and I quickly called 911. On the other line, all I heard was, in a sinister voice:
"WANNA PLAY BLOODY KNUCKLES?!"
I hung it up, and turned around. I was looking directly into the long-lost eyes of my best friend. He pulled out a fork.
He lunged for my wrist, grabbing it with an iron grip. I couldn't break loose from his crushing grip. He slammed my hand onto my wooden coffee table, nearly break it right in half. He still had the fork in his hand, and hoisted it upward to bring it clashing down onto my soon-to-be bloody knuckles.
"HOPE YOU HAVE SOME BAND-AIDS!" He started brutally stabbing my hand.
He stabbed it so much that I could see the bone. I didn't feel anything as he was doing this, I was completely numb. I couldn't move at all. Struggling free was no use. I could hear someone screaming though. A loud, high pitched scream.
Then I realized that it was Rob screaming. My next-dorm friend had taken a knife and stabbed Rob right in the kidneys. Rob let go of my hand and collapsed to the floor, dead as a doorknob. I looked at my hand. No skin was left. My bones were just sitting there on the table.
Afterward... I have gotten a new bionic hand, but with my budget I couldn't get a working one.
I have never set foot into that tavern since that night, and I never will. My new hand looks like someone shaped a tin can into a hand, but I couldn't care less, really.
That fucking night will never leave my mind. Rob's face still haunted me at night. One night, I was going to sleep watching some comedy show. Then I looked at my door. Rob was standing in my doorway, fork in hand.
"WHO WANTS TO PLAY BLOODY KNUCKLES?!"
Thank you for reading, this is my first creepypasta. Tell me what you think!