Before I get into telling this story, I need to state a few things. Do not comment anything saying 'you should've said this/that'. I do not want to alter this story in any way at all, as it came to me in a dream, and I'd like to keep it as it is. Also, don't question the name Mr. Six, because I didn't choose for my dream to make that name, though I don't get it either. Just a few things to get across. Now for the story...
This was utterly ridiculous. My clothes are going to get torn, I’ll get grass stains, and worst of all, I’ll ruin these new shoes. The woods were certainly not my place, but nobody else was complaining, so I wasn’t going to start. I’m not sure why we had even bothered to listen to her in the first place; she’s not in charge of us. We could’ve easily walked around the woods to get to her house, but no. That was too long of a trip for her. We just had to cut through the woods. And it was about to rain.
The trail the seven of us had been following had come to an end at the most conveniently placed building, obviously abandoned. The warehouse seemed to not have been used for quite some time, pointed out by the overgrowth slithering up the walls. The windows were smashed and boarded, broken glass and splinters littered the earth floor. The steel double doors were wide open, beckoning us inside. Guess where we’re going.
“Hey, I think we can cut through here! Let’s go!” And without thought, our self-elected leader waltzed right through the doors and passed the sign that most likely read “WARNING: This facility will most likely make you shit bricks. Proceed with CAUTION”. We had no other choice but to follow her like the obedient dogs we were. We couldn’t just leave her in there. Sure we hated her obnoxiousness, but we weren’t that rude. So, in we went.
Despite the fear gnawing at the back of our own sanity that some form of undead being would jump out at us from a dark corner of this freak shack, we were perfectly fine. We were all somewhat mature teenagers, but we still secretly believed that there was something here with us. After a bit of hurried walking and quick glances behind, we made it to the back exit. Well, we were alive. A lot of us probably pissed ourselves, but alive nonetheless.
Pushing the heavy back exit door with quite a bit of difficulty, we were shown with a much dimmer sun and darker clouds. None of us really seemed to notice nor care, as we were all wearing hoodies to keep us somewhat dry. The seven of us stepped out onto dying grass and soil, taking in our surroundings. We were now in a decently large clearing, big enough for a modest house and two yards. Hugging the left side of the clearing was an abandoned train track (complete with abandoned train) and a shack on the farthest right side of the clearing. Wildflowers and weeds alike thrived and covered damp earth. Tall grass reached just above our shins, brushing against our legs. Small puddles formed about from the drizzle that would soon be a monstrous downpour. It was an understatement to call this place beautiful. I honestly wished we could’ve stayed there for the entire day. I’m glad we didn’t.
We were about a third of the way in when we noticed the most awful thing that could be noticed at that time; it was a dead end. There was no trail on the other side. We had no other option but to turn back. After some groans and mumbles, we all agreed to turn back and go around the patch of woods. We began trekking through the tall weeds when we noticed we were a person short. One by one, the six of us turned around to see our “leader” was still in the middle of the clearing, staring at the far side.
“Are you okay”
“What is it?”
We all tried to get her to answer us, but she kept standing there, staring into the trees with this horrified, shocked look on her face, a look nobody had ever seen.
“He’s coming. We need to hide. He’s coming.”
We all just stared at her, dumbfounded and confused. He was coming? Who was he? Did he own the land here? Were we not allowed to be here?
“Mr. Six. Mr. Six is coming. We need to hide.”
The lack of emotion in her voice was haunting, but that one name still lingered in the hollow air. Who was Mr. Six? We all knew that was the one question that must be asked, and it undoubtedly would’ve been answered too. Had it not been for Mr. Six.
All we saw was a blur. That was it. A red blur hit her and bounced off back into the woods with abnormal speed. As if pushed with incredible strength, she was knocked back a good few yards away. The six of us rushed toward her to make sure she was ok. A quick scan revealed something… shocking. Claw marks. Ten of them, along her arms, chest, and neck. They were terribly deep, and instantly began spewing an alarming amount of blood. She didn’t react to this though. She only looked up at us with her empty eyes, and told us “He’s here. Run”. The blur hit her again, and dragged her off into the dark woods with immense speed. That was all it took to throw us all into pure chaos.
We all scattered into different directions like rats, hoping whatever the hell it was wouldn’t find us. I took off toward the train and dove under it, cloaked in its dark shadow. I looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. Some of us hid in the woods, others hid in the shack. There was only one boy in the clearing still, running as fast as he could into the safety of the trees. But he just wasn’t quick enough. ‘Mr. Six’ jumped from the trees with his incredible speed and hit him before returning to the darkness. The boy was pushed over, skidding his face and legs on the rocky soil. He began to push himself, blood dripping from his back and scrapes. He was only able to get to his knees when the creature knocked him back over. But it didn’t jump away again. It clung to his back, and began ripping him apart. What I saw horrified me.
It looked somewhat human, but it was hunched over into a permanent crouching position. It seemed short, maybe about 5 feet tall if it stood straight. It was horribly malnourished, its skinny body showing off its bones and ribs. Bony fingers ended in razor sharp claws, blood stains standing out on the bone colored razors. His skin was a pale yellowish color, but tinted red with stained blood. Its empty eye sockets almost distracted you from its wide mouth, lined with chipped, dagger teeth. His long, purple-ish tongue dangled out of the gaping jaws of this monstrosity.
It ruthlessly ripped away into the boy’s back, digging into his torso, sending bone fragments, flesh, and blood across the grass and weeds. Mr. Six left him there, half eaten and half dead, and jumped back to the trees to seek out new prey.
An hour passed. And another. And another. A few others had been found in the woods; I can hear their blood-curdling screams piercing my ears. I can’t lye hear anymore, I can be found too easily. I slowly crept out from under the train and hid inside one of the cars. I should be safer here, so long as I stay away from the windows. I little while later, I peeked out from under a seat to look out the window. There he was, up in a tree, finishing his meal of that boy. Then he stopped. He knew. He slowly turned and stared at me with those hollow sockets, and then disappeared. Confused, I looked around the clearing for signs of the monster. The second I begin looking, the boy’s half eaten corpse was thrown across the clearing at my window, cracking it and splattering blood everywhere. The body stuck for a few seconds, then slid off, a few intestines stuck to the broken glass. But where did he go? By the time the body and intestines fell off the window, I saw the shack’s roof cave in, it’s foundation shaking wildly. Mr. Six destroyed the roof and landed in, and slaughtered those trapped inside. Within the chaos, I saw my best friend make it out as it kills the others. I watch him sprint towards the warehouse with whatever energy he has. I take this small opportunity and leave the train, running after him.
We don’t look back. We don’t dare risk anything now. He is distracted, and not after us. Right now, that’s the only thing keeping us alive. We sprint through the damp, grey clearing, praying he doesn’t finish his meal for quite some time. The door… It’s so close… We’re almost there… I reach out to its cold, metal handle and pull it open with great effort. We quickly slip in and close it shut, making sure to lock it and barricade it with some crates. We made it! We finally made it out alive!
“Thank god! We’re out of there! We’re alive!” But my companion does not share my joy. He still stares at that door, as if it is not finished yet.
“No. We’re not out of this.” His scared, trembling voice worries me terribly.
“What do you mean? He’s back there, and we’re in here! We’re safe! There is nothing stopping us from getting home!” But his expression didn't change. He simply looked up at me with empty, defeated eyes, and trembled...
“What about Mr. Seven and Eight…?”