Burn If Found

Trigger warning: there are themes of violence, abduction, and self-harm, but no explicit/graphic gore scenes.

Slumping in his seat on the school bus, Edgar yawned and woke up from his short nap on the long ride home from his school. A tenth-grader in a mixed middle and high school that the cacophony and active preteens and teen passengers personified, he was usually just as energetic but his history test at the end of the day, was taxing. Looking out the window and seeing the sky growing dark with rain clouds, he slid his backpack on and pulled the hood of his thick navy sweatshirt over his head. 

“Ed, we’re playing soccer at the field later. Rain or shine.”

 Nodding, Edgar wiped his eyes and walked to the front of the bus when it came to a stop. Hopping off the bus, he crossed the street quickly and headed to the tree line of the park, a shortcut he often took to get home. Hearing the boom of thunder overhead, he hurried down the path.

Soccer, in this weather… Not a chance.

As the street came into view just beyond the last few trees, movement from the corner of his eye caught his eye. Slowing down and looking around, he spotted a damaged navy book that had seen better days. Turning it over and looking at it, he noticed it was marked with the local community center’s label in the bottom corner.

“Not exactly on the way, but someone’s probably missing this. I can stop by, really quick. It’s not far.” Edgar reasoned, put the journal in his backpack, and turned to the street.

By the time he made it to the community center, it was raining and he was ready to get out of the weather. Hurrying over to the door, Edgar read the sign on the door and swore under his breath.

Closed for Staff Meeting

“Great… better get home before the weather gets worse.” He grumbled and headed home.

#

 Locking the front door behind him, Edgar looked at the time and started up the stairs to his room. Pulling off his soaked sweatshirt and changing into a dry long-sleeve black shirt and pair of plaid navy lounge pants, he dried his auburn hair before patting down the wavy and mop-like result. Brushing the hair blocking his vision behind his ear, Edgar sat at his desk and pulled the journal out of his backpack.

“No one’s home for a few hours… let’s see if we can’t figure out who you belong to.”

Opening the journal and flipping through the pages looking for a name, Edgar heard the rain splashing heavier outside now with the sky almost as dark as dusk. Realizing how dirty the journal was, he closed it for a moment and wiped off what he could, before going back to the pages and reading across the words in the middle of a page, muddied by something he couldn’t identify.

Have to survive.

“What?”

He read the words aloud before decidedly flipping back a page. Disturbed by what he read, Edgar shook his head and muttered, “Must belong to someone in Writing Club… alright R. P. Gates, scare away. Hopefully, you sign your work.”

Flipping back to where it started, Edgar leaned back in his chair and began reading.

#

Oct 15

It happened too fast to react. The door opened and that’s all I remember, before waking up with blood down my face and a headache. I’m not sure where I am but it’s dim, cold, and I can hear something moving around.

I can sit up, despite the headache, and for whatever reason they emptied my backpack of every but the journal and pencil I found. It said WRITE inside…I don’t know why. There’re others here, and a little bit of light was let into our prison. The walls are all covered in dirt, and there’s an area we can’t see into. My head hurts and I’m getting tired.

Oct 18

They punished me today… I said I wouldn’t write anything and they hurt me until I said I would. I’ll write, as much as I can.

Oct 19

They gave us rules today: no names or talking, no screaming or crying, no harming ourselves or each other, and lights-out is for sleep, only. It’s been days without much food or water, just enough… I want to go home.

#

Edgar rolled his eyes and sighed as he shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. Forming his opinions of the writer’s style, he leaned back in his chair and continued reading.

#

Oct 22

I can’t write much today, a bit better than yesterday and it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as when it happened. I thought we could escape if we worked together, and that we could work together… I didn’t know before then, just how scared the others were or how scared I should have been. They caught the three of us trying to get out and made examples.

Five fingers crushed… One of the older one, two of mine, and three of the kid that was with us. Feeling sick, and tired. I want to go home.

#

Edgar shivered staring at the journal, confused and disturbed.

“Oh shit, is this real?” He breathed, looking the journal over again, and shook off the fear.

“No, couldn’t be… probably just a really creative…disturbing way to write the character’s story, and scare the reader.” Edgar chuckled and apprehensively picked up the journal again.

#

Oct 25

She’s dead…They killed her right in front of us. She broke a rule but she didn’t have a choice, none of us did. The last one they took to the other side, was in convulsive fits and bleeding from his ears before lights out even happened. Earlier he came back bloody and babbling but unlike me and a few others, he came back with all his fingers and toes. Whatever hope I had that this was just a nightmare is gone, I wanted to escape… now I just want to die.  

Oct 29

The boy having convulsions and the girl both are gone. There are less of us now, and they're talking about a new sample collection. I think they mean taking more of us, I can’t think of anything else it would be… I can’t think much these last few days. We’re not just sleeping at lights out now, we’re always tired. The pain doesn’t even hurt anymore, they’re doing something to us. Time’s going food stars…

Nov 3

I woke up hungry this morning, I was too sick and tired to eat last night. In the dark, I heard them talking more freely now… at the time I didn’t know why, but I’m starting to understand. I’m the only one left, the other three with me escaped the only way we thought we could. Hanging with their necks stretched and faces stretched from strangling, they’re silent and the whole place is still.

I don’t hear any voices, screams, or pain now. Everything’s so blurry, I can barely see anything and I walked as far as I could manage. I’m too tired to move anymore, they did something to me.

I hope no one does, but if you find this… run away. Whoever you are, they found you. They’ll take you and make you write, too. Burn this book, and survive.

#

Chucking the journal across the room with a squeal and flying to his feet, Edgar panted in terror and stared at it like it would jump up and attack him.

“What the hell? What is this? It’s not real, right? Just a horror story, a really messed up horror story.” Edgar reasoned, raking his fingers through his hair nervously and looking around his room like it was unfamiliar. His eyes fell on his alarm clock, and the date made him cold.

“It’s November 6^th … the dates didn’t even have a year attached. Why am I freaking out about this? I just found some old dirty book lying around and… what if it’s true? Maybe I don’t want to find out.” Edgar muttered, feeling panic enveloping him heavily and forcing his mind into paranoia.

Hearing the front door open and shut, Edgar waited in silence for his mother’s voice and greeting, praying he’d heard now. They never came and he felt tears welling up when he glanced back at the journal, lying where he’d thrown it. There was silence in the house, except for the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall to his room. Whimpering quietly, a sick feeling came over Edgar as he watched the door pull slightly and the knob twist.

Rushing to the door, he pushed the lock button, put on his shoes, grabbed a hoodie, and the journal, and scrambled to his window, hearing the door rattle in its frame from the intruder trying to get in.

Climbing to the ground as quickly and carefully as he could, Edgar took off running in the rain pulling his hoodie on and heading towards the park. He passed the area where he found the journal, and ran straight to the lake. Pulling the book out of his hoodie pouch, Edgar chucked it as far into the middle of the lake as he could and watched it slowly sink beneath the watery depths. Staring at the lake for several minutes and waiting to see if anything would emerge, and sighed in relief when nothing happened.

Turning around and heading back to his home, Edgar stopped remembering what happened there.

I need to call the police, in case that intruder is still at my house.

Walking to the community center, he saw the doors open and hurried to get out of the weather. Entering the center and greeting the front desk as sparse handfuls of patrons passed by, Edgar was handed the phone and dialed the police.

“I want to report a break-in at my house. I was home alone, and they tried to break down my door.”

“Are you still there? What’s the address?”

“No, I climbed out of the window and…”

Listening to Edgar’s conversation with concern, the front desk receptionist began rummaging beneath the counter and resurfaced as Edgar finished the call.

“Sounds like you had quite the frightening experience, Ed.” She said, as he hung up and nodded turning towards her.

“Yeah, figured I’d stay here for a little bit. At least until my dad gets off work, and can come get me.” Edgar answered before his eyes focused on what the receptionist set out.

“What you destroyed wasn’t yours. We have a ‘lost and found’, it’s wrong to just destroy what doesn’t belong to you. Can you imagine the trouble we went through just to get this back?” She asked, and Edgar’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the sopping book, waterlogged and spilling water across the counter.

If you find this… run… they’ll take you and make you write too.

Shaking in terror, he shook his head and ran out of the community center slipping at the curb of the sidewalk. Slamming onto his back against the sidewalk, Edgar groaned in pain and lost consciousness.

 Waking up soaked and cold, he touched the back of his head and felt blood. It was dim and he could hear sounds of hushed whimpers and crying, indicating that he wasn’t alone. In the dimly lit space, Edgar patted himself down for other injuries and found the journal in his pocket.

It looked as it had when he found it, and a pen was jammed in the place where the last writer stopped. Their words were faded, but Edgar remembered everything he’d read. Turning the page of the journal, he read a single word.

 WRITE.

Shaking his head, Edgar took the pen and winced in pain before he wrote three words in blood,

 I’d rather die.