In The Hands Of A Psycho

I made someone a psychopath.

He’s here. And he had come to end me.

I could hear the tap of his footsteps, echoing through where I was, which felt like an enclosed room. His footsteps felt so far, but I could clearly hear his heavy breathing. I couldn’t think any worse than the thought that aside from him, there could be another one going after me.

Where I was, I didn’t know. It was pitch-black. Dead and cold. I couldn’t smell anything but concrete and dust. The air was thick, too, but the coldness oddly was suffocating.

Fear; it was something I have never felt before. I’ve lived carelessly. I accepted the idea that everyone could be cruel in some ways. But now fear had run through me, first time, ever.

“Stop hiding. I can feel you.” His voice was calm, but there’s something about the way he said it that was logically, nerve-wracking.

The footsteps came to a halt, and I decided to safely stay where I stood, only for a while.

I needed to end him before he end me. I still had a lot of things left to do.

I silently and carefully leaned down to reach the floor, which felt clean and smooth, despite that my other senses told it was otherwise.

That’s when I realize. The wholeness of my skin felt the floor. Cold and bare. I was glad it was dark, because embarrassment was the last thing I had to take care of.

Memories flashed before me, moments when he was seven. So young and quiet, shy and always alone. Most importantly, neglected.

Some parents were just so cruelly selfish. Irresponsible. Like his.

They beat him for some things he unconsciously did wrong, instead of correcting him. They visibly didn’t think about the way he felt. I couldn’t blame him for losing his hope for his parents.

I took that moment as a cue. I came to tell him that although they were his parents, they were rarely correct with the way they raised him. I convinced him that he needed help, and that could be me.

I was the only one who cared for him.

I told him he needed to make his parents realize they were wrong; that they were hurting him. I couldn’t think of any way to help him out of his misery.

And now it had to end. He’s after me because I was the one who made him become who he was.

His footsteps came back.

At this point, I didn’t know what would happen to me, and what end written for me, but no matter what, I needed to win.

“Don’t wait for me to find you. If you show yourself, I’ll make it quick and clean. But if you keep this up, I’ll find you and end you slowly and painfully.” This time, his voice was scary and deep, I had a second thought about keeping on hiding.

I could’ve been more of a fool, but I wasn’t. I was ready to fight him. Mano a mano.

“Hey.” There was a whisper; a whisper of a little boy behind me, “He’s coming for you, you need to go.” So that heavy breathing was from this little kid. “I’ll call him, he wouldn’t hurt me, but you should be faster than him.”

I tried to reach where he was and my hand reached the top of his head. “Kid, what are you saying? How did you get here?” I whispered.

“I’m here even before you came. Now go. This is your fault, so you should what you started.” He said, his voice full of bitterness and hope.

I didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Run as fast as you could. Don’t look back. Now, go.”

I rose up to my feet and started running, just like he said; no looking back.

As the kid screamed to get his attention, I ran as fast as I could. There’s a chance I’d bump into him, but I hoped not. I could hear his footsteps, clear but then faded before the scream of the kid stopped.

I ran in complete darkness, not even knowing where my feet would bring me.

“Where are you going?” Surprised, I felt my body jolted.

It was the kid.

“He’s gone.” He said, holding my hand. His hand was cold, just like the floor where we stood.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” I asked him as he dragged me away. His steps were small, so it was easy for me to keep up his pace.

He didn’t speak for a few seconds then muttered, “I don’t know. He was just...gone.”

I understood. It was dark. We didn’t know where our feet would lead us two. With that thought, I decided to ask, “Do you know where we are?”

“I don’t know. I just ended up here.”

We walked in silence then he stopped, and so did I.

“Do you know why you’re here?” His hand slipped from mine, and my hand was left empty. “You’re here because you started it. Had you not come to his life, we wouldn’t end here.”

He sounded nothing but bitter and sad, which punched me with great guilt.

“You should go back. He’s now gone. It’s what you want, right?”

Next thing I knew, I was falling in deep darkness. It had been a long fall.

I gasped as my eyes opened and sat up from my bed. Beads of sweat covered me, but I felt great.

He’s now gone, and I was back.

My feet brought me to my bathroom. I looked horrible in my reflection. Beard and mustache had appeared a dark shade on my face, and my eye bags were worse. I should go down to the barbershop later to trim my hair as well.

“He left me dirty.” I reached for the razor and without shaving foam, I removed all the facial hair that he left uncleaned.

Now, with my unfinished businesses.

I sighed and walked out of my house, towards the backyard with a shovel. He even left the grass tall. My jaw clenched in annoyance.

I dug the soil beside the maple tree as old as I was, the spot I knew I left my important things.

I knelt on the ground when the red lid of a jar poked out of the ground.

A grin grew across my face as I took the photos in there. There’s three more left.

“Don’t worry, I won’t fail you.” I smiled and shoved the pictures on the pocket of my tracksuit.

I made someone a psychopath.

And that psychopath was me.