Chapter 46
Jake lay slumped in the corner tossing and turning fitfully. Grotesque images invaded his dreams, causing him to whimper in fear and revulsion. It seems that he was destined to have these specters haunt him relentlessly, driving him into madness from which there would be no return.
His mother, Mrs. Caulder, looked at Jake with a hole in her head and brain matter seeping through. It appeared at first that she was about to hug her little Jakie, and he relaxed as she approached. She raised her hands in a friendly gesture, nearing her loving son, but at the last moment, her fingers changed into daggers which she used to rake across his face.
He screamed, but no one could hear. He was locked in his nightmare with no where to run. All of a sudden, it wasn’t his loving mother but old man Taylor who struck again and again with the six inch blades that protruded where his fingers should be.
Strange gut wrenching noises were coming from Jake as he was slashed continually. To Jake, this was real as anything he had ever experienced. Just as quick as it had appeared, Taylor’s image disappeared. Then more visions, some familiar, some unknown came at him from all directions at the same time it seemed. All had one thing in common. They all had destroyed faces, or more correctly, partial faces, and all were intent on making his life a living hell if only in his dreams.
Next, Jacobs, his former and now dead boss, appeared with a tire iron in his hand. He seemed to be beckoning for Jake to come closer. Caulder tried backing away, not liking the demented look upon the vision’s face, but he was unable to move. It felt like his feet were firmly planted in a bucket of cement. The harder he tried to move, the more the cement held him firmly in place.
Jacobs let out a shriek like a banshee, and lunged across the room, swinging the iron as he came. The last thing he saw was the weapon inches before his face. The old man struck repeatedly and then disappeared from sight.
Jake woke with a start, his head aching terribly. He tried to focus his eyes, tying to remember where he was. At first everything was a blur, and then it came to him. He was in the old shack, with the wolf dead at the door. How the fuck could his head be aching so if he had just been having another of his nightmares.
He reached up and touched the side of his head and winced with pain. When he pulled his hand away, fresh blood covered his fingers, dripping to the floor.
"What the hell? How can this be? It was only a dream for Christ’s sake.”
The truth of the matter was, Jake had thrashed about so violently in his tormented state that he had smashed his head against the wall, opening up a two to three inch gash. But in Jake’s mind, it must have been Jacobs who actually had visited him and beaten him.
Jake looked about to see if his tormentor was still in the room, but he was alone. However, he thought that he must be here somewhere, lurking in the shadows, waiting to attack him again if he fell asleep. He couldn’t differentiate reality from fantasy anymore it seemed. Every noise sent fear through him, thinking another of his apparitions had come to life and had arrived to extract revenge upon poor Jake, who in his own mind had never hurt any one and he did not deserve to be treated so vilely.
Another noise came from the doorway. He turned with a start and he thought he saw the wolf struggling to get free from the door which had imprisoned him. Grabbing the leg of the table once more, Jake rushed at the door and again began pummeling the wolf but there was no need for this. The wolf was truly dead with flies buzzing about and maggots crawling inside its open wounds. To Jake though, the creature was just feigning death, and was waiting for the opportunity when Jake fell asleep to pounce and rip his throat out.
Satisfying himself that the wolf was in fact dead this time, Jake dropped his weapon to the floor. It clattered as it hit; this made Jake jump as well. Every little noise, no matter how insignificant it would have been to a rationally thinking person was to Jake a warning that another ghost was preparing to do him bodily harm.
He started spinning about, trying to catch a glimpse of an attacker that might be sneaking up on him at this very moment. He spun faster and faster until he became dizzy and disorientated. He reeled across the room, and crashed into the broken table and sprawled to the floor. He started to let out a scream, and continued screaming and screaming, the pitch becoming higher and higher all the time.
The noise was so loud and eerie, that nearby birds took flight, fearful that something was going to attack and devour them. Jake continued doing this for what seemed like an eternity before stopping, laying there and panting like a wounded animal.
His breathing started to slow, and the most pitiable sound was emanating from him. It sounded not unlike the noise a tiny creature would make if its leg had been caught in some hunter’s trap. He kept this up for a bit and then became quiet. He curled up into the fetal position and started sucking his thumb. Thoughts, now pleasant, came to him, thoughts of better times when life was simple. His mother, her face whole, appeared and came to him and held him tight.
He relaxed, comforted at last by his mother. He had retreated into himself, to the time when he was little more than an infant. Jake’s madness had become full blown. The mind can only withstand so much abuse, and then it will set up a protective barrier in which to be able to cope. This was the case with Jake. Without help, he would probably never return from his infantile state. But, if you could ask him, he would probably tell you that life didn’t get any better than right now. His mother would protect him and that’s all that really mattered.
He made a soft cooing sound, much like a contented infant, and fell into a seemingly quiet, peaceful sleep, the first good sleep he had had in what seemed like a very long time.
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