I found the man with a very long name skulking around the Forsaken page on Facebook. He's an interesting guy, as you can tell by his bio. He's also a pretty talented writer, as you'll see by the short below. He's promised to do another guest spot with all the gore attached, at a later date.
old empty storage rooms at the end of a narrow, long hall in the basement of an ancient biology building on campus. The dingy small room had a mucus-green carpet and was illuminated by a single flickering bulb hanging from its centre onto the rectangular table and chairs below.
Eric and I had just finished another lengthy interview and were standing in the hallway thanking the participant for their time. As soon as she’d left, I looked down at my clipboard to see who to expect next, when he said something like, “Um, he’s already here,” in a concerned, surprised tone.
When I turned, I saw what I guess was a man sitting on one of the three chairs around the table. I’d never seen anyone like him. A shaggy clump of hair sat atop his head and his brown skin, which was so thin and tight it appeared dessicated, was visible through the torn, dirty white shirt he wore.
His most striking features, though, were his prominent pointed nose and perpetual grimace that stretched all the way back to his ears. His shoulders were slumped forward, his back curved, and his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere on the table.
Eric and I looked at each other quizzically for a moment. I honestly thought it was a prank
someone was playing. Just in case, I think, we both went in, closed the door, and sat down opposite the man.
We welcomed him and proceeded to tell him how lon the interview would last, that he would remain anonymous, etc. Throughout the entire introduction, the man remained exactly as he’d been when I’d first seen him. I noticed then the strange intensity in his eyes, and that he wasn’t blinking.
Eric had quite a short temper and I could see him becoming increasingly aggravated by the
man’s unresponsiveness. All of a sudden, he stopped mid-sentence and said, “I’m sorry, but are you
even listening?” I was feeling pretty awkward by this point. When the man didn’t respond, Eric flew off the handle and started saying that he was wasting our time, that the guy was being pathetic, etc.
Just as he was getting up, probably to show him out, the man began giggling and muttering
under his breath. I’d known Eric a few years and knew it was never a good idea to laugh at him. “Look,Mr. Nelson – ”
“Not Nelson. ” The man’s voice was high and nasally, but had a strange threatening tone to it.
“What d’you mean? You’re not Mr. Nelson?” Eric’s body was tense, and I knew he was about to lose it.
Without a word, the man shifted his piercing gaze on him, his wide grin unmoving.
“Right, you little shit!” Eric had started walking around the table, when the man suddenly began
jumping up and down in the chair with a crazy look on his face. “Oohoohooo! Ohoohoo! Oohoohooo!”
That’s when it stopped being funny for me. I already didn’t like him, but now wanted the creep gone as soon as possible.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The look on Eric’s face reflected my own perplexity. I don’t think he
knew what to make of him so, when instead of threatening the man he walked to the door, I knew he wanted him gone gone as much as I did. Eric reached for the handle, but when he turned it, the door was locked.
The man became more excitable, banging his hands on the table as he continued to shout
“Why’s the door closed?” I asked him if he’d locked it. “Now why the fuck would I lock it, David?”
I don’t know how he did it, but in the space of time it takes to blink, the man had appeared by Eric’s side, his face not an inch from his.
“Now we play my game,” the man said right before whispering something in his ear. I couldn’t hear
what he said, but it caused Eric to become completely immobile and docile, as if hypnotized.
I stood up, knocking the chair over, and turned with the intention of rushing up to them, not really knowing what I’d do but, no sooner had I done so, did I feel an immense pressure on my chest that caused me to fall hard on my back. Before I knew what happened, I opened my eyes to see the man leaning over me, his grimacing, dessicated face right above mine.
“We’re going to have fun,” he said in a low tone. His hot, humid breath smelled like decay.
I think I asked him who he was, because the last words I can clearly remember him saying were,“Call me Mr. Cage.”
Everything I have told you up to this point is as clear in my mind now as it was when it
happened. What followed, however, is hazy. Broken. No one, including the authorities, has ever
believed me. But it happened.
Currently, I am an English teacher in the South of Spain.
I have far too many interests, I'm told. A few are basketball, tennis, swimming, playing my old guitar, learning Japanese, painting, reading
and writing (obviously), cooking...(See? Too many).
Not a day goes by, however, where I don't write something, be it under a palm tree or on a bench at a bus stop somewhere."
You can find him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/david.singercarter
And Twitter: @MrCage1