• My name is Wallace Simons.

    While I myself had found myself thinking about the death of my wife, I have thought that my son was taking it to the extremes. All I could think about, however, was the thought of her dead body, stabbed through the car door like some kind of spear, tears and blood dripping from her eyes and lips respectively as she thought about failing to protect both herself and my son. With no hopes of getting help, I simply stayed at her side, unsure on what the hell to do.

    These past few days-- Weeks, even, I've been hearing my son constantly talk of nothing but voices that spread throughout his room. I've told him to simply shrug it off, and that it was nothing. I was quite sure of myself that he was just trying to cope with the loss of his mother by inventing these sophomoric voices that echoed through what I thought was his head. It was only at the dawn of this past week that I had actually found myself a bit plagued by his thoughts. The first night, he had come in to sleep with me, talking to me about the voices that he heard were only getting worse. I had disregard and waved him to bed with me, holding him close and delivering a kiss to the forehead to let him know that someone was there for him. On the second night, I had heard loud noises coming from outside-- A grating noise, which I had waved off harmlessly as a coyote (as we were in Rural Texas at the time). On the third night, I heard rummaging, which I had shrugged off as raccoons. As a precaution, however, I locked the gate during the day, to keep whatever the hell it was that was doing all this from coming in. On the fourth night, however, was when everything seemed to be different. My son called me in, to which I followed, my head bowed wearily as he did the usual routine. "Daddy," he said, frowning and looking up to me with his hopeless eyes. "Could you check under my bed for me?" I nodded, bending over.

    What I saw was far from what I expected, and I let out a noise of visible surprise. I had saw my son's figure, trembling and pale, as he muttered in a stuttering tone, "T-There's someone on my bed, dad." As I pulled up, I had seen that the figure had changed. It had seemed to be something along the lines of my wife's lifeless body, her eyes hollowed and cheekbones sunken. The balmy scent of blood lingered, to which I had looked down. The same impale marks from the car that seemed to be there on the occurrence of the accident were still there, fresh and showing her insides as she simply looked up to me. She seemed lifeless, but whatever was wearing her skin as a mask proceeded to sat up, muttering a wisp into my ear. "Why," was all it said, and I found tears forming at my eyes. This - From one word, I knew that this wasn't my wife talking to me. The voice was rough, a shrill din in my ears as I tried to block it out. With a controlled shout into the night, the figure seemed to change, lunging onto me as it clawed into my shoulder, leaving large marks. My son yelled for me, and it was to that that the creature had swung around, lunging at my son. She hadn't harmed him, nor had she moved for a good second. It was as if she was an animal on predatory alert, watching as I panted and gasped for air. I hadn't moved, but it was only when the creature had darted past me on threes, akin to an ape, was that I let out another noise. My son - She had that in her free arm.

    My legs shaking, I struggled to get up. From there, I ran after the creature, gun in hand - "Y-You b*****d! Where the hell are you?!" I yelled out into the night, seemingly insane. I followed the claw marks, fresh in the ground, until I found myself in the woods. I saw their eyes - My son's tearing ones, and the creature's sunken ones, peering at me from a hollow tree. "Alright!" I yelled, arm twitching from the injuries. "Get out here!" I seemed surely insane. We seemed to be in something of a stare-off, my teeth gritted as I blew hot air into the thick vapors of the night. My forebrow covered with sweat, the creature finally made its move. Darting at me, and with one final screech, it lunged - I yelled and shot into it, but it was gone. All I was was a figure in the night, my son at his knees, crying in front of me. With something of a prompt sigh, I collapsed to the ground. I couldn't take the resurfacing of my wife in my mind, and I began to feel a burning edge at my throat. It was MY fault - I was the one driving the car. I was unable to protect one of those who I had loved most, and I thought - Was this...Was this my mind? Was this all in my head? It couldn't have been-- I wasn't hysterical, and it had picked up my son. Unsure of anything, and with tears pouring from my eyes, I lurched forward. I cupped my lips, retching into my hands as vomit bled through the gaps of my fingers. Not even bothering to wipe them off, my head strained itself to wrap around this new concept of it only being in my head. My son walked to me, his hand at my cheek. "D-Daddy?" He muttered, a bit awestruck by the case of seeing his father like this. It was then, and only then - That I had thought to myself. I wouldn't let my son suffer like this, and so when I raised the gun, he had let out something of a childish shriek. As it was cut off into the night with a prompt bang, I stared down at my son's lifeless corpse. With a smile, I turned the gun on myself. Another gunshot followed, and my lifeless corpse fell to the ground with a grin.

    Now - Now. Me, my wife, and our beautiful son would never be apart again.