What I Am

Dying was the easy part, if my memory of the event can even be trusted. It felt peaceful. The cold and pain didn’t last as long as I expected. Then I fell away into a deep, embracing darkness.

Coming back to life was much worse. It made me want to die all over again.

The cruelest part was that my mind woke up while my body was still putting itself back together. At least that way I knew what had happened, that I had died. Otherwise, I would have just gaslit myself, even with all the obvious signs.

I remember a jolt through my body, like electricity. Then my muscles, tendons, and joints started snapping, popping, and bending. The feeling was excruciating, and just… wrong. Then came an awful burning sensation, as if boiling liquid were pumping out of my heart through my veins. My pinky finger grew back, too. That was eerie.

Through it all, I couldn’t breathe.

Once that part was over, my lungs and other organs seemed to wake up, too. I sucked in air as if I’d never breathed before.

Then the nastiest nausea ever hit me. I sat up, bent over on my hands and knees, gagging and retching as a slow, thick sludge made its way up and finally out of my mouth. Tears streamed while I gagged until it was over. Then the nausea vanished in a flash. I collapsed onto my back, sweating and exhausted. Honestly, I hated that part worse than anything.

As the pain eased, my mind started to wake up. I tried to remember and make sense of what had just happened to me.

I screamed.

I lay there for a while, just recovering and trying to calm down.

Finally, I took in my surroundings. It was daylight, but it felt early, like morning was just fading away. I couldn’t see the sun yet, as if something were blocking it. The light that reached me was bright and welcoming. I didn’t feel any warmth or cold, though. That seemed odd.

It didn’t take long to recognize that I was in the mountains. Just sitting in the midst of the pines, with scratchy dead needles, dirt, and rocks poking through my thin clothes.

Looking down at myself, I was shocked and confused to see holes in my clothes, spread around my chest and abdomen. They were crusted with dried blood. As soon as I touched one, a sudden flash of memory struck me. I saw and felt the knife that punctured those holes, and felt the terror and pain again as if it were just happening. After the memory ended, I frantically checked my skin through the holes, but there were no wounds, not even scars.

I couldn’t remember anything else yet, not even who had stabbed me. Or why.

I had no other choice but to start walking.

Luckily, I didn’t feel weak at that point, despite what I had been through and the fact that I should have experienced significant blood loss, based on the state of my clothes. In fact, I felt completely rejuvenated.

My mind grappled with reality as I walked. I had died; that seemed certain, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise. And then I came back to life. I couldn’t have imagined that excruciating experience. But I still didn’t want to believe it. How was that even possible?

Am I a zombie? I kept wondering.

After stumbling through the trees and down the slope, I found a dirt road. Relief swelled, then another memory slammed into my brain.

I remembered your face. Your grinning face. And my terror. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, but I still couldn’t remember everything that had happened. At least I knew what you looked like then.

At first, as I walked, any time a car passed, my instinct was to hide, fearing you would see me or someone else might try to hurt me. But I had nothing to worry about. No one stopped or asked if I needed help. I noticed stares from passers-by, but none even slowed down. If anything, they sped up as soon as they made eye contact with me.

I found a rhythm, then, as I marched. My fear ebbed, then disappeared.

Once I made it out of the mountains and started walking along highways and streets, I knew where I was and how to get home. I didn’t even worry about which roads I picked or the sketchy characters I passed. Everyone recoiled and fled at the sight of me. Still, no one offered to help me. They looked at me like I was a monster. It felt good. I felt strong, fearless.

And, yet again, I found myself wondering if I was somehow undead. I mean, I was breathing, and I could feel my heart beating in my chest. But I wasn’t tired, hungry, or thirsty. And the way people looked at me, I kept asking myself, what am I?

Bit by bit, the pieces of my memory returned until the events of the previous evening were complete.

I remembered you sitting down next to me at the bar. You said your name was Daniel. You looked friendly. Normal. But I had a weird vibe I couldn’t explain at the time. You seemed a little nervous, too, but you covered it with ego and bravado.

As we made small talk, I tried to make it obvious I wasn’t interested without being rude. But you persisted. You seemed to be waiting for something. I remember you told me what you did for a living and where you worked. You seemed proud of it, in a smug way.

Looking back now, I’m glad you told me those details.

I decided to finish my drink and leave. That’s what you had been waiting for. I never saw you put something in it. You never went near it, so I assume you did it before you sat down.

I don’t remember what happened after I tried to get up to leave.

Then I woke up tied to this chair. In this same cabin. Or whatever this is, a shed? Definitely felt like a horror movie. Good job on picking the set. Rusty tools hung from rustier nails on what was left of this decrepit, abandoned building in the woods. No other light but your lantern and the streaks of moonlight through the broken slats.

You behaved so friendly towards me, so normal. You drew it out, maximizing my fear and anticipation. You let me have hope. Right before you stabbed me the first time. It was brilliant, effective.

I was still alive when you dumped me in the woods, but barely. Then you finished me off by slashing my throat, and you left me there to bleed out. To be honest, I didn’t even feel that last cut. I was too close to death. Not to disappoint you, or anything.

I replayed the memories as I walked. The fear. The pain. They were good lessons for me. I thought about what had worked well and what hadn’t. And I started planning.

When I finally made it home, it was dark. I was relieved and shaking, as if my confidence had suddenly left me when reality returned. Exhaustion hit, and the supernatural energy that had kept me walking drained away so suddenly I barely had time to close the door. I collapsed inside my apartment onto the floor.

I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke, I was almost as stiff as death again, and about as dry.

I screamed when I first saw my reflection. I thought it was someone else. I looked like a zombie. My face was pale and splattered with dried blood, dirt, and dust. My hair looked like some Halloween clown wig, with pine needles and leaves stuck in it. My eyes were bloodshot and sunken. I understood people’s reaction to me then.

Luckily, all I needed was a nice, long shower to wash the death away. Then I mostly looked like myself again.

Then I was ravenous and incredibly thirsty. Luckily for you, I was only hungry for normal food, not flesh. That was a relief for me, too.

I wasted no time in what I did next. I was too excited.

It turns out you told me the truth about where you worked. I guess you had no reason to lie.

I honestly had fun stalking you. Who knew it could be so enjoyable? Watching you squirm and doubt yourself.

Yes, you were being followed. You were right. Congratulations.

I left the dead squirrel in your car all day while you worked. I didn’t actually kill that myself, by the way. It was fun watching you gag and accuse your coworkers.

It was satisfying to watch you panic when you saw my face, then disappear. I was better at it than I ever thought I could be. I actually got the giggles while doing that.

I loved watching you fall apart when I left that note in your mailbox.

I splattered that red paint all over your precious car.

I was enjoying myself so much I almost didn’t want it to end.

But everything has to end eventually.

I waited for you in your apartment, in the dark.

Was the cloak a bit much? I was going for a dramatic reveal.

I’d played out several scenarios in my head for how it would go. It didn’t match any of them. I’d hoped you might scream and pass out.

When you turned on the light, you did scream. But ever the overconfident prick, you recovered quickly. Ready to attack me. Until I pulled my hood back, then you gaped at me, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You started babbling, “I thought you were dead. You’re supposed to be dead. How the fuck are you still alive?”

You looked terrified.

I smiled. Satisfied and ready to move on to the next part.

Watching you spasm and wet yourself when I got you with the taser was the cherry on top. When I smashed your head with the bat, I was afraid I had hit you too hard. I didn’t want this to be over too soon.

What a relief when you came to.

* * *

“So, anyway, there you have it. And the answer to how ‘the fuck’ I’m still alive is, mostly, I don’t know. Maybe it was a one-time gift, a chance for revenge. Or maybe I really am some kind of supernatural creature.”

Daniel’s eyes were wide as he watched me pace and recite my tale. He was trying to say something, from the sound of it, but I couldn’t hear him through the tape over his mouth.

I felt no pity for him. Why would I? Remembering what he’d done to me. Seeing him return to work as if nothing happened. As if he hadn’t left me in the woods to die. As if there weren’t frozen, severed fingers tucked into the back of his freezer (apparently I wasn’t his first).

I picked up the knife I had found lying in the shed, still caked with my own blood, and I pointed it at Daniel.

Tears streamed down his face, and he shook his head frantically.

“Really, tears?” I scoffed. “I guess you can dish it, but you can’t take it.”

I put a hand on his shoulder as I leaned over him, my knife roaming over his body, deciding where to start.

“I want you to know, I plan to leave your body where you left mine, only in a few more pieces. I still don’t know how I came back. I want to see if that place is special. If you do come back, I’ll be waiting to kill you all over again. But I want you to experience everything first. I actually hope you do wake up. You’re gonna love it.”

I picked my first spot, remembering what the rib area felt like when he’d stabbed me.

“Ok, story time is over. Let’s get started, shall we?”