Eric had invited him to his family's hometown, a quaint, picturesque suburban area nestled among rolling hills and ancient forests. After much convincing, and a promise of genuine relaxation, he finally agreed to go. Eric's family lived in a charming, slightly antiquated house, and he had been invited to help celebrate his parents' momentous 60th wedding anniversary. The thought of a reprieve from the relentless pressure of his job, and the escalating strangeness of his life, was a powerful draw.
As he drove along the winding highway, the late afternoon sun casting long, dancing shadows through the trees, he found the landscape unsettling—secluded and dark due to the massive, towering trees lining the road, their branches interlacing overhead to form a dense, green canopy. The air grew cooler, heavier, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. While he was focused on the path ahead, his mind still replaying the bizarre events of the past weeks, a deer suddenly leapt in front of his car from out of nowhere, a blur of brown and white. Though he slammed on the brakes immediately, the crunch of tires on asphalt deafening, he felt the heavy thud and knew, with a sickening certainty, he had hit the animal.
He sat in the silence for a few minutes, his hands still gripping the steering wheel, his heart pounding in his chest, before deciding to step out. The silence outside was profound, broken only by the chirping of unseen insects. When he checked his car, he was surprised to find no damage from the impact, not even a dent or a scratch on the gleaming bumper. Looking down, he saw the deer lying motionless on the asphalt; there was no blood, no visible injury. He crouched down, a strange unease settling over him, and reached out a cautious hand to touch the creature, but it was cold and stiff, not breathing. He flipped the body over, his fingers brushing against rough fur, but he immediately recoiled and stood up, stepping back in horror, a guttural sound escaping his throat. What lay beneath was a sight to curdle blood.
A loud, ear-splitting air horn blasted nearby, ripping through the oppressive silence. He spun around to see a massive semi-truck, its chrome gleaming, bearing down on him, nearly on top of him. He dove out of the way just in time, rolling onto the grassy shoulder, as the driver yelled, "Eyes on the road, dumbass! You trying to get yourself killed?!" The truck thundered past, its slipstream nearly pulling him back onto the highway.
He looked back at the deer, his heart still racing, his gaze now sharpened by terror. The head was completely severed from its body and appeared as though it had been dead for a long time, with maggots crawling all over the rotting flesh, a grotesque tableau of decay. And yet, moments ago, it had leapt in front of his car, a seemingly fresh kill. He looked around for the head, but it was nowhere to be seen, as if it had simply dissolved. Disturbed, his mind reeling from the impossible, he returned to his car and drove off, leaving the macabre scene behind, the image of the rotting deer burned into his memory.
The Anniversary
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
He arrived at Eric's place just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fiery orange and deep violet. The house, warm and inviting, was a stark contrast to the unsettling journey. As he parked in the driveway, he saw Eric standing there, waiting on the porch with his youngest niece, Alena, a vibrant spark of childhood energy.
"So, how was the trip, you old grump?" Eric asked, a wide grin on his face, as he stepped out of the SUV.
"Long and tiring," he replied, a faint tremor of residual shock in his voice, opening the back door to grab his bags. He didn't elaborate on the deer. Some things were better left unsaid, especially to Eric, who would likely chalk it up to stress or an overactive imagination.
Eric laughed, shaking his head. "I told you to ride with us. You're always so stubborn."
"No, thank you," he said firmly, a small, genuine smile finally gracing his lips. He looked down at Alena, who was clutching a worn teddy bear. "She’s grown so fast, Eric. It feels like just yesterday she was a tiny thing."
They went inside, the house filled with the comforting aroma of home cooking and the happy chatter of a large family. Eric’s family greeted him warmly; they had known him since his college days when both he and Eric played football together, a time that felt like a lifetime ago. They were his second family, a safe harbor in a world that was becoming increasingly unpredictable. After a hearty dinner, filled with laughter and nostalgic stories, he went straight to bed, utterly exhausted, the strange events of the road weighing heavily on his mind.
While he slept, a towering black shadow, a presence that radiated cold and an ancient malevolence, entered the room, moving with an eerie silence straight toward his bed. He was lying on his chest, shirtless in the summer heat, when he was suddenly jolted awake by a sharp, searing pain in his back, as if hot coals had been pressed against his skin. He reached behind him, his fingers brushing against something wet and viscous; when he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood, dark and sticky. He stood up, his heart pounding, and stumbled to the full-length mirror on the closet door, finding three long, deep scratches, like the claw marks of a beast, trailing down his skin, already beginning to swell and throb. He checked under the bed, his flashlight beam cutting through the shadows, but there was nothing there, just dust bunnies and the quiet hum of the house.
The next morning at the anniversary party, the house buzzing with well-wishers and the joyous strains of old love songs, he struggled to remain still; the scratches were stinging with a fiery intensity, and a mounting headache throbbed behind his eyes, a dull, insistent ache that refused to recede. Eric’s mother, Bettina, a woman of formidable warmth and keen observation, noticed his discomfort from across the crowded living room and immediately came over, her brow furrowed with concern, asking what was wrong.
"Just a headache, Bettina," he said, forcing a smile, trying to downplay his misery.
Bettina, ever the maternal figure, reached up—he stood at 181 cm, but she still managed to easily place a hand on his forehead, her touch cool and firm. "You’ve got a fever, young man. You're burning up."
"I'm fine, really. Don't worry about me; it's your day, you should be celebrating," he insisted, trying to pull away subtly.
Bettina wasn't having it. Her gaze was stern, her voice leaving no room for argument. "You’ve got a fever, young man. When I say you rest, you rest. Do you understand?" She firmly took his arm and, despite his protests, gently but firmly dragged him back to his room, her strength surprising. She retrieved a bottle of medicine from the cabinet in his bathroom, poured a dose, and made sure he swallowed it, watching him with an eagle eye.
Once she left, the door clicking softly shut behind her, he lay down, the room spinning slightly. The medicine, combined with his utter exhaustion, quickly pulled him under. He immediately fell back into a deep, heavy sleep, the silence of the room now a comforting blanket against the relentless demands of his increasingly strange reality. But even in sleep, the image of the rotting deer, its head inexplicably severed, flickered at the edges of his subconscious, a grim herald of what was to come.
