A Nightmare Reborn
As I turned towards my file cabinet, I dreaded doing the job I hate the most. I'd rather be out there looking for her husband. My file arrangement was by far daunting. I must have gone through one hundred files or so before I found an old newspaper. It read,
"Many killed in mine."
The article was a dead-end. It stated over and over again that the case had no leads. None of the police were able to identify what had killed the miners. The detective who investigated had reported that many of the miners’ bodies had been cut and split open upon what looked like crude altars. They deemed the case as unexplained. How odd. Who would ever cause these grisly murders in the mine?
I don't believe in religion or any of its fine details. I'm not led to believe that these miners were indeed sacrificed in some bloody ordeal, but more they were victims to someone else's insanity. As the night passed by, I found myself contemplating the very meaning of such extravagant displays. Who would go as far as to kill individuals for such a rash idea? None of it makes sense, but when does it? Cultists are by far extremists who care only for their deranged rationality.
The shop had just barely opened when I came to get my supplies. I found everything quite easily. When the shopkeeper, Willard, a man of notable age and tired complexion, had seen me, he tipped his hat and asked,
"Going on another outing?"
I laughed, as if to delay my apprehension. I answered him,
"Yes, yes. To the Catskill Mountains."
Willard looked at me funny, studying my eyes as if to examine my seriousness. After a brief moment, he regained his composure, and said,
"Well, best of luck to you!"
It was as if he wanted me to leave. After I had made it to the train station, I began to feel uneasy again. I felt as if I was being watched. No, how can that be? As the attendant took my ticket, I sat down, immediately placing my supplies under my left arm. As the train started up, I closed my eyes, wanting to drift into a world of my own creation, one where I am alone with my secret desires. My dreams are the only place I feel free. Every time I'm there I never want to awaken. As they announced our departure, I lost consciousness, and I continued into a world where I could truly be alone.
My dreams were full of strange creatures, ones with claws and teeth with no faces. It would not be fair to call them beasts, as they walked upright and could converse with one another. They wore torn clothes around their heads and chests, each not looking all that different from one another. They seemed to keep coins for no apparent reason, as they ate animal carcasses off of the ground. (Why would such foul beasts have need for such lustrous gold coins?) After they had seen me, they did not react, allowing me to watch them longer. I studied their hind legs, and I realized they differed little from my own.
As I woke up, I cursed my dream, and looked up and found that I had been asleep for hours. We had nearly arrived at the foot of the Catskill Mountains. Only a few passengers seemed to have interest in my destination. As the train finally put on the brakes, I made sure my revolver was fastened to me, close by, and I prepared for what could be my most lucrative case yet as a private investigator. I haven't made much money since quiting the force. I had incurred some stress after killing an armed robber. The psychiatrist for the NYPD had said it was normal to feel guilty after shooting someone. He had said that it did not matter if the person was bad or not, as no one truly wants to kill their fellow human. How right he had been. Now, seven years later, I feel as if I'm on the verge of crossing that ravine again, as I know not what awaits me in the Catskill Mountains. I'll have to be on my guard. As I stepped off the train, the blonde attendant watched me closely, as if she knew what I am about to do. As she waved to me goodbye, I wondered if I'll ever see her again.
As I turned towards my file cabinet, I dreaded doing the job I hate the most. I'd rather be out there looking for her husband. My file arrangement was by far daunting. I must have gone through one hundred files or so before I found an old newspaper. It read,
"Many killed in mine."
The article was a dead-end. It stated over and over again that the case had no leads. None of the police were able to identify what had killed the miners. The detective who investigated had reported that many of the miners’ bodies had been cut and split open upon what looked like crude altars. They deemed the case as unexplained. How odd. Who would ever cause these grisly murders in the mine?
I don't believe in religion or any of its fine details. I'm not led to believe that these miners were indeed sacrificed in some bloody ordeal, but more they were victims to someone else's insanity. As the night passed by, I found myself contemplating the very meaning of such extravagant displays. Who would go as far as to kill individuals for such a rash idea? None of it makes sense, but when does it? Cultists are by far extremists who care only for their deranged rationality.
The shop had just barely opened when I came to get my supplies. I found everything quite easily. When the shopkeeper, Willard, a man of notable age and tired complexion, had seen me, he tipped his hat and asked,
"Going on another outing?"
I laughed, as if to delay my apprehension. I answered him,
"Yes, yes. To the Catskill Mountains."
Willard looked at me funny, studying my eyes as if to examine my seriousness. After a brief moment, he regained his composure, and said,
"Well, best of luck to you!"
It was as if he wanted me to leave. After I had made it to the train station, I began to feel uneasy again. I felt as if I was being watched. No, how can that be? As the attendant took my ticket, I sat down, immediately placing my supplies under my left arm. As the train started up, I closed my eyes, wanting to drift into a world of my own creation, one where I am alone with my secret desires. My dreams are the only place I feel free. Every time I'm there I never want to awaken. As they announced our departure, I lost consciousness, and I continued into a world where I could truly be alone.
My dreams were full of strange creatures, ones with claws and teeth with no faces. It would not be fair to call them beasts, as they walked upright and could converse with one another. They wore torn clothes around their heads and chests, each not looking all that different from one another. They seemed to keep coins for no apparent reason, as they ate animal carcasses off of the ground. (Why would such foul beasts have need for such lustrous gold coins?) After they had seen me, they did not react, allowing me to watch them longer. I studied their hind legs, and I realized they differed little from my own.
As I woke up, I cursed my dream, and looked up and found that I had been asleep for hours. We had nearly arrived at the foot of the Catskill Mountains. Only a few passengers seemed to have interest in my destination. As the train finally put on the brakes, I made sure my revolver was fastened to me, close by, and I prepared for what could be my most lucrative case yet as a private investigator. I haven't made much money since quiting the force. I had incurred some stress after killing an armed robber. The psychiatrist for the NYPD had said it was normal to feel guilty after shooting someone. He had said that it did not matter if the person was bad or not, as no one truly wants to kill their fellow human. How right he had been. Now, seven years later, I feel as if I'm on the verge of crossing that ravine again, as I know not what awaits me in the Catskill Mountains. I'll have to be on my guard. As I stepped off the train, the blonde attendant watched me closely, as if she knew what I am about to do. As she waved to me goodbye, I wondered if I'll ever see her again.
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