Selling Souls

As soon as I ask him about this, he steps back. His threatening demeanor changes to one that you might be able to consider, not harmless, but less aggressive.

However, I feel as if his more relaxed posture is the scary one. At least when he is in front of you with his knife at the ready, you know what he’s thinking, and the end goal. With this... this calm and collected posture, it makes you feel as if you have no strong hold, no ground to stand on. You're floating in mid air with a killer in front of you, trying to plead for your life and he is letting you think that you may have succeeded too.

"Well, we realized, my dear Jaden, that maybe if we got to a famous writer and had them write the true stories about us, that maybe all our fan fiction would stop portraying us as saps. Maybe people would realize that we aren't there to fall in love with them or whatever. It would make us seem more alive and real, but in our true dark and twisted ways." He rants and immediately I see flaws in his not so perfectly structured plan.

"I'm a fiction writer." I interrupt him, not even realising that this moment could be my very last stand. "People don't believe that fiction is true. It's fake, all things thought up and created by the writer. So, why would you choose me to write your story? Why not a biographer or someone who writes real stories?" I ask him, defying all that is logical in my brain to question a killer. It is then that I realize that the last words I may very well utter are ones against the plan of a murderer.

Well good going Jaden, of course you would get yourself into this kind of situation and then argue with the man who holds your life in his hands. I can’t help but think to myself.

"Now that is the only downfall with this plan, and believe me, we thought about it. You see, if we were to get a biographer, they'd write about us, yes, but their audience, their extremely selective audience would probably think that the writer had gone mad. Now if you a fiction novelist starts writing about us, no one will think you have gone crazy.”

“You tell our true stories to your much larger audience, with pictures and letters of proof, you could have a good chunk of the population of the world speculating the truths and falsehoods of the work. And that is all we want, enough speculation that our stupid fan fictions will stop." He rants, effectively cutting me off every time I even attempt to open my mouth and ask him questions or speculate his plan.

"That is all great in theory. But how do you suggest I go about writing about you guys? I don't know anything about you aside from the very few things I have read about you online and who knows how much of that is actually true or not?" I ask him and he smiles viciously in my direction.

"We are going to take you with us. Show you exactly what we do and how we do it. Your job is to write about it and us, then get it published. If you do it right, maybe we will let you live." He tells me menacingly and it truly finally clicks as to why he didn't kill me the second I dropped my flashlight. They need me to tell their horror stories to the world.

"But if I get it right will I live?" I ask in a small voice, hoping that maybe if I have something to strive for, a goal in mind, I might actually get through this soon to be extremely horrible experience.

"You will, on one condition. Every now and then you release a new book about us, to keep proving your point, no our point, that we aren't lovey dovey romantic sappy shit heads." He says in a voice that indicates to me that now is the time to decide my fate. Do I tell him to just get it over with and kill me now or do I subject myself to a life of nightmare filled monsters and horror stories?

Of course the decision is simple, at least for me it is.

"I'll do it." I mutter to him and he smiles an award winning, creepy, shit eating grin.

"Then I guess I shall see you later in the week, our biographer." Geoff mutters before disappearing into the wooded area surrounding where I sit now.

I don't even manage to catch a glimpse as he leaves, as if the darkness just seems to swallow him whole. I attempt to bring my heart to a normal pace, slow my breathing and stop my shaking body. I don't even bother trying to get rid of my racing fear. No, this fear will probably sit with me for the rest of my life, especially now that I have pretty much sold my soul, or at least part of it, to psychotic murderous lunatics.

When I finally think that I might be able to walk on my legs again, I stand. My books fall from my lap and I look down at them in contempt.

I debate it for only a few moments, whether I pick them up or leave them as they are. On the forest floor.

I decide that I can’t just litter and I take a deep breath before slowly gathering all of the stories, all of the tales that come from the depths of my imagination, into the slightly worn backpack again.

I sling it up over my shoulder and sigh as the weight rests against my back, the weight of my future sins resting on my shoulders.

Carefully, I make my way back to the camp. I look down at my phone and see that it is only 4 am. Only an hour has passed, but it feels like I’ve aged several years in this one hour.

My entire life feels as if it is in shambles at the moment, even if it sounds melodramatic to my own mind, I can’t help but feel it.

When I get through the trees into the campsite I see that the fire has been dead for a while now, not even the glowing of embers rest in the pit anymore, and I heave a big sigh.

I make my way towards my SUV, glad that I have my keys still on me, as I carefully throw the books and bag into the back of my car. Not wanting to think about this night anymore than I have already had to.

I head towards the trailer, once I am done with my errand. I know sleep will evade me for tonight but that doesn't mean I need to sit out here through the rest of it.

Not now that I know I am being watched by the things that truly do go bump in the night.

I open the door and quietly step into the quiet trailer, thankfully I hear the light breathing and snoring of my friends. No longer out in the silence of the forest.

Closing the door behind me as gently as possible, I walk to the bench in the eating area and sit on it. A small squeak coming from under my feet as the dampness of my shoes rubs against the laminate tiles of the trailer.

"Is that you Jay?" I jump when a quiet voice asks me and I turn quickly to see that it is just Tom peeking his head out of his bunk, groggily.

"Yeah, it's just me." I mutter to him, trying not to show my jumpiness in my voice as well as my posture.

"Okay, good. I was worried." He says before laying back down and rolling over. Falling back into dreamland instantly.

After a moment, I curl in on myself, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head on top of them.

If tonight was any indicator for what was to come next I knew I wouldn't be able to see my friends anytime soon.

I pretty much just sold myself to the devil.

And I am not sure that I am ready to see where this takes me.