The Twisted Black Scar, a short story by Brandon Hooks

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It was impossible to determine his mood. His thick, burly face was veiled behind a variety of emotions — not one of them promising and pleasant. He plucked the long, twisted, black scar on his right cheek with the blade of his Gryphon knife, and then used it for the purpose of picking the crud from his yellow teeth. He held the knife up to my Adam’s apple; a cruel, slash of a nasty grin forcing me to experience the climate of his cold, Northeast, blizzard-like soul.

“Soooo, how would you like to die, pretty boy?” There was a microscopic twitching in the trees ahead of me, and then a brief breeze of wind, as if nature was relieving itself of an unruly itch. My Adam’s apple rolled downward like oversized prey slowly sinking down into the long, dark, corridors of a python’s throat. Another twitch in the trees ahead of me, began to place my attention elsewhere for a few seconds, until the sight of Scar’s rotten, yellow teeth, and his sulfur-like breath, (all converging to create the perfect storm of a disgusting grin) instantly and without hesitation, reminded me of whom was worthy of my terror and respect right now.

“You know, pretty boy — they say this forest is haunted, and that it comes alive when a murder happens here.”

Scar stuck out his purple shaded tongue at my cheek.

“Guess what, boy, I am one of their servantsssssss! Do we believe in that voodoo, pretty boy?” the deep throat voice of Scar hissed at me. “They say a murder here ignites entities of witchcraft. Hmmm, wouldn’t they love a good double murder to feast on?”

I struggled to move my head upward through the aggressive wall of duct tape that had me incarcerated, and managed to gain enough composure and strength to respond, “What are you, you sick son-of-a-bitch?”

The grin disappeared from Scar’s face, then he stepped back a few feet away from me. He looked up into the night sky with the lantern’s center of gravity square on his face. He shifted the lantern to his left hand, and with his right, he shouted to the tops of the trees, “My name is Scar, and I am a devoted servant of the cause. The cause of the Blood gang and its services on my soul is what I strive for now. They will have me, and they will accept me into their family, when I show them the two bodies. I had a clear assignment — one that would bring me into their family; kill two innocent people. I am now but one victim away from coming into my sacred, eternal family. Bloods, you have my devotion, and my love. In your hands, I commit to you these bodies.”

I closed my eyes and struggled to free myself from the bondage. A scream of the leaves below and in front of me, very much similar to the sound of someone fast walking, or running, pulled my eyes open immediately. Scar picked at the scar on his face again with the blade of the knife.

At this time something strange was occurring not far in the distance. The woods were almost responding in a way to the situation. A heavy branch crashed to the ground, along with several low moans coming up from above. The leaves screamed again, and the killer grinned; the lower half of his scar twisting southeastward. The woods were playful at levels beyond extreme now. A long howl erupted everywhere, and then a moan that immediately arrested the attention of Scar. OOOOOHHHHHHUHHHHHHH!”

Scar jerked his head back and up to the sky, the blade of his knife just grazing my cheek enough to pinch open a small line of blood. I shook my head upward to see what the fuss was, and a giant shadow descended downward right behind the killer. Inhuman screams poured out of Scar as he was lifted into the sky and gone into the darkness. Shadows enormous in height danced and fluttered their limbs around. The leaves shrieked once again, similar to someone running through the woods, while thunderous breaking sounds, like the sound of two giants braking each other’s bones, caused me to wish I had both hands free so that I could cover both of my ears. Shadows fell to the ground and leaves whimpered and scattered when the
shadows hit.

By this time, my mental state was being eroded away by the minute, and I was no longer able to function and keep the faculties in my mind operating. A shadow fell from the sky to the earth, beside the lantern, in front of the tree I was strapped to, creating a large thump, sending terrified leaves hollering and fleeing on impact. There in front of me, was the vicious grin/snarl of Scar, with those yellow teeth, some lying on top of each other in his smoky, mouth, leading into the very chambers of his dead soul. The lower half of the scar was twisted southeastward. His body lie mangled, lifeless, and pummeled almost beyond recognition — courtesy of the witches in the trees.

The next day, a local sheriff noticed a foul, stench so severe and luring on the side of the road that he had to check it out. He stumbled upon the two dead bodies, but it was the one of Scar that sent him running through the woods, screaming in bad tongues, after he had freed me from the tree. The sheriff was never seen since. My body still aches from time to time to this day, and my hand quivers a bit, when I recap the sequence of events — the hit to our car, the blow to the head, and the nightmare in the woods. I was the only one to survive that ordeal, and since then I have had people to question me as to what really happened that night. I came across someone who lived in the area off Highway 231, and he reported to me that at the time of the murders, he heard the loudest shriek from the woods near his home, and he instantly knew it was neither human, nor animal in nature. I remember hearing him say it almost sounded demonic. It was then that I disclosed to him that there was an evil in that world of trees that somehow became tapped. I told him how the witches danced and flailed as they murdered Scar.

What was strange to the authorities on arrival to the scene were the mangled trees that stood, and the huge tree limbs that lie on the ground. Some trees themselves even lie in a pile on the ground, not reported to be victim to a wind or thunderstorm. The weather was predicted to be calm that night, and the prediction held through one hundred percent.

I am afraid I can’t write anymore on this story, as my mental stamina is not where it used to be, and I don’t feel the need to torture myself anymore with the events. That face with those yellow teeth, and that grin — a grin that must have originated from hell or an alien planet, would always have a horrible piece of my mind, and even my heart. Dreams of a twisted, black, scar, with the lower half bent southeastward kept me in its company to remind me that I would never see another goodnight’s sleep.

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