Something is making Me do Random Tasks for People I don’t Know

I need to start this out with the simple fact that I’ve never had any mental issues in the past and I also haven’t used any drugs, not even the “safe” ones that’s more up my sister’s alley. I should also say that I am a night owl usually staying up until three or four in the morning before heading into work at eight so I usually suffer from sluggishness and tiredness, but I’ve never had it to the point of audio and visual hallucinations. So it was a definite shock to my system when I found myself going about my day as normal. Struggling through the standard morning routine before realizing that I needed to help Jenny get some mulch. White Oak mulch specifically. Which is odd because why in the hell do you need that specific of a mulch and why the hell were you asking me of all people to do it. I was already in my car heading down the road before I realized something. I don’t know anyone named Jenny. I also don’t know where I was going. It was in the opposite direction of my work, but I was just going about it all like it was completely normal. I was just on autopilot, not thinking, not processing what I was doing, just fully committed to a task without knowing who’s or why’s. I should probably talk to my sister.

I’m starting to get scared of what’s going on. This doesn’t seem like some odd dream like delusion brought on by tiredness or being on autopilot going to work. I’m starting to do things I’d never do. Making decisions I’d never consciously make let alone subconsciously. I was taking a walk in the cool morning air when I realized I was holding something. I look down to see I’m holding a black leash and at the end of it is a very confused dog. I panic holding onto the leash as tight as I can as I grab my phone from out of my pocket. It’s 5:37am and I’m in a place that I don’t recognize holding a random dog. I check my location to see I’m in Collinsville, a small town about 15 minutes from my house. My mind was racing trying to figure out why the hell I’m out here so early with a random dog. Then the reasons started coming back to me. I need to walk Chris’s dog from 5 to 5:30, but I’ve got to be careful and hurry because he doesn’t know I’m doing this or that I used his hide-a-key to get into his house. I pick up the dog and run full sprint back to his house trying to beat the clock. As I walk up his steps I can see lights on in the house. I open the door as quickly and quietly as I can and shove the dog inside. Just as I go to turn and run he bursts out of the front door.
“What the fuck are you doing man, who the hell are you!”
I fell on my ass in front of him in silence, scared shitless. I scramble to my feet and he punches me right in the nose. I stagger backwards dazed as the wet grotesque thud rings through my head. I turn around to run away, eyes watery and my head aching. I try to put one foot in front of the other and I feel another blow crash into the back of my head sending me stumbling forwards. I burst into a full sprint into the woods to get away. I should probably call my sister.

I’m speeding down the road taking a drag off of my cigarette on my way to dig four holes that are about 3’x5’ and around two feet deep spaced 12 yards from one another. I have no idea what Max wants with these holes and why He wanted me of all people to do it. I take another long drag off of my cigarette now noticing the invasive burning feeling in my throat and lungs followed by a heavy feeling on them almost as though they were instantly coated in tar. I pull into the nearest driveway to cough up a lung. I step out of the car trying to wave away any smell or smoke surrounding me. I don’t smoke, never have. My sister’s boyfriend offered me one when I was like 15, but even then I was a fairly health conscious and uptight guy that wasn’t into that kinda thing anyways. I did some digging through my car and found a crushed pack of Camels unfiltered. I opened it up to find five loose cigarettes floating around inside. So at some point I’d bought cigarettes and started smoking all on autopilot. I’m starting to wonder how far this stuff will go. I’m starting to remember less and less of my actions leading up to when I realize what I’m doing. I need to call my sister.

It’s not some odd benevolent force guiding me to do strange things. It wants me to go out and do things, heinous and evil things. Between the random errands for people I don’t know and may never meet I found myself death clutching a knife and speeding to stab a child named Franklin to death. I hit the brakes hard slamming myself forward, almost knocking myself out and running into a shallow ditch. I grab the knife from my floorboard and throw it out of my window. I try to process what I was doing and why. It was telling me to do it and I could see this child’s face in my head and knew I had a duty to kill him. It felt like a promise or something like a dream that keeps pushing you in one direction. No rage or hate, just an apathetic duty. I need to talk to my sister.

I’m in a dense wooded area 35 miles from my home to the North West. I’m gnawing on the skull of a deer that’s been decomposing for at least a week. I push myself away from it and vomit out hair and rotten meat. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know if I’ve been to work, talked to my family, or had anything to eat besides rotting deer meat. I need to talk to my sister.

I’m in my car. I have to kill Franklin, for someone. I’ve caught myself looking up where he goes to school. I’ve caught myself speeding in the direction of his home twice. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if this is really something or someone telling me, pushing me, guiding me to do these things or if I’m just going insane. I steel my nerves and go to call my sister, but first I push and dig a knife across my knuckles, because I can’t let anything stop what I need to do. I throw it out of panic and pain as I grab my hand trying to stop the blood and dampen the pain.

Glass hits my face and I’m drug out of my car. I’m flipped over to face the concrete. My hands are forced behind my back and I feel handcuffs clamp on my wrists and tighten to an uncomfortable degree. The man is saying something, but it’s just fuzz and background noise as I try to remember what I was doing. I struggle to recall anything between being forced into the back of a cop car and the now familiar feeling of fire and tar in my lungs. I’ve been smoking again. I look out of the window as the car pulls off. I recognize it. A familiar set of three buildings connected by covered walkways. It’s an elementary school. Franklin’s elementary school. I’m petrified by what I could’ve done, what I might’ve done. This is a good thing, this will make sure I can’t mindlessly go on to do something to hurt myself or someone else. I’m walking through the forest towards God. I’m hurting and bloody. My right hand is broken and bloody and the cuffs are dangling from my left hand. I don’t know where the cop is. I feel an odd weight and shape in my pocket as I march forward deeper into the woods. I use my crippled hand to bring this thing out of my pocket. It’s a bloody knife. I hold it as tight as I can as I walk forward. God is so close.

I’m shirtless on my knees in front of it. The knife slices into my belly causing immense sharp pain. I make the knife glide back and forth and my skin falls away as blood irrupts from my wounds. I hold the strips of my skin taught to make the cutting easier. Through the blood I see the fat of my flesh as the first strip of skin is removed. I’m in immense pain. Tears pour down my face, I feel the constant pulse of pain and warm wet blood turn cold in my lap. I move the knife over to cut another strip of flesh off of my body. It’s a nightmare. I see everything, I feel everything, but I can’t do anything to stop it. Everything is in motion. I can’t stop, because I have to feed it, I can’t stop because I’ve already taken off two long strips of flesh. I’ve completely skinned my stomach. I feed the strips of my flesh to the yew tree. It’s Eden. It’s just a tree.

Credit: Joseph DeCarlo