He stood in the middle of the street. Not moving, just staring. But somehow... I can still hear the cracking of every one of his joints and bones. Every time he inhales, exhales, moves, blinks... Crack. Crack, crack crack. I thought it was just my brain being the weird thing that it is, hearing things... But no. The source of the sound is in front of my house. It moves when I look away, so I don't look away I haven't looked away for the past three days. My family thinks that I'm crazy, but I know I'm not. I'm not crazy. It knows I'm not crazy.
It starts towards my front door. I thought it only moved when I didn't look... But now... I can see its features. This being is male. He has short, greasy light brown hair... And his bones pop out of place with every movement he takes. His eyes are a milky blue... It's different, weird. Almost hypnotic. But I know better than to let him do anything to me.
As he moves, all I can hear is the terrible crack and pop he makes when he walks. Even through the thick plaster and brick of my home, it's obvious that something is wrong with him. I cannot tell you the exact moment he stepped up to my door, but it felt like years and years before he got up to the door, the cracking and popping getting louder as he approached. As he knocked on the door, the terrible sound was almost deafening. My husband walked to the door, but I quickly shook my head.
"Andres, nothing bad is going to happen. Calm down." He shook his head, slowly opening the door a crack. Almost immediately, he was pulled off the ground by an unseen force. I was frozen in place, hearing the sound of bones snapping and cracking. But, it wasn't this... Thing's... Bones that were cracking. It was my husband's... The love of my life. The man I threw my family away for, most of my friends who didn't understand. He was hurt, and I couldn't move. I couldn't move, but I sobbed. I sobbed loudly in my brain, but not out loud.
The thing looked over to me, a large smile sliding across his face, dropping the man he held up, walking over to me. The thing looked around 10. What in the hell... How could such a small boy do this...? As he stood in front of me, he brought his arm up, his arm popping as he slid a finger across my face, blood and bony index finger caressing every part of my face. Across my sweating brow, nose, even my lips. Eventually, he got bored, laughing a little. "Call me Crack..." He whispered to me, his mouth static, making my eyes widen, my eyes almost popping out of the sockets. What does it want from me...?
I screamed as I woke up from my nightmare, my partner laying next to me, sound asleep, not moving even as I screamed. I quickly calmed down, looking around the room slowly, carefully. I couldn't see anything. How long had I been out? It couldn't have been more than a few hours, but it felt like days. I got out of bed slowly, walking over to our shared bathroom, turning the faucet on, splashing cool water on my face to calm myself down, looking at myself in the mirror. My eyes were drawn to a small thing in the corner of the bathroom. I leaned in closer to the mirror, squinting my eyes, trying to focus more on the figure. It came forward, bones... Cracking... Oh god no... Oh god, I'm going to die...
I turned around slowly, gulping down hard as he was in front of me... Again... But this time, it was for real. Not in a dream, not in a bad hallucination. This was real, and I was really going to die. I stiffened up, looking down at the tiny, tiny boy that was now only inches away from my chest.
He pulled an arm up, my arm copying his. I stared at it, trying to push it down. What was happening?! How was this boy, this... Weak little boy with a bone problem... Doing this to me? I didn't have time to think, as he twisted his arm around, breaking his arm, my arm doing the exact same. I screamed out in pain, the sound echoing through the bathroom, but for some reason, I knew not a single sound would escape the tiny room. What was it doing to me?! How was it, or he, or whatever it really was, doing this at all? I don't understand...
"Does it hurt?" He asked, his mouth finally moving, his mouth filled with small, razor sharp teeth, a smirk pulled across his face as he spoke. "I can feel it, too. Everything you're feeling, I feel." He moved in close to my face, licking my cheek, making me growl like an animal. "You can always just ask to be put out quickly. Not like that pretty boy is going to get much of a choice. Which is sad. He really deserves everything."
I pull back from him, holding my arm as he circled me, somehow forced to my spot. I struggled to get away, nothing working. Tears starting to flow down my face, the salty water burning fresh cuts his tongue created, feeling a mix of blood and tears drip down my face and to the floor. How did those get there? They felt pretty deep, from the amount of blood hitting the floor. I prayed and hoped that my husband would come in and save me from this thing. But deep down, I knew it wouldn't happen. It wouldn't. I was going to die, painfully and alone. No one next to me, holding my hand, telling me it would be okay and to just let go. Nope. My life would be taken by a thing that shouldn't even exist. Nothing would matter, because I would be dead. My funeral would be one person, and a pastor or whoever the hell buries me. Yes, I have thought about what would happen when I died. But I thought it wouldn't be until I was at least 80.
As I thought of my impending doom, the boy had put his hands to his head in a position that would mean death for anyone. I stared, shaking my head quickly. He smirked, not listening, snapping his head to the side, mine doing the same. As I fell to the ground, I could see his shadow, bending down to whisper in my ear...
"Call me Crack."