The Crooked Man

'I'm Waiting For You, Atlas'

I sat there uncomfortably, as I stared at the man flipping through the folder, looking at each page carefully. I read his expression as it was just yet uncomfortable, I could tell he didn't like what he was reading. He noticed me staring at him and he got to his feet, outstretching his hand across the table. "Terry Mercer." He said, a small smile forming on his face. I stared persistently as he retracted his hand, noticing my restraints. He sat down and folded his hands; I adverted my gaze back to the mirror. "Atlas." He looked up at me.

"Atlas, huh? Interesting name."

"There's really nothing that interesting about it, just a name handed down through the years."

"Do you remember who the first person was in your family to own that name?"

"I believe it was my uncle Mark Atlas."

"Do you know his occupation?"

"Of course. He's all my father ever discussed. There are countless papers, articles, and news clippings about Mark in his attic. He was a serial killer, homicidal maniac, mass murderer, the media had many names for him. It's sad to say but, my family says he's the one I'm most like. Most resemble in features and personality. But I don't think I could really kill anyone even if I wanted to."

"Interesting." He said listening closely and jotting down notes between pauses. "I can agree, you don't look like the type of person who could kill." He said eyeing me closely. "Tell me Atlas, what happened to your uncle and please, tell me a little about yourself."

"No one knows what happened to Mark. He bought a house up in Ohio, once he moved we never saw him again. He never visited nor bothered to send a letter. Mother and Father never wanted much to do with him anyways. My father had died few months ago, and that's when I started having depression and bipolar issues. My mother kicked me out, saying she wanted nothing to do with me anymore. She refused to call me or even talk to me again. I ended up visiting her anyway, just to check up on her and see if she was alright. I had gotten a phone call the night before saying she had developed a tumor and that i should see her as soon as possible. They were going to take her to the hospital that night but, she...she was murdered." I took a deep breath and switched topics as I felt myself tear up. "7 years of piloting school went down the drain and I wasn't able to keep a job for a few months after that. I lived at a friends house for a while after my girlfriend left me, so I had nothing to stay around for anyway. I looked through the newspapers and found my uncle's old house was about to be torn down. I ended up buying it before that all happened. I've been in it a few times before, but it's different now..." I stared down at the table as I felt like I had told my life's story.

"Different? How do you mean?" Mercer asked. I didn't want to tell him. It was probably the whole reason I was in here.

"Well...when I walked into that house all by myself, I felt very uncomfortable. But, I shook it off and proceeded to live there for a couple weeks. The proceeding days I started getting bad headaches and awful nightmares of my mother and Mark. Dreams bathed in blood. I ignored then, until one night i was walking through the halls, still getting used to the large house. I heard the faucet running in the bathroom and went in to turn it off, which was odd because I didn't remember turning it on in the first place. I walked in the bathroom and turned it off when i noticed hair lying in the sink. I threw it in the trashcan and looked up at the mirror. I jumped back at the sight of my reflection knowing it wasn't me. It was the image of a man with yellowing skin and a crooked, bleeding smile. His neck was bent to the side as if someone had snapped his neck with inhuman strength. I ran out as I heard the phone ringing. I picked up the phone and heard a strange series of beeps and earsplitting noises. It sounded a little like nails against a chalkboard. I dropped the phone and turned around, bedroom bound, but I was going no where. There he was standing right before me, The Crooked Man, i called him. He came after me as I ran back to my room slamming the door. That's when the neighbors called the cops upon hearing my screaming, and here I am." I said still looking down.

"Wow." Mercer said in awe. His eyes went wide as I told him. "That's...quite an interesting...story, Mr. Atlas."

"You don't believe me." I said.

"No, no that's not what I said. I ju-" I cut him off.

" No one believes me and i'm not even going to consider it being a fantasy. Maybe Mother was right! I told her about it over the phone before she passed...she laughed at me. I asked her to help me but...she only laughed. 'I just knew you where crazy! Just like Mark was, I knew you were the spitting image of him! So weak you are.' She would tell me. 'I don't want anything to do with crazies! Just go die like he did!'" I ran out of the room, Mercer on my tail. He caught up to me and grabbed me, the men from the computer room proceeded to grab at me and force me back into the solemn room. I shouted and struggled as I was shoved into the room. I fell to the floor and my line of sight went to the mirror. It was broken, shattered, but the remaining bits attached together read words written in a thick red liquid, as I noticed one of the computer men's dead, dismembered bodie lying there, slumped over the desk; blood cascading to the floor. The mirror read:"I'm waiting for you, Atlas."