Johnny Depp Imagines

Mort #2

He must have hit his head harder than I thought I thought.

"You're Mort Rainey,"

Mort laughed and got up, shaking his head. It wasn't happy laughter though, it was almost mocking, evil laughter even.

"No," he said in a thick Mississipi accent. "I'm John Shooter. Mort's dead. That pathetic little coward just couldn't handle the truth."

I gasped in shock and terror.

I'd heard how John Shooter was kind of like Mort's alter ego.

"What truth?" I questioned suspiciously, stepping back nervously as he threw my coat to the ground and stepped towards me, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"That he could never amount to anything and that you're a terrible person, you slut and a piece of scum that should die."

Is that what he really thought of me?

I'd been called terrible things, but this was certainly the worst.

"Okay," I said. "And what are going to do to me? Kill me?"

I know it's cliché, but I had to know.

"No, I'm not going to kill you," he replied, reaching out and touching my face with his fingertips.
"I'm just going to hurt you, really, really bad," he grinned, producing a pen knife from his pocket.

Screaming, I kicked him where it hurts and started running as fast as the gingerbread man, leaving my coat and bag behind. Looking over my shoulder, and saw Mort chasing after me, I slight limp in his run.
I felt bad about it, but I still couldn't help smirking. Picking up speed, I darted far into the dark forest, the wind getting more violent. I was hoping that I could get to my car in time and drive far away and to the police station where they could arrest him and stuff.

Unfortunately I didn't get that far. I tripped over a large rock that had been buried underneath brown autumn leaves and lots of twigs. I clutched my head in pain. I had cut my forehead and it was now bleeding. Looking over my shoulder again, I could see Mort getting closer.

Twenty feet away...
Fifteen feet away...
Ten feet away...
Eight...
Five...
Three...

Getting onto my knees, I tried to stand up again. But I fell back down again. I had ripped my jeans, so I could now feel my grazed knees on the cold ground. Helpless, I attempted to crawl away, but I suddenly felt a cold hand clamp itself firmly around my ankle. Biting my lip in pain, I turned over. I felt my stomach twist itself firmly into a knot when I saw Mort towering over me, an evil smirk etched across his face. Jamming his hat further onto his short brown/blonde hair, he turned the knife over in his hands, holding it up so I could see it glinting in the lasting sunlight, before it hid behind some thundery grey clouds.

"Any last words?" He asked, moving closer, his footsteps going crunch crunch crunch.

I shook my head.

"Mort, please, snap out of it." I begged him, blinded by my tears, which streamed down my pale face. I grabbed his trouser leg and looked desperately into his face. "This isn't you."

I saw Mort in John Shooter for a moment, but he disappeared almost instantly.

"It's John Shooter, not Mort." He growled, putting one foot on my chest and pressing down.

I sharply gasped for breath as I felt my chest compress, almost collapsing.
I turned my head away, trying to find another way for air.

"Look at me." He hissed.

I didn't move.

"Look at me!" He shouted, grabbing my face and forcing me to look up at him.

Scared, I started sobbing loudly, choking slightly between sobs.

"Oh, poor ickle crybaby." Mort mocked me.

I breathed heavily as I tried my best to stop crying, wiping my tears away with my sleeve.
When I'd stopped I looked up at Mort with big, sad round eyes, begging him to go back to being him.

I knew it was useless, but I couldn't help it. I hated this John Shooter/Mort. I just wanted my best friend Mort Rainey back. You know?

I opened my mouth to say one last thing  but I didn't get to start, because I suddenly felt cold and cruelly sharp metal move swiftly across my throat.

I panicked for several seconds, but my head then fell back and I lay there thoughtless and bleeding.

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"AAAARRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!" I screamed, sitting up quickly in bed. I looked around and saw that I was still laying in bed, where I had gotten in hours earlier. I leant back against the headboard and put my hand to my forehead, happy that it was just a bad dream.

I was surprised and shocked to see that it was half four in the morning.

"Ew!" I exclaimed when I found myself drenched in sweat.

Something's not right I thought.

Getting slowly out of bed, I was disgusted and embarrassed to see that I'd wet the bed. I hadn't done that since I was five.

I changed my bed quietly, hoping that I didn't wake my boyfriend Mort, who was sleeping soundly in the other room.

When the bed was changed, I put my pyjamas into the laundry bin and got into the shower.

"Mort," I whispered, going into the other bedroom where he slept, when I'd put on clean pyjamas. "Can I climb in next to you?"

"Sure." He mumbled.

Thankful, I climbed in next to Mort, curled up and went to sleep.

For the rest of the night I didn't have any more nightmares.

***Hope you enjoyed😘****