Accident

When Jack Munik has a car accident, he thinks it is just that; an accident. But when he is put into the hospital, he begins to unravel a dangerous mystery about the creature coming to our world.

I

When it happened, Jack Munik was unready. He was sitting in the midst of the busy, evening traffic of the I-94 highway, when the car slammed him from the side. Jack was thrown to the left, ripping right out of his seat belt, and the car turned and turned. His head jarred to the right, slamming through the window. Other cars layed on their horns. And another car was hit. Jacks car twisted to the right in another dizzying spin and slammed into a yellow taxi car. And then the car stopped, as did the chaos. The highway was filled with people running frantically away, trying to get out of all of this wreckage, mayhem and mangled metal that littered the road. Consciousness was fading for Jack as he began to feel fuzzy, the world spinning and blackening before him. He remembered something that had just happened to him; the party and the girl he was getting it on with before he went to goddamn far and she slapped him in the face and threatened to chop off his dick if he never did anything like this again to her, or any other woman for that matter. He heard the faint sounds of sirens, as well as the screeching of tires, and then he was falling to sleep falling

(losing consciousness)

asleep. He heard screeching of metal and he really was unconscious.

II

After the accident;

Jack awoke. He was in a white room. It was bright and shiny, and once he opened his eyes he had to squint and cover them. He looked down and saw he lying on a bed, strapped to an IV that sat in the corner of the room. He still felt fuzzy. And his head hurt. Boy did his head hurt. And it throbbed, painfully. He slowly sat up and perched himself atop his elbow, and looked down at his pillow, and saw the blood that was staining it. 

He heard a commotion coming from the other room. Jack lie there in the bed as men in white coats entered the room. They were talking and laughing and they had brought in bottles of stuff, drugs. Presumably to keep Jack drugged up. They force fed him the pills and then he just faded away again back to sleep

(unconsciousness)

....whatever was happening, he didn't know...he is standing on a cliff, over the Atlantic Ocean and looking down at something spinning...green...it looked like

(a portal...what?)

a whirlpool. He is about ready to jump, jump JUMP! When some strange, wolf-like creature was standing above him. With wings. And sharp bloodstained fangs. It smiles at him and balls its claws into fists and then jumps

(flies?)

trying to catch him, knock him off and then...

(the image fades and is replaced with another)

He sees the white house standing tall, surrounded by pillars of flame and he sees the portal or

(whirlpool?)

opening and then creatures from the depths of hell were coming from it and there was clatters of machine gun fire and he screamed as the creatures dragged him, tearing off his legs in a shower of blood that fed the creature more. He screamed and screamed and screamed until...

III

After the dream;

he awoke. Sweat soaked through his clothes. Doctors rushed in to check on him, see what the hell was happening to him. His heart was racing. Fear was pumping through his system. What had just happened to him? What the hell was this dream all about? One of the doctors knocked him out again and he faded and then slept again.

IV

Fully awake;

Jack was lying in the bed, slowly trying to sit up and eat something, but the pain was too much. He had been given many pain pills, and most of them seemed not to be working, and he was getting a bit loopy off of them. The past two times he tried to sit up, he had vomited all over the hospital gown that he wore, causing a doctor to come back in and change him. He had been sleeping for the past

(hours, days, even weeks?)

few weeks is what it had seemed to him. But in truth, he had no idea how long it had been since he had the car crash, since the other car came to him and flattened his own car, nearly killing him in the process. He looked at the pillow. It was white. It had been washed fresh. Clean.

He snatched for a cup and slowly took a sip of water. Jack was a writer of horror stories, who liked to go to parties, and he was kind of a man who disrespected woman. He had been writing a book now, and he was nearing the five hundredth page, but unfortunately, the manuscript was at his house, locked away to a place only he could access. He lived alone and a a pathetic life. Even now, sitting here, trying to drink water, he was reminiscing on how pathetic his life actually was; sure he wrote, and he loved doing it, but he had a drinking problem, a drug problem, and a big time woman problem. He heard the small creak of the door open, and a man named John Sawyer entered the room, a clipboard in both hands. 

"State your name sir," said John.

"My name is Jack Munik," Jack said. "What do you want with me?"

"What do you mean? This is a hospital and you were just in a car crash. We are going to take care of you," replied John. "Now just lie back and relax, and just chill. The meds will where off here in a little bit." Jack lie back down on the pillow, and closed his eyes in hopes sleep would come to him. John walked toward his bed.

"No sleeping for right now," he said. "You need to make a call to your parents that you are alright." Jack looked at John, his eyes glazed over. "I'll bring the phone here for you." John walked out of the room and minutes later reappeared, wheeling a metallic cart that held a small, black telephone. Jack picked up the phone, and was about to dial the number when...

When what? What was the number? He had forgotten the number of his own mother and father. "I can't. I don't know what the number is," he said.

"It is proabably the stress of the car accident. I will bring back the phone." Jack put his hand on Johns arm, momentarily stopping him.

"This is a pretty weird hospital."

"How so?"

"It is so dark and gloomy, and you are a pretty weird person." There was a dirty look that spread across Johns face. He turned around silently and wheeled the phone out, shutting the door behind him. Jack was sitting in the dark when he heard a rustling right under his bed. He put his head over the edge of the bed and saw a small, furry and black figure walking out from under the bed. A cat. Now he was a bit superstitious, so he was scared of black cats, thinking they were evil. He had even written a book about black cats; a cat was in a dark, rotting away house terrorizing a family eventually killing them. He was starting to quiver, shake, and shiver. There was a small meow, immediately followed by a dull purr. He looked down at it and saw its yellow eyes glaring at him. Jack couldn't scream, his fear was too much. 

He was going to try and get out of bed, and make a dash out of the hospital, but he knew that he needed to be in here, needed to get help, and needed to stay in here until he was strong enough to carry on. Jack wished he had something that he could use to defend himself; even if this cat was small, he still was concerned at what the cat might do, whether it may attack him, or just leave him alone. Or what? His heart was racing and his skin was starting to produce sweat. And then the cat did the unthinkable; it put its butt into the air, getting ready to pounce. The cat lunged, clawing onto the bed where Jack was lying, ready to get the hell out of this place. The cat roared and shrieked, scratching at Jacks right arm, blood running its course down his arm. He screamed and screamed.

The cat hissed, showing bloodstained fangs, and it bit down on Jack. Now that he saw the creature closer, he saw that it had no eyes, just dark, empty sockets, a blood matting its fur. Someone must've heard the screaming because the door was thrown open and a man rushed in, dressed in the same white coat that everybody else working in this place was wearing. Jack had a look of Thank God on his face. The cat whirled around and lunged at the man, but he pulled out a dart and stabbed it into the cats back, sending it shrieking and falling, and then bringing it to fall asleep. The man drew closer and stopped right at the foot of the bed that Jack was lying on, sweating.

"I am sorry about that. The cat, his name is Oscar, gets quite shaky when there is somebody new in this hospital," the man said. "He has attacked very other patient we have had here, so it was no big surprise. He hated strangers." 

"Alright. But you should know that I am scared of cats anyway," replied Jack.

"Oh why is that Jack?"

"Because. They are creepy, and I am superstitious. I think that black cats are evil, like the one in this place."

"But you mustn't think that's true. He is usually a good cat, but he attacks strangers," said the man, his voice turning cold. "Mark Windham by the way," he added, stretching out his hand. Jack didn't shake it.

"I know but I am weird like that. That is why I write all these horror stories and novels."

"You write that kinda stuff? I love it," replied the man.

"That's good I guess. Now can you please go so I can get some much needed rest?" Jack asked. Mark looked at him and nodded.

"Why yes. Of course." He exited the room. And then after a few minutes of being shell shocked he fell to sleep.

V.

It was in the morning. He had woken up. Jack sat up in bed, the covers draped over his legs. And he had a sudden feeling. He felt better. Much better than he had the night before, and all the nights and days since the car accident. He was sitting in his bed when something happened. The door blew open by itself. Jack guessed it was the wind, but who could be sure. The door slammed into the wall, sending plaster showering across the floor. What the hell was this?

[it is something evil that will be here to kill you...a ghost of some kind that will carry you off] said his subconscious.

He slowly moved and tried to get up, but an intense pain shot through his legs. He looked through the dark dark doorway and saw a pair of eyes, and suddenly a man in a white coat entered. John. He had a syringe.

"Now in this place, nobody leaves," he said in a cold voice. He drew the syringe and walked toward Jack who was wondering what in the hell was going on. He was on the bed. The man drew closer, brandishing the long needle in his hands. He had white gloves upon his hands, a surgery mask hung across his neck. John lunged at Jack. Jack dove and fell to the floor screaming. He felt his head; felt the dark blood running down his face. John lunged at him while he was on the floor, trying to plunge the syringe deep into his skin. Jack struggled, using all his force to push the syringe away. He kicked out with his working foot and slammed the heal of it into the mans stomach, sending him hurling. Jack grabbed the syringe and was about to plunge it into the doctor when...

A group of men

(doctors)

were at the doorway. John grinned. Jack screamed as the doctors pounced on him, beating him and stabbing until he was eventually

(dead)

  and then he woke up screaming

VI

This time he was in a scene of hell. He was strapped to a bed in a green room, a doctor hovering over him, a menacing smile spreading upon the doctors face. Jack saw the face of the man. It was John. He looked around. There was a boiler to the right of the bed and a smokestack that jutted from the floor out of the ceiling. Jack was in the boiler room. He tried to sit up, but John pushed him down back onto the bed. 

"Now you have gone to far," said John in a cold voice. "We must show you our creation and what we are planning."

"I don't care," Jack said, spitting.

"Oh, but I think you do. Ya see? We have been building a portal to another world for sometime now. It has been shrouded in secret. But since we found you, you have seemed strong and you are. You catch on quick. We must kill you so you don't stop our plot to destroy the world," laughed John. 

"You can't do this," said Jack. He was sitting up in a chair. His head was limping forward, blood running down his mouth.

"Oh, I am pretty sure we can do whatever the hell we want," said John. He grabbed a blade from a table in the corner. He walked toward Jack and placed the blade to his throat. "And we will. The world will end and we will control it. And if we di let you go, and you tell anyone, then I will slit your throat."

"Go ahead. I don't care anymore," Jack snipped. "You won't let me go you fools. I know you won't. You will keep me here and feed me to your damned beasts or whatever the hell they are that are waiting for the end of the world."