They used to call me knuckles. Well, my mom did at least. Her reasoning? A rather good one.
When I was twelve and full of unpredictable hormones and the rage only a child of a yelling marriage could have, I punched walls. Brick walls. Specifically the ones behind my school, just out of ear shot and eye sight of teachers and my fellow peers.
I didn't year gloves and I didn't tell anyone. It was just me, my raw fists, and a streak of anxiety I got from my mother's side.
It wasn't until I came home with raw knuckles shortly after turning thirteen that my mom took me to a doctor who quickly determine that I had broken my fourth knuckle. When he asked if it hurt, I just shrugged.
With a quick flip through my medical file and a quick glance at me he ruled out that I had anxiety. The kind that you get from your great grandmother's mom. The kind you can't just cut out of your veins.
I went home that night with a bandaged hand and a sheet of coping skills, one of which was snapping a wrist band against my wrist. I found this idiotic but four years later and there's a red line from where it hugs my skin.
The skin has healed, of course, but I still remembered the crimson and raw knuckles like the slaughter house meat right outside of town. If I rub my thumb over my fourth knuckle I can still feel the bump and still see my father's disappointed face.
The point is, I know what raw flesh feels like. And I know that what I just touch was, in fact, raw flesh. But of what, I didn't know. It's a wall. If my memory serves me right walls don't have flesh.
I was so lost in thought I didn't notice that the flesh-wall seemed to move. Pulsing, almost. I leaned closer, keeping my distance as it continued its movements.
"Hey!"
I spun around so fast I thought my ankle would snap in half.
At the end of the hallway stood a figure. To far for me to make out a face or anything, but a figure nonetheless.
Now, I've seen enough b-list horror movies to know that this is in no way good. But when you're desperate for another person, you're desperate.
I kept my mouth shut and the voice came again:
"Hey!" The figure was closer to me now. I could see it was a male and he was wearing a flannel. He was moving quickly.
"I-"
This had to be a dream. Please God let this be a dream.
"Hey!" He was twenty feet away now. I squinted to make out his facial features. I never had good eyesight, even with my glasses, but I did see one thing.
His ears. More specifically, the blood dripping from them.
The one thing I love about species across the globe is our immediate response: Fight, Flight, Freeze.
I've always been a fighter, but shit do I know how to pick my battles. And this was not one to pick.
I turned once more pass the wall and began speed walking. Running would DEFINITELY alert it that I knew, and I couldn't have that just yet.
I turned corner after Manila corner -Good Gravy why are these lights so damn loud? - until I believed I had lost it. That or lost mind. I considered stopping to cath my breath, but my relief was cut short by:
"HEY!" A deep guttural sound erupted fifteen feet behind me. I turned just as a twelve fut naked humanoid with beady turkey eyes began striding towards me.
Now was the time to run.