The dream last night had seemed so real… But it was just a dream, right? Those shadows, the messages on the mirror, the walls, all the groaning and the shuffling of feet… That was all just a dream, right?
This is all just a dream, right?
Fairly ridiculous question to be asking yourself as you’re being chased through the halls by this… this, this thing. Whatever this is. Its neck is limp, head resting on its shoulder. Its grin is huge, its face coated in blood.
Have you ever heard the children’s rhyme about the Crooked Man?
There was a crooked man,
Who walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence
Upon a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat,
Which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together,
In a little crooked house.
This… thing, you’re being chased by, that you’re fighting off with a fruit knife, that you’re setting on fire and pushing into holes and still won’t die…
This is the Crooked Man.
I wonder if this is all the Crooked Man knew?
His crooked house, his crooked relationships, his crooked… crooked body…
His body’s only crooked because of the rope, though.
Maybe he couldn’t handle being crooked anymore? All he knew was a crooked life, all he owned were crooked things.
I wonder why he’s chasing you.
It could be to drag you down, to slaughter you, to make you feel his pain… More than you already have… To make you end up like him.
Your pasts are so similar…
Or maybe it’s to warn you. To say, “Don’t end up like me.” To make sure that you don’t die the way he died. The way he staggers, his limp neck, head hanging loosely, his unrealistically large grin…
Why did he make you put that gun to your head, then? Why is he trying to drag you down?
That’s a problem for you to figure out on your own. But you’d better hurry.
By the way, I noticed earlier… Your neck is a little crooked.
(This one was based off the video game, The Crooked Man. Yaay, video games.)