#ambulance hit every goddamn pothole

[mekkthemighty]

Still reviving my old flash animations, still not sorry, still have to work in thd morning and still overcaffeinated fight me!!.. please.. getting knocked out means I go to sleep..

This one actually only took like 30 mins at the time

I go out to Amtgard (local larp community) to swordfight, and 2 blade is probably my preferred style, other than spear, spear is just best weapon, point is I understood the motions going in

[dabbledrabbleprose]

First Bite

Alright, I’m posting something that isn’t Overwatch again (twice in a row!) so my apologies. I promise I’m still working on the Whumptober prompts and “Of Freelancers and Outlaws,” it’s just been slow going between work and putting together my first tabletop campaign in years. I haven’t DMed in years, and I’m super nervous!

Naturally, when I finally got a day off to write, instead of working on anything I was supposed to work on, I became possessed by an idea for a new OC and cranked out 2700 words in one day. It felt like a shame not to share it, so I’m posting it here. Unbeta’d, obviously, it’s mostly word vomit about my new boy.

Meet Angelo Salvador, a college professor who teaches mostly calculus and physics. He’s of Brazilian descent, very logical, addicted to social media, and lives a very healthy lifestyle. He’s a mathematician at heart, and absolutely, positively does not believe in magic or the supernatural. He’s also definitely a werewolf. 

2700 word drabble under the cut! Warnings for violence, blood/gore, and...uh...eating people.

After two weeks of warfare, Angelo’s nemesis had finally gotten the better of him. His opponent was clever, wise enough to avoid the multiple traps Angelo laid for him, despite using the most recommended baits. Regardless of what the internet said, apparently his uninvited guest had no interest in peanut butter, cheese, or fruit. Hell, he’d even lined a trap with chocolate, but still he failed to catch the mouse that was terrorizing his pantry.

Instead, Angelo stood staring at the ruined cord of his phone charger, chewed cleanly in half. He took a picture with his dying phone, and used the last of his battery to upload it to at least three social media websites.

“Mouse is smarter than me, winning our war. Looking for live trap advice, peanut butter isn’t working! #FML #MouseHunt #CalcProf #SeattleWildlife  #LiveTraps #DeadPhone”

Angelo tossed his phone onto the bedside table and got dressed. Getting a new cord couldn’t wait until morning. He had classes to teach and needed his phone functional for the next day. Breaking his routine was unusual for him, but it was midterms and he’d been up late grading tests and answering emails from a long list of students pleading for extra credit or for him to “make an exception, just for me,” and he hadn’t noticed his broken phone charger until just before midnight. Anything on campus would be closed by now, but there was a 24 hour store within biking distance of his little house, so he threw on his reflective jacket, pulled his bike out of the garage, and took to the streets.

Angelo didn’t typically like to ride his bike at night; most car drivers didn’t pay attention enough to see him, even with his headlight and reflective gear. Even so, the trip to the store was unremarkable, new phone charger easily obtained, and Angelo was soon on his way back.

Flashing lights blocked his path ahead on the return trip, and an ambulance blew past him. Angelo slowed and pulled to a stop. There were at least three police cars, the ambulance, and a fire engine, from what he could tell in the dark. Maybe more. He would likely be fine to ride past them, but it would probably be easier to cut through the park and bypass the accident altogether. It would add a few more minutes to his travel time, but it was a nice night, the temperature comfortable, and the moon was bright enough to see by.

Angelo turned right and cut through the park. The park had a few wide fields, a playground, and some old paved jogging trails that wove through a patch of tall trees. He turned onto the paved path to follow the jogging trail to the other side of the park, where he could get back on a street and head home. He slowed down to pick his way through the worn path, the trees blotting out a good amount of the moonlight above.

A howl sliced through the night, cold and clear, and sharp enough that Angelo actually pulled to a stop and froze, listening. In the distance, he could still hear the sirens and the occasional drone of a passing car. The leaves rustled as a breeze passed overhead. His heart pounded in his ears and his fingers tightened on the rubber handle grips before logic caught up with him.

What was he doing? Freezing like a deer in the woods, trying to determine which direction a predator was coming from? He was in the middle of Seattle, for hell’s sake, surrounded by city, houses, and college campus close by. He relaxed and shook himself. Idiot. Getting worked up just because someone’s dog is–

Another howl split the night, closer, and logic went out the window as some instinct in Angelo’s hind-brain reared back and screamed run.

Angelo kicked his bike back into gear and went tearing down the path. Was that the sound of twigs breaking behind him? Were those leaves rustling from a breeze or crunching underfoot? What did–

His bike hit a pothole in the poorly maintained road and sent him flying over the handlebars. Angelo hit the pavement hard and rolled to a stop. Stars flashed before his eyes, brighter than either the moon or the ambulance lights, and his thoughts rotated sluggishly around in his head. He rolled onto his back, but couldn’t seem to accomplish more than that. He stared at the dark tree branches sprawled above him, blinking the stars from his eyes.

As soon as he felt he was able, he slowly sat up and groaned.

“Dammit…”

His head throbbed and he could feel his nose bleeding. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and grimaced at the gritty feeling of dirt and blood sliding across his skin. Disgusting. He got to his feet and inspected the bike. The pothole had completely bent the front rim out of shape and deflated the tire. Great. Looks like he was walking home, all because he’d let his imagination get the better of him.

Angelo sighed and righted the bicycle. He ran numbers through his head as he started the long walk home, trying to plan out how much a new wheel was going to cost him, assuming it was only the front wheel that was damaged, when he’d find the time to make repairs, when he needed to wake up to catch the bus tomorrow, how long it would take him to walk home���not to mention he still needed to trap this damn mouse.

A rustling in the undergrowth was his only warning before a massive black shape barreled toward him. It knocked him on his back and Angelo caught a flash of sharp, white teeth lunging for his throat. He threw an arm up to protect himself and huge jaws snapped closed around his arm. Angelo screamed.

Yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight over a canine snout, boring into him as deeply as the teeth in his arm, and Angelo froze, pinned by fear as much as by the beast. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and for a split second he wondered if even his heart had stopped. A growl rose in the beast’s throat, then it shook its head.

Pain washed over him as teeth tore through the flesh of his arm and his shoulder dislocated with a pop. Another scream ripped from his throat and panic overtook paralysis. He thrashed beneath the beast, kicking and punching wildly, though every jerk of his trapped arm brought another scream. A lucky kick managed to hit the beast right in the gut, but the jaws only closed tighter around him. Teeth ground against bone and agony coursed through him so hard that his vision went dark.

As abruptly as the attack started, it was over. The creature let him go and Angelo’s arm dropped onto his own face with a wet smack. The creature crashed through the undergrowth and vanished.

Angelo didn’t know how long he lay sprawled on the ground, staring at the moonlight flickering through the trees. He finally worked up the energy to roll to one side and let out a wail as agony rolled through him. He curled up with a whimper and entertained the temptation of lying there until someone found him. Dimly, he realized that might not be the best idea, and hoped he wasn’t bleeding out. With a monumental effort, Angelo rose to his feet, letting his arm hang limply beside him. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to move it if he tried, and it hurt too much for him to want to find out.

Okay. He was okay. He was alive, he could walk, and that…that dog or whatever that thing was, it was gone. He just need to call for help and–

His phone was dead on his bedside table. Angelo couldn’t help himself and broke into tears.

He didn’t linger long, however. His arm was in agony and he genuinely couldn’t tell how badly he was bleeding. He had the presence of mind to scoop up the goddamn phone cord from where it had fallen, but left his bike behind. Hopefully it would still be there when he got back from the E.R.

A howl carried over the wind.

Angelo shivered and turned back the way he came, heading for where the traffic accident had been, and hoped the police would still be there.

 ******

 The damage to Angelo’s arm had been extensive, a dislocated shoulder, severe lacerations, and significant muscle and bone damage. The doctor talked a lot about physical therapy, surgery, and warned about the possibility of permanent damage and loss of mobility. He’d gotten post-exposure rabies vaccinations, and animal control never found the dog that attacked him.

And yet…

Life had gone on. He needed to purchase a new bike in the end, as his damaged one was stolen overnight. His arm had completely healed within a month, to the astonishment of his doctors. With no other explanation, they chalked it up to his incredibly healthy lifestyle          .

He went back to his normal routine: go to the gym, teach class, office hours, his usual rotation of recreational activities, sleep. He gained some followers on social media due to his recounting of the dog attack and his recovery. Even the mouse that had been plaguing his home seemed to have up and left of its own accord.

A few things changed. He seemed to have an occasional excess of energy, and began putting in more time at the gym. Though he tended to eat meat sparingly, he began craving red meat more often. His nutritionist suggested his body may have been after the extra protein after his injury, so he started taking iron supplements and added protein shakes into his diet.

The craving for steak continued, but at least he felt better about it.

He began shaving more. His five o’clock shadow became persistent, and he seriously considered growing a beard just so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Nearly a month from the attack, he went to bed like usual. He awoke on the other side of his house, naked, with no memory of how he’d gotten there and feeling absolutely exhausted, as if he hadn’t gone to sleep at all. The clothes he’d gone to bed in were shredded, but nothing else appeared out of the ordinary. He made a doctor’s appointment to discuss sleepwalking, asked his social media followers about their experiences with sleepwalking, and thought nothing more of it. Exhausted all day, he fell asleep early that night.

He awoke outside. He was once again naked, and two blocks from his home. He hastily made his way back home without incident, and was grateful that there were so few people out and about at six in the morning.

Once in the safety of his home, he was alarmed to find that his front window had been completely shattered and the entirety of his house had been turned upside down, as if it had been ransacked, possibly by some lunatic with a knife, if the slashes in his furniture were anything to go by. He dressed after finding his previous night’s clothes shredded once again, and was grateful it was Saturday, so he didn’t need to call in sick to his own classes. Despite his persisting exhaustion, he set about calling the police to report a burglary, and called his doctor again to try and find an earlier appointment slot. The office was, of course, closed on weekends.

The police investigated his house and left with their report and Angelo spent the rest of the day cleaning house, though he wanted to do nothing more than take a nap. It was perhaps fortunate that he spent the rest of the day alone, as he was irritable and sour as he cleaned, and only grew angrier when he found that literally nothing was missing. Someone had ransacked his house and didn’t even have the decency to steal something.

Around eleven, he finally considered calling it a night and going to bed. He put out the bags of trash that used to be his possessions before they’d been shredded beyond repair and headed for bed. Halfway down the hall, his skin began to itch. He had to physically stop in the hall to scratch as the itching became unbearable. It was everywhere, down his arms, his back, his legs, his face. He tore his shirt off and scratched and scratched and scratched. He dropped to his knees.

What in the hell? Had the burglar left something behind? Some kind of irritant or chemical or something equally insane?

The maddening itching got worse, to the point where it began to burn. His fingernails dug at his skin, until it became apparent that he wasn’t scratching skin anymore, but hair. The hair on his arms and hair was becoming thick and coarse, literally growing right before his eyes. More hair sprouted from his skin, covering him like a layer of fur.

Angelo stared at his hands in disbelief, then let out a roar of pain and buckled over as something inside him stretched. It was like his bones were moving on their own, shifting and grinding inside him, and he could feel every inch. His breath came in short, harsh gasps and his teeth and jaw ached. His face twisted impossibly as the bones of his face realigned themselves, pushing forward until he could see his own mouth stretching in front of him. Another wave of fur rolled over him, covering his face. His tongue lolled forward, rolling and hanging out of his mouth as he panted.

The bones of his fingers adjusted with sharp, painful pops, growing shorter and thicker, and his nails turned black and grew into a set of sharp claws. A shiver ran down his spine and he let out an animalistic howl of pain as new vertebrae cracked into existence, sprouting a tail through his jogging pants. He felt himself growing heavier, thicker, his muscles enlarging around his rapidly growing and shifting skeleton.

Between one heaving breath and the next, something changed inside him. He could smell everything. The scents of the police officers, the cherry tree outside, the stray tomcat that had passed by the broken window last night. The scent of himself everywhere.

The noticeable lack of a burglar’s scent.

Oh god. It was all him. Angelo had done this himself.

His hearing sharpened. He could hear the couple across the street having an argument, bickering over whose fault it was that the car needed repairs.

Excellent. Distracted prey is easier to hunt.

The thought rose to his mind unbidden, followed by the mental image of stalking toward their home, breaking through their front door, tearing their throats out and gorging upon their meat.

Angelo let out a scream that sounded very much like a howl.

No! No, he didn’t want to hurt anyone! He hadn’t even wanted to kill a mouse! He didn’t want to…to…

Stalk. Hunt. Kill. Eat.

The desire was overwhelming, endorphins flooding his brain with even the promise of a good hunt. Angelo rose to all fours. He’d already broken the front window last night, he didn’t need to suffer through the confusion of finding his way out a second time. He kicked off the shredded remains of his pants and shook himself off. He had the scent. It was time to hunt.

Angelo threw his head back and howled.

 ******

 Angelo didn’t awaken until the sun was up, shining on his face and piercing his eyes. He ached all over and was still exhausted, but felt warm and pleasantly full. He was on something hard and smooth, tile or linoleum, though it was slick with sticky liquid. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to move, afraid of what he would find if he opened his eyes.

This time, he remembered.

The copper scent of blood was everywhere and he curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his head. His hands and arms were wet and sticky, and he could taste blood on his teeth.

He wept. He didn’t want to see the proof, didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to see what he’d done.

But he remembered.

[laseroy89]

Recalled

Franklin Road has been closed for as long as I could remember. The fence spanning it has rusted over years of rain and shine, and the “STOP” and “ROAD CLOSED” signs hung onto the small little grilles by a flimsy chain. Three huge concrete blocks stood in front of the fence, their warning black and yellow lines flaking off. Oddly for an abandoned road, there were no visible potholes expected from a long period of no maintenance. There was however a layer of dead leaves and twigs, as nature slowly encroached on the tarmac, in the form of overgrown trees and numerous weeds at the roadside.

I passed by Franklin Road everyday on my way to and from school, and sometimes when I wasn’t too rushed, I would just pause at the fence, and peer into the unknown. Even though the signs had faded and dulled over time, they still reflected much of the sun’s rays and would have obliterated my retinae if not for my hands constantly shielding my eyes. The trees were sorely in need of trimming; they extended their thick branches over the road, blocking much of the sunlight like a colossal green umbrella. The minuscule gaps in the canopy let in a little light that shone on the mounds of dead leaves, giving the effect of a large speckled carpet laid across the lane. It would have looked welcoming if not for the gloomy atmosphere clinging to that place, probably due to the complete absence of birds, or any animal for that matter. It was just dead silent, a stark contrast to the bustling road just beyond the fence.

I tried to think of it as a normal closed road, or as normal as a closed road could get. However, there was something odd about it that I can’t put my finger on. It wasn’t the overbearing silence, nor the general creepiness of the place; it was something else that I felt like I should know, but I had completely no idea what it was. That nagging feeling lurked at the back of my mind, like there was a finger slightly depressing the alarm button in my head, not enough to set off my alarm bells, but deep enough to cause an insatiable itch.

Why was it that no one had ever talked about it explicitly to me? Whenever I mentioned Franklin Road, everyone would either fall silent, or change the subject suddenly, stopping me from pressing on the topic further. Even my parents. It was confusing, and it made me uncomfortable, as if I’ve violated some unspoken rule. Which is by the way absolutely absurd. I’ve lived in this neighbourhood my entire life, I know almost everyone in this place, and no one has ever taught me about any rule.

The very first person I coaxed into talking about Franklin Road was my new friend Megan, who just moved in from….not really sure, some place west. She confirmed my suspicions that there was indeed some special rule.

“They told me not to talk to you about it.”

“Really? Who’s they?”

“Your friends, the teachers….everyone. Everyone told me not to talk about it - and they didn’t tell me why, just said so in a really serious tone. Which is kinda stupid - how can they expect me to follow what they say without telling me why?” She wringed her hands in mock exasperation.

Now this made matters more interesting. It’s like a conspiracy theory against me….for some meaningless forgotten road?

“You know….how ‘bout we go find out what the hell this is about after school?”

She nodded her agreement. Goddamn, what a way to ask a girl out.

We met at the fence of Franklin Road at around 9pm. Under the cover of night, the creepiness took on a new level of intensity. In the absence of light, the thin grilles of the fence were almost invisible, an unseen barrier between the secrets locked within and the world outside. The dull signs hung ominously, as if warning us that no good would come out of this venture. I switched on my torchlight, and it failed to pierce beyond five metres into the inky darkness beyond.

It was surprisingly easy to overcome the fence - just hop on the concrete block and clamber over the top, and we were in.

Once on the other side, looking back at the brightly-lit street was surreal, a perspective that I’ve imagined but never experienced. The view of the water from a fish stranded on land - vulnerable in a strange new environment, gazing back at the world we left behind.

We proceeded forward, my torchlight a little beacon bobbling in a sea of darkness, barely probing it. Our movement slowed down to a snail’s pace, with hands outstretched, feeling for any obstacles. It didn’t help that our footsteps crunching through the dead plant matter were magnified tenfold, due to the lack of any other sound. It was eerie, to hear absolutely nothing but our own movement, like the area had intentionally quietened down in order to survey us newcomers. Were there malicious monsters hiding behind the cloak of darkness, observing our every move, waiting for the right moment to strike? In an environment devoid of sound, sometimes imagination just gets restless, starts running wild and plants all sorts of crazy ideas in one’s head. We both focused on moving forward.

We concentrated so much on the thin sliver of light emitted from my pathetic torchlight, that it took quite a while before we realised that we had walked into a clearing. I shut off my light, and let my eyes adjust to the ambient moonlight. Over here, there were much less leaves on the ground, and the night sky could be seen without obstruction.

Megan nudged me and pointed to my left. I squinted my eyes, and could barely discern a gaping hole of blackness - a small road that linked to Franklin Road. “Cool, so this place was once a Y-junction.”

“Yeah, but look at that.”

I stared a little longer at the spot before I found what she referred to. It was an extremely faint patch of white which escaped my attention the first time round. Odd, considering that the roadside should be a predominantly wooded area.

My curiosity aroused, I strode over to the white patch. As I got closer, I could make out more and more white, mixed in with a little grey - it seemed to be some sort of car wreckage, half-hidden in the bushes. I immediately clicked on my torchlight to investigate this interesting finding, but couldn’t turn it on. Strange, I could’ve sworn I brought full batteries.

The white patch turned out not to be a car wreckage, but seemed to be some sort of huge white van. Only the metal frames and the bottom half of the body still remained. The top appeared to have burnt off, as deduced from charred ends on the bottom half. The wheels were in no great condition either - three of them had fallen out and all of them were punctured.

“It’s alright, kid. I’ll get you out.” Warm, burnt hands loosened the straps around my chest, but left those on my legs. A blackened face appeared in front of me. That person slowly pushed my gurney upright. My head rolled to the side and hit one of the many boxes they had onboard. I groaned in pain, my vision momentarily swimming. “Sorry, kid. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay.” The same tired, yet kindly voice spoke in my ear again, sounding much weaker than before.

I shook my head and rubbed my temples. I had no idea why that scene flashed through my head.

“There’s some wording at the side - but it’s too dark, can’t really read it.”

Throwing whatever just happened to the back of my mind, I walked slowly to where Megan was. Sure enough, there were some huge white letters printed against a dark red background, nearly obscured by large, deep gashes. This van has been through some shit. I stepped closer to read the words, and stepped on something round with a loud crack. A light - a flashing light, one that is normally attached to emergency vehicles like fire engines and - ambulances.

A flurry of noises soon cleared out into distinct sounds. A lady screaming somewhere. A lot of male voices shouting at each other. Not really clear enough to hear what they were saying though. Oh, and lots of metal clanging, making my head throb even more. Man, that was pain. And what’s that beeping on my chest? Something electrical. Oooooh, eeeeeelectrical. And -

Blinding white light. Oh my gosh, so fucking bright. This heaven or somethin’? Not even whatever God there was could be this bright. Can’t really blind your followers - unless they are already blind. Hahaha - ooooooooh I’m on a bed with wheels. I just realised. This is really cool - I can go anywhere I want now while lying down. Oh my head has a white cloth wrapped around it, that stinks of alcohol. Oh - and hey I’m going upslope!! And the light is gone - only to be replaced by another bright light. I think father calls it flourescent, or something like that. And hey I’m moving but my bed isn’t moving. Oh I know what’s going on, I’m in a moving van!!! Hahahahahaha this is some exciting shit - why the FUCK AM I IN AN AMBULANCE?

“Bryan? You there?” Megan’s words brought me back to reality. That seemed so real, so vivid, as if I was actually there. I felt everything - the lightheadedness, the confusion at what was going on, the dull throbbing of my head, the pungent stink of rubbing alcohol, the cacophony of fuzzy voices. It felt familiar, yet foreign.

“Yeah, I’m alright.” I answered without conviction, but she had moved on into the interior of the wreckage. I followed uncertainly, gripping the sides to support myself in case the visions came again. Inside the ambulance, there was a charred gurney, some first aid boxes, burnt cloth that looked like bandages, and a pair of defibrillators. And wedged in the ambulance left, almost completely hidden by the bushes, was another car carcass. Only the front half could be seen, and the bonnet was stuck halfway into what remained of the ambulance’s left wall.

There was a bandage over half of my head. I guess that’s why I was in this ambulance.

The ceiling shook. The flourescent lights shook. My gurney shook. My body shook. My IV line shook. Everything shook, along with the loud revving and the muffled sirens of the ambulance. Everything except for the hand holding mine. “You’re gonna be alright kid, just a minor head injury. We’ll reach the hospital soon, just need do a little patching up and you’re good to go.” The deep kindly voice said to my right ear. Another hand patted my stomach. I couldn’t feel any pain, but I felt like some bits of my face was missing. Or just numb. Oh man, I hope it was the latter -

I couldn’t hear it - I guess my ears were blown out. There was some kind of shrill ringing in my ears, other than that I couldn’t really hear much. But I could definitely feel the impact of something huge ramming into the side of the vehicle. My head flew to the side and hit the railing. I slipped in and out of consciousness. It was hard to observe my surroundings now. The light went out. Some orange glow at my feet - fire. Some boxes had fallen on me. My head was tilted in an uncomfortable angle. I had no control over my body.

“It’s alright, kid. I’ll get you out.” Warm, blackened hands loosened the straps around my chest, but left those on my legs. The paramedic pulled himself from underneath me. In the orange glow of the fire, I could see that he was injured, and was drenched in blood. I wanted to help him, but I couldn’t move a muscle. His blackened face gave me a charred smile. He slowly pushed my gurney upright, grunting with pain and exhaustion. My head rolled to the side and hit one of the many boxes they had onboard. I groaned in pain, my vision momentarily swimming. “Sorry, kid. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be okay.” The same tired, yet kindly voice spoke in my ear again, sounding much weaker than before.

He propped himself up next to me, and pushed open the ambulance door. Bright light flooded the cabin. “Get clear, brace yourself, yeah?” His voice rang with a tone of finality. I felt a tug and a push, and suddenly my gurney was set free. I rolled out from the ambulance, the bright sunlight momentarily blinding me. As I rolled away from the vehicle, I felt a wave of warmth cascade over me. Did the ambulance explode? There was something hot - hot flames licked my feet. Wait. Hot flames licked my feet. HOT FLAMES LICKED MY FEET!!!

I struggled with the flaming hand that grabbed my ankle. No, no, no, no, this was real life now - the entire ambulance was ablaze and I was lying right there in the centre. A fiery spectre had crawled out of where the collided car’s windscreen used to be. Its entire body was just a skeleton that was burning with an orange flame, and its skeletal hand was now grabbing my left leg. I yowled in pain as the flames from his hand scorched my skin. The flaming corpse cocked its head and looked at me, its charred eyeholes bored into me with fierce desperation.

“SET ME FREE.” It begged in a deep, raspy voice.

“Get off me!” I continued to struggle, the heat almost unbearable. My ankle was definitely a goner now, and the agony seared through me like a red-hot iron. No, I’m not gonna die like this.

“SET ME FREE!!! SET ME FREE!!! SET ME FREEEEEEE!!!” Its begging shed its pleading tone and started to fill with anger, rising in pitch and intensity until it became a scream. “SET ME FREEEEEE!!!”

“Megan!!” I shouted for help, only to realise she was nowhere to be seen. Had she already been devoured by this demon? No, this is getting worse by the minute. The flames ate their way up my calf, my skin starting to peel off and my flesh starting to char. Oh shit -

“It’s alright, kid. I’ll get you out.” Where have I heard that one before? A white human apparition appeared to my right. It bent over and gently pried the burning hands off my calf. I gingerly pulled myself away, gritting my teeth at the intense pain.

“Just need to do a little patching up and you’re good to go.” The being gently patted my wound, and I felt the skin in that area start to cool down. My flesh slowly lost its blackness, and my skin was slowly putting itself back. It was healing me.

“Get clear, brace yourself, yeah?” He nodded at me knowingly, and I acknowledged. I crawled backwards as fast as I could, retreating from the ambulance.

The ghostly paramedic grabbed the fiery spectre and forced it back into the car, kicking and punching it. Upon reaching the windscreen, it stuffed the spectre’s head into the car’s cabin, and squeezed in as well. The two spirits grappled with each other, and the spectre’s head was forced into the dashboard of the car multiple times before the wreckages exploded. A familiar wave of warmth cascaded over me as I blacked out.

I woke up to the sight of a weeping Megan and my concerned parents kneeling over me. Apparently, Megan had been investigating the wreckage, and was so engrossed in probing round the remains that it was about an hour before she noticed she was alone. She had to find her way out by herself, which took about two hours due to the spoilt flashlight function and the dim screen of her mobile phone. She only called my parents and the police after climbing over the fence, due to the poor reception in the area.

There was no wreckage at all; all remains were removed within two days of the accident, and the road was closed. Not really sure why, and don’t really care why. I know what I saw was real to me, and that was what really mattered. I confronted my parents about what happened, kinda pissed at why they blocked everything from me, found out that my brain had somehow blocked the memories and to prevent any traumatic flashbacks, they decided to do what they did and got everyone in on it too. At least they told me where the paramedic rested in peace.

I visit the paramedic, Scott, any time I could. I owe him my life, and my memory. It wasn’t enough to respond to my accident at home, then sacrifice himself to save me in the ensuing ambulance accident - he literally came back from the dead to save me again. Thanks Scott, for going beyond the call of duty.