MC Chapter 1

Story content warning:
Death
Murder
Gore
Torture
Child sexual abuse is mentioned but not in detail.

July 25th 2025

Andy and I met for dinner every Friday night at an old tin diner on the outskirts of the city. We had drunkenly stumbled into the place for the first time about 15 years ago, after a concert that left us bruised and concussed. The owner, Wanda, took care of us. Helped us sober up and kept us awake until our concussions went away. It became a tradition every Friday since to go there and relax after a long week of life’s bullshit.

Time did a number on us. Andy, who in his adulthood preferred to be called Andrew, gave up the rough-and-tumble punk lifestyle that had defined our teenage years in favor of a sterile, corporate life. He lived in an overpriced, minimalist apartment near his office and spent most of his spare time tapping away on his laptop to earn the company more money.

Although I never fully gave up that punk side of me, my life got much quieter and a bit more bohemian. I sold enough paintings to buy and renovate an old factory building overlooking the waterfront, which served as my home and studio. I had a wife and two cats, and as far as anyone else was concerned, my life was good. I suppose anyone could have looked at Andy and me from the outside and thought we were successful, well-adjusted adults without any real cares in the world.

That Friday proved otherwise.

I arrived at the diner around 8. Andy was already there in our usual booth, working on his 3rd cup of coffee. He looked exhausted and disheveled, very unlike his normal clean and energized self.

“Work really has you fucked up, doesn’t it?” I asked as I sat across from him. I pulled a sketchbook from my bag and flipped to a fresh page.

“Work,” he replied, “and other things.”

“Girl troubles?”

He shook his head and looked down at his coffee.

“Maidenless,” I scoffed as I started to sketch.

A waitress came over and asked what we wanted. I asked for a grilled cheese and tomato soup. My usual. Andy asked for more coffee.

“All that caffeine’s going to give you a heart attack,” I told him after the waitress walked away.

“I drink more than this on a normal Monday morning,” he said.

“Real healthy.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he shot back. “At least I put something in my body before 5PM. What does your diet consist of, little sis? Oh right, cigarettes and candy most days. A sandwich at night, maybe? You have a fiancé who cooks like a Michelin star chef, but you rarely touch her food. The least you could do for her is take care of yourself.”

I set down my pencil and gave him the look. He recoiled and looked down again. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go after you. I’m just stressed.”

“Well, get it off your chest.”

Andy spent the next hour venting about work. His boss, his coworkers, his monotonous life inside a blinding white cubicle after corporate did away with remote work, and the hours spent straining his eyes on the harsh blue light of his computer screen. After the rant and being convinced to eat something, he looked a bit more relaxed. But there was still something there, occupying the deepest recesses of his mind. His bloodshot eyes stared off into oblivion, fixated on a haunting thought or memory.

A ringing silence fell over the diner. Besides the waitress and cook, we were alone.

“It’s been twenty-five years,” I muttered. The sudden break in silence caused Andy to flinch. “Twenty-five years a week ago, actually.”

Andy ran his hands through his tangled hair. His right leg began bouncing, something he’d done since childhood. A sign that a major panic attack was on its way.

“That’s why you’re so stressed,” I continued. “No therapy, no closure, just a terrible secret spanning two decades. I get it. I’ve been feeling the same way for so long. That’s why I don’t really eat most days.”

“I see him, Amy,” Andy whispered.

I glanced around the diner. It was still just us. “Do you see him right now?”

“No, but I see him all the time. Out of the corner of my eye, down alleyways in the middle of the day. God, I’ve seen him in my apartment more times than I can count.”

“Has it always been like this?”

“Yes and no. I saw him occasionally when we were kids. It started not long after that day. And then recently, he’s been showing up everywhere I go.”

I nodded and slid my sketchbook over to him. “Look through this.” He flipped every page to find variations of the same sketch on each one. A tall, naked, emaciated man with a partially caved-in head standing at the window of a cabin. The same man Andy saw.

He started shaking. 

“I saw him the day we left the cabin for the last time,” I said. “He’s been following me ever since, and he gets closer every time I see him. I started drawing him like that years ago, intending to trap him back in the cabin.”

“Does it work?”

“It did for a while, but now he just breaks free. I saw him on the way here, standing at the entrance of an alleyway on Hessler.”

Andy’s bouncing leg turned violent into full-body tremors as the reality of our situation set in. “I thought I was going crazy, Amy.”

“You’re not,” I said as I took his hands. “I think our biggest mistake was pretending it didn’t happen.”

“How are we going to make it stop?” he asked in a desperate whisper.

“I think it’s time to go back.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know. I avoid it whenever I can, but that’s where it all started, and that’s where it’s going to end.”