Original Horror
Indian Rock
by Mark Smutek
“Jesus Christ its cold!” I said as I buttoned up my coat.
“Yeah well shut the hell up and start digging.”
“Marco I can’t the ground is solid.” I pleaded
Marco and I stood there with our shovels in hand and dressed for winter. Our heavy coats and gloves covered our skin from the extreme cold. “Man Marco we’re out here in the middle of the woods looking for a damn rock.” I said looking into the endless woods. I heard Marco scream; I spun around, and saw a devilish figure holding him by the neck. The devils head was fury and topped with two horns. One out the left side and one out the right side. With a sudden twist of the devils hand Marco’s head twisted off like a wing off a fly. I dropped my shovel and ran deep into the woods. A few yards away I hid in some brush along the creek. When the coast was clear I slowly got up and ran back home. Marco was dead.
A few years later
“Come on Marco.” I yelled to my son
“Coming Daddy”
Our journey to Indian Rock was soon to be on its way. Ellen, my wife, was zippering my son’s jacket and tucking a few apples into his pockets. “Ready?” I saw a nod of excitement and our hike started. We started on the path and headed across the bridge and to the Indian Rock. On our way there I explained what exactly the rock was. “The Indian Rock was a sort of séance for the dead. When several Indians died they were laid on this rock until their body was entirely decomposed. Then their bones were smashed to a powder and was poured into the cracks of the rock.” “Daddy, why didn’t they burry them?” “Well,” I sighed, “the ground was too tough, and with the temperatures being so cold the ground was never soft.” We continued walking and soon our journey was ended.
“Marco, I give you Indian Rock.” I said as I pointed.
Marco hopped up onto the rock and started stomping his feet. “Marco get off, you’re disturbing the dead.” Marco screamed as his body was thrown onto the ground. I raced to the limp body. “Marco, are you okay?” I saw his eyes open. His pupils were bright yellow; his mouth was covered with fangs. “Marco’s here with me daddy…. you know your friend.” I immediately let go of the body and stood up. My son laid on the ground laughing. Marco, my son, grabbed my hand and was digging his long and dirty fingernails into it. Blood leaked out like a broken hose. I picked up Marco by the feet and shook him furiously. “God damn you devil get the hell out of my son!” White ooze leaked out of his ears, eyes, and nose. Then I could hear the sobbing of my son. He’s with me again, my son.
The next day, with my son in the hospital, I bought several sticks of dynamite and headed for Indian Rock. After twenty minutes of getting I saw the rock a few feet ahead. I raced up to it laid a few sticks at the base of the rock and lighted each one. I ran back to the edge of the riverbed and waited for a large boom. After the dynamite took its toll I headed back home to my lovely wife and sick child.
The End
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