The Man with the Crooked Face

When I was a very young boy, about five years old I suppose, I used to have this recurring dream…no, it was more of a nightmare; it terrified me, and would be exactly the same every night. I would be lying on my bed, sound asleep when a sudden noise just outside the window next to my bed would jolt me awake. I wasn’t really awoken, mind you; it was only in my dream. Anyway, in my dream, I knew there was someone, or something outside my window, and I knew it was evil. I didn’t want to know who or what it was, but felt I needed to. More than anything, I feared what I would see should I lift the blind, but I knew I must. As I pulled the blind down slightly to release it – it was one of those cheap spring-loaded, roll up kind – I wondered if I was just being foolish. I mean, I had only heard the one sound outside; it could have been anything; a stray dog maybe; or perhaps a couple cats fighting. No, I knew it was something else. I went to ease the blind up slowly, and take just a peak, but the bottom of the blind slipped from my fingers and it shot up instantly to the top of the window, exposing fully to me, the man on the other side.

He had a face unlike anyone I had ever seen before. It was severely pockmarked and looked deformed. His left cheek was slightly caved in which made his mouth crooked, and his wide, square chin point to the left. His eyes were small and squinty and the top of his head, which was topped with thin wiry hair, seemed to be too big for the rest of his face. He just stared at me through the window – never said a word – and then he smiled. It was a grotesque, evil smile. I knew he meant to hurt me. Something deep inside me could feel it.

My first reaction was to scream for my parents, but to my horror, I found that although I could open my mouth, I could not produce any sound. My only option was to run and escape through the door at the other end of my small bedroom. As I jumped off of my bed and dashed towards it, the wall with the door started moving away from me almost as fast as I was running for it. I was gaining on it, but very slowly; and then I noticed the door had started to shrink. I tried running faster, to get to it while my only exit was still big enough for me to fit through, but I was already moving as fast as I could. Just as I reached the door, I realized it had become too small for me to escape through. Then, as I stared at it, the now tiny door shrank the rest of the way until it was no more – there was only a solid wall. I was trapped by the man with the crooked face. I knew I was doomed.

And then I would wake up.

I would lie there trembling, not wanting to move but at the same time wanting to run out of my room as fast as I could. I would need to say something – anything – just make some verbal sound to assure myself I was no longer in that nightmare with that man. I had this dream every few nights for months – thirty, forty, maybe fifty times. Every time, it was exactly the same. Then I suddenly stopped having it; and I’ve never had it again.

I had all but forgotten about that dream until many years later, when I was around twelve years old. I had just spent the day around the corner at a friend’s house and was coming home for dinner. As I was walking up our driveway, I noticed my dad talking to someone, presumably one of the neighbors. My dad called me over to introduce me to him. I don’t remember if my dad ever told me his name; my mind blacked out to everything around me except for the face of the man who was now extending his hand out to greet me. It was severely pockmarked and looked deformed. His left cheek was slightly caved in which made his mouth crooked and his wide, square chin point to the left. His eyes were small and squinty and the top of his head, which was topped with thin wiry hair, seemed to be too big for the rest of his face….


Copyright © 2014 Mr. Flying Pig

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