Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27838637-20160426151716

This story is as old as the hills. I wrote it years ago back when I was young, but I don't believe I had ever let anyone read it out of fear it was awful.

I know it's not going to best the best story you have ever read, and I am fully aware that my writing level now is of a higher standard than it was when I wrote this, but I would still like some feedback on it. I would be greatly interested to compare this with my current level of writing (which I hope post on here in the near future).

So without further ado, here is my story; fresh from 2012!



 PLEASE BE CAREFUL  

 Before you read this I want you to know it’s a true story. This really happened to me.

 One time my friend and me were out hunting in a big forest in our home country in Australia, and I saw a huge monster. It had arms and legs like a human, but it definitely was not a human. I told my friends that I seen a monster, and they suggested we split up to look for it because we had guns and could easily fight it.

 … … …

 “Wait. Michael, this is the best you can do?” In my hands I grasped a page of smudged and scribbled writing, barely legible, and barely readable. I didn’t need to read past the first 72 words to know it was garbage. “This is 11th Grade English buddy. Your writing should be leagues better than this.” I tried to continue the story, but decided not to over fear of losing all respect for the daft young man that stood in front of me.

 “Oh come on Sir! This isn’t 11th Grade English it’s English Studies. This is the class we elected so we didn’t have to put in any effort.” He tried to weasel his way out of doing work, like he always did. Every day. I was fucking sick of it.

 “I don’t give a flying-” mid-sentence I regained my composure and prohibited myself from cursing. “-aeroplane if this Standard English, Advanced English, Extension English or English Studies. So long as I am your teacher, you will put in the correct amount of effort. Now take this story back to your desk, throw it out, and rewrite me something that isn’t absent of character development and a decent plot.”

 “Wow sir, I almost thought you were going to say ‘flying fuck’ to me!” he exclaimed. The class chuckled to themselves, as Michael’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

 “Excuse me Michael but that language is-”

 “Because we all know that my father would love to hear how I am getting verbally abused by my English teacher,” he interrupted. “That would be quite the scene at the Parent-Teacher interviews tonight.” The class went quiet, knowing full well that Michaels father had a history of arguing with teachers in public. These weren’t quiet arguments either.

 I swallowed my pride and put on a fake smile just for the shit of a kid that stood in front of me. “I am sure your father and I will have a lovely conversation about your progress in class and your attitude towards learning. Now I will reinstate the fact that your story deserves a place in the bin more so than a mouldy apple. So sit down, write a decent story, and be quiet for some time.”

 Michael, obviously disappointed at the fact that he could not intimidate me, done exactly as I asked of him.

 And that is a regular lesson in 11th Grade English Studies at Bowral High School. Granted, English Studies was a non-ATAR subject so there were no exams, and everyone who elected the subject was either planning to drop out, too lazy to do work, or generally stupid. My whole class was the former two.

 I was supposed to be teaching Advanced and Extension English, but it was my first year working here and the staff weren’t too keen on letting a newcomer take the reins.

 The typical kindergarten bullshit happens between the staff of a school as much as the students.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Either way I had made it through one semester, and tonight was my first Parent-Teacher Interview at the school.

<p class="MsoNormal"> All the interviews went well, and I met a range of parents and personalities. Some parents took their children’s learning more seriously than I do, and some parents were less enthusiastic about their children’s learning than their children were. However, the last minute booking was what made me stay later than most other teachers; Max McInnis. Michael’s father. Whilst I hate to admit it, I was a little nervous. I had heard the stories, and his reputation preceded him. I just wanted my job here to go well, considering ‘I am too invested in my job and the lives of others to have a family’.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I was reviewing Michael’s homework when his father entered. The man paced like a predator, as if each step was methodical and meaningful. His clothes were well worn, but tattered to a degree that almost made them fashionable. His head consisted of thick dark hair that slicked back over his scalp and hung to his shoulders. His hair continued down onto his face in the form of a beard, which concealed all but the menacing eyes that fixated on me as if I was his prey, and the chiselled nose that twitched ever so slightly as if he had picked up on my scent of Joop aftershave and freshly dry cleaned clothes.

<p class="MsoNormal"> With a big smile on his face, he extended his paw-like hand to shake mine and said; “G’day Mr. Tyrell!” The man spoke in such a kind and gentle voice it took me by surprise. I met his hand with mine and we shook them.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I always tell my students to not judge a book by its cover. It seems as if I failed to follow my own advice. The man’s personality was the exact opposite of what his physical appearance displayed. We spoke for a few minutes about his sons learning. He seemed oblivious to Michael’s distaste in English and his disrespect towards me. Max seemed almost shocked, and said his son would ‘receive a nice scold’.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “I am sorry buddy. His mom passed a few years ago and I am working constantly on my farm, I just don’t see him that much. He was always a little shit, but I have left him to his own devices for too long. I don’t know where his respect has gone, and I don’t know where his motivation has gone. But I will find it, and I will bring it back to him,” Max sighed to himself, as if he knew his attempts would only be in futility.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “I know how it is mate,” I said. Desperate to divert Max’s attention away from his son, I said; “Actually I grew up on a farm myself. I loved to go hunting, still have my old rifle locked away somewhere.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> Max’s eyes seemed to lighten up. “What calibre is she?”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Oh shit, nothing big. I just have a 17 HMR.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Do you use it often?” He asked, his interest obviously piqued at the new topic of conversation.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Oh not since I moved here,” I replied. “So much land out here to hunt on but it’s all privately owned. I don’t know anyone who owns property though.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “You know me.” He said, smugly. “I’d be glad to take you out hunting with a few of my mates. Michael will be furious but honestly, he never is happy.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Haha! I couldn’t impose on you.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Bullshit! You aren’t imposing, I go out hunting every weekend anyway. You’ll get to meet a few of the lads from town, and we can murder a few bunnies and kangaroos. You can’t pass it up.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> I sat there silently for a few seconds, pondering whether to take him up on his offer. Ultimately I decided it was a good idea, what was the worst that could happen? Michael would just be a little shitty. “What day is good for you?”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Tomorrow night, its Saturday so that really suits everyone I suppose.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “That’s good,” I said. “Where abouts do you go hunting? Where do you want me to meet you?” I said.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “We have a little spot just outside of Belanglo State Forest,” Max said.

<p class="MsoNormal"> My heart sunk, and I felt a shudder of dread run op my spine and send tingles through my face and hands.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “It that good with you?” Max asked, obviously seeing that I was a bit shaken.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “No it’s fine,” I said. “Just a bit of an ironic place to go hunting.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “All that shit happened years ago mate!” Max barked, his voice raised a little and he was visibly frustrated. “Don’t tell me you are scared of a fucking incarcerated serial killer!” His voice raised a little more this time, border-lining on an aggressive shout.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “No,” I stuttered. I was taken aback by his sudden change of tone. Maybe I deserved it, digging up old wounds that the town has obviously tried to bury and forget. “That was immature of me. I-I’m happy to come out.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> Max smiled, and he returned to his happy and bubbly self. “That’s great mate! Just meet us at the entrance to the forest by the big sign at about 6:30.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> The thing is, Belanglo State Forest is the site of a number of grisly serial murders committed by Australia’s most prolific serial killer; Ivan Milat.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Ivan Milat was the inspiration for the frankly terrible film; ‘Wolf Creek’. In real life he was the killer of seven backpackers between the years between 1989 and 1993. He would pick them up, kill them, and bury their mutilated corpses in Belanglo State Forest. It is theorized that he hunted a number of his victims through the forest as if they were animals. It is also theorized that there were more victims than the seven missing victims.

<p class="MsoNormal"> It is also theorized that his brother, Richard, was involved in the murder of the victims, although he was never arrested and his current whereabouts is unknown.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Ivan may not have killed as many people as some of the more prolific killers of the USA, such as Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy; but he was definitely as sick and deranged as them. In prison he cut off his own little finger with a plastic knife with the intent of mailing it to the high court. He has also swallowed razors and other metal objects during his time in prison. Also, on a bit of a more comedic note, he went on a hunger strike and lost roughly 25 kilograms in an attempt to gain access to a PlayStation for his cell.

<p class="MsoNormal"> So yes, I felt a little uncomfortable with going to the place in which seven or more people were murdered, and ‘murdering some bunnies and kangaroos’. But I suppose it’s just the fact that I am a little superstitious coupled with the fact that I enjoy researching serial killers. Not because I am one myself (because I’m not), but because I find the psychology behind them intriguing.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Nevertheless, come Saturday evening, I cleaned my rifle, sighted it in and took off to Belanglo State Forest.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I pulled my car off the road, keeping it tight against the trees and well away from the road. Soon after, Max turned up, and followed suit, parking his car directly behind mine.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Let’s go and kill something!” He yelled excitedly from the window of his blue Ford F250. The spotlights shone brightly into the darkness, showing the sign as clear as it would be during the day.

<p class="MsoNormal"> It read; ‘WELCOME TO BELANGLO STATE FOREST’. In a smaller additional sign underneath the official welcome, the words read; ‘PLEASE BE CAREFUL’. The words seemed to burn their way into my eyelids, and each time the bright glare of Max’s high beams flickered into my pupils, and I closed my eyes, I could still see the words.

<p class="MsoNormal"> PLEASE BE CAREFUL

<p class="MsoNormal"> Ironic.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Suddenly, my car door opened and a thick, four fingered hand yanked me from the car, dragging me out of my unbuckled seatbelt with incredible, animalistic strength and slamming my back into the car.

<p class="MsoNormal"> It was Max.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Well what are you waiting for mate? The sunrise?” He laughed to himself. “Get your weapon out and we will make our way in to find some game!”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Wait,” I said. “Isn’t hunting in the state forest illegal?”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Sure is!” Max said, gladly. “But worse things have happened in here! Let’s go!”

<p class="MsoNormal"> I was a little uneasy about breaking the law, but Belanglo was a massive forest, and the chances of a ranger or the authorities finding us were slim to none, unless they were tipped off about us.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Where are your mates?” I asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Not coming,” Max said, bluntly.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Why not?” I persisted, now feeling more uneasy that I originally was.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “They came out last weekend.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Don’t they come out every weekend?”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Not anymore.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Don’t you find it a little strange?”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “What I find strange is that I am out here to hunt and you want to play twenty-fuckin-questions!” He barked. “Hunting is about being quiet, so I’ll kindly ask you to do so.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> We marched on for longer in the woods, probably for about a full kilometre. Not one living creature did we find.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “It’s night’s like this,” Max began, “The full moon usually means that finding anything will be rare.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “That’s no good. But you’d think that the full moon wouldn’t affect the conditions much in here, especially when the canopy blocks out most of the moonlight.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> Max grunted, “Maybe they sense there is a superior predator in the woods, and they want to steer clear of it.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> I laughed, “Maybe they’re afraid of you, but I’m afraid I’m not much of a threat to anything out here.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Of that, you can be sure of,” he growled sadistically.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I didn’t understand his change of tone, was it something I said. “Max?” I asked trying to get his attention. He stared at me for a second and kept trudging onwards, without a word. “Excuse me Max?” I asked again, this time a little louder. No response. “Max!” I yelled. That caught his attention.

<p class="MsoNormal"> He stopped in his tracks, and stood motionless for a few seconds, before he slowly turned around to face me. His face was blank of all expression, like a corpse. He breathed heavily, and the corners of his mouth moved ever so slightly upwards; forming a deranged grin. Then he spoke.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Who the fuck is Max?” He said, coldly.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Startled, my mind started to race. Surely this was a joke? “You are Michael’s father,” I said calmly, acting as if it was all a prank, some sick joke to scare me, teach me some sort of lesson for giving his son a hard time in school.

<p class="MsoNormal"> His crooked smile contorted in disgust, barely visible through his thick beard. “And who the fuck is Michael?” He asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Alright, I don’t know what game you are playing, but I think it’s high time I went home,” I was now scared, there was something wrong, the temperature, the atmosphere, the unknown man standing in front of me. It was all off, as if it was unnatural, as if there was something out of place. I turned and made my way back the way we came, secretly flipping the safety switch off on my weapon.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Please be careful,” the man said. I turned my head to get a glimpse of him. He stood in the exact same position in the scrub, unmoving, staring at me as I made my way out of sight.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “What the fuck?” I whispered to myself as I made my way through the forest. I whispered it over and over again, unnerved by whoever had just brought me out into the forest. I don’t understand how I was fooled, how I didn’t notice something was inhuman from the beginning; the way his personality was the exact opposite of what all the teachers described him as; the way he showed complete and utter disregard for his son, describing him as if he was a weight on his shoulders and nothing more; the way how father and son looked so impossibly different from one another; the late booking to the interviews, as if to maintain his ruse as the boy’s father, knowing most teachers who could identify him would have left; his strength, as if there was no holding back; and his fucking personality, the skill to manipulate me so well into leading me out here.

<p class="MsoNormal"> This guy wasn’t a parent.

<p class="MsoNormal"> He was a sociopath.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Suddenly, the cracking of leaf litter could be heard ahead of me, followed by a loud puffing sound. Similar to the panting of a dog. I aimed my gun into the brush, my flashlight illuminating what was only an empty space.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Again, the crunch was heard behind me, and the breathing was louder, closer and warmer. I could feel the warm, dog-like breath steaming down my neck. “Please be careful,” it said, in a husky voice.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I ran, to scared and cowardly to fire a gun at a living human being. I dropped my weapon in the scrub and sprinted my hardest through the trees, trying to retrace my steps as accurately as I could. The snapping of leaves and the heavy panting could be heard behind me as I crashed through the foliage and into a clearing.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Then, the pursuer stopped. The moonlight lit open the clearing to such a degree my flashlight was rendered useless. The man stayed out of the moonlight, catching his breath, almost afraid to enter the clearing.

<p class="MsoNormal"> The horror that sat adjacent to me stopped me in my tracks. Out of disgust. Out of fear.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Strewn around the clearing was a red, graphic mess of flesh and bone, limbs separated from the body and sitting half-eaten and contorted into unnatural shapes, intestines splayed over the single tree that stood in the centre of the clearing. A mangled torso consisting of merely a ribcage and skin sat upright against the trunk of the tree, with the head strangely intact and untouched.

<p class="MsoNormal"> It was Michael.

<p class="MsoNormal"> An immense pain jolted through my knee as a loud bang erupted from the gun behind me. My kneecap exploded from the front of my leg, and blood sprayed across the grass in front of me. The hollow-point round came fresh from a 30.06, and the bottom half of my leg held on to my thigh by nothing but skin and tendons. I fell to the ground, screaming in pain. The strangest thing was, I couldn’t hear my own screams, as if my ears were ringing so loudly from the incredible pain and shock that it drowned out all my surroundings. Just me and my severed leg sitting in a red mess.

<p class="MsoNormal"> I turned my head slightly to confront my killer as I lost control my bowels. ‘Max’ stepped into the opening and dropped to his knees as soon as the moonlight hit him. His body seemed to twist and grow as the clothes tore from his body, leaving him naked. His body hair seemed to grow in a matter of seconds as it engulfed his body and his jaw dislocated from his skull and twisted to form an animalistic feature that could only be described as the snout of a dog. Canines sprouted from his gums and his eyes faded into a white abyss before showing green, reptile like irises. The hands snapped and stretched into massive, paw-like features and the legs cracked and popped as they adopted a wolfish digitrade stance.

<p class="MsoNormal"> In all my confusion all I couldn’t describe what I seen in front of me, but it definitely was not a human.

<p class="MsoNormal"> As the monster made its way towards me, I only wished that I hadn’t been so daft. If only I hadn’t come out here.

<p class="MsoNormal"> If only I had been more careful.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal">   <ac_metadata title="Please Be Careful (unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>