Only after it was too late did I realize that the despicable yet brilliant serial murdering psychopath had me trapped. While this scumbag had never been convicted of the foul crimes he’d surely committed, I’d certainly heard the rumors, which described how this vile creature lured his unsuspecting prey into his basement where he would enjoy killing them slowly while they suffered, conscious but immobile, thanks to paralytic drugs that he would administer. How could I be stupid enough to think I’d outsmart him?
Just minutes earlier, I had found a driver’s license that another guest at the camp had apparently dropped. Being a good Samaritan, I’d returned to the camp’s shop to leave the license with the shop’s staff after I’d found it on the ground just outside the shop’s entrance. When I’d tried to leave the lost item with the shop manager, she instructed the facility’s pharmacist to handle it as she was busy helping another customer. The pharmacist arose eagerly from his seat and beckoned me to follow him.
Remnants of grey hair encircled the bony sexagenarian’s balding scalp, while thin-rimmed glasses framed his aging eyes. He always presented a calm, gentle demeanor that belied his wicked proclivities. While I’d never previously met this pharmacist, I’d known him by his reputation. By all outward appearances, the aging pharmacist was a kind soul; however, the rumors said otherwise. Rumors I should have heeded.
According to local lore, this twisted man used his basement to snare, murder, and dismember his unsuspecting victims. From what I had been told, he’d invent some sort of ruse that would entice his victims to follow him into the basement. Once in the basement, he would press a hidden button to lock the door to prevent escape, then inject the victim with a paralytic drug so he could inflict his horrors upon them unmolested.
As I said, I’d heard the rumors. While this seemingly benign creature had always been acquitted of any wrongdoing, everyone knew that he was guilty of the atrocities I’ve described. According to the rumors, he was not only a serial killer, but a devious and brilliant man – not one with whom to match wits. Why he was still employed as this camp’s pharmacist when the rumors were undeniable, I’ll never know. Yet despite hearing the rumors, I still followed him when he encouraged me to accompany him in the basement.
The pharmacist opened the door to the basement and descended the stairs to the floor below, where various things lay strewn about. Figuring I could outwit the deviant if need be, I stayed near the top of the stairs while he took care of whatever it was he needed to do down there. Apparently the building was erected on a hillside, since a rolling garage style door opened the basement to an isolated dirt access road behind the building. An old boat sat in its trailer outside the door, obviously unused for ages and in need of some TLC.
At some point, something about the pharmacist’s behavior spooked me, so I turned to make my escape through the door at the top of the stairs. It was at that exact moment that I realized how greatly I had underestimated this… man. As I turned, I saw him quickly press a secret button on the wall and then close the rollup doors. Undeterred, I bolted to the door, only to find that it was not only locked, but had no doorknob to grasp from the inside. Figuring I could alert others of my need for help, I tried to pound on the door, only to discover to my horror that the door and surrounding walls had been layered in thick sound insulating material. Only then did I realize how stupid I had been.
Now I knew for certain that the rumors I’d heard were all true. And that I was most certainly a dead man. Fear gripped me as my mind raced in a fruitless attempt to identify a plausible escape. Obviously I could not get through the door, nor could I summon help. And that horrid creature that previously had seemed so harmless, now brandished a syringe, no doubt full of his infamous paralyzing agent.
The next thing I remembered was waking up in my bed, chest heaving with harsh breaths typical of extreme exertion. I could also both hear and feel a frantic, driving drumbeat. After several moments, I realized that the drumbeat was my own heart, pounding in my chest. Finally I realized that this encounter with the psychotic pharmacist had been just a dream. But what haunted me was more than just the memory of the dream itself, more than the feeling of waking to physical conditions that you’d generally only encounter during a full-out sprint. The thing that bothered me more was the feeling that the rumors I’d heard about this evil man were either from some prior dream, or aspects of same true-life crime tale that I’d recently heard. Eventually I fell back to sleep, but I was still haunted with strange feeling all morning as I got ready for work.
