The Dark Somnium - My Neighbor told me the Darkest Secrets about his life

Episode Date: February 26, 2024

This Creepypasta scary story was written by T.W Grim, make sure to check out more of their work here:https://www.reddit.com/user/theworldisgrim/checkout the authors new project: http://mybook.to/differentmagic Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

I met my next-door neighbor a week after moving into my new home. Our first encounter wasn't pleasant, but that was par for the course with Jack Werner. He wasn't exactly a pleasant guy. He came barging out of his front door as I was backing into my driveway. As I stepped out of my car, he pointed and called out. You're parked on my lawn. The tires on the passenger side were barely touching the edge of his grass. I wanted to give him a smart-ass reply, and I wanted to give him a smart-ass reply.

and walk away, but there was something a little unnerving about the intensity of his stare. Outwardly, the old fellow seemed calm enough, but he had the energy of a coiled rattlesnake. I didn't really feel like starting something with a grumpy neighbor, so I gave him an apologetic smile and said, I guess I might have come a little too close. Sorry about that. I'm not that great at backing in. He gave me a mocking grin in return and said, Then maybe you should practice and get better at it.

You can start your training right now, Sparky. Hop in your car and do it again. Only this time, keep it the hell off my lawn. My neighbor wheeled around and marched back into his house, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging agape. It was only the first week in my new house, and I was already in a feud. Great. I shook my head and took another stab at backing into the driveway. This time, I made sure to leave plenty of room between my car and the razor-strait edge

of his lawn. I didn't much care for how he'd spoken to me, but I had no intention of confronting him about it. This guy was definitely someone to avoid. A couple of days later, I heard a knock on my door shortly before 9 p.m. I peeked through the spy hole and felt my heart sink. It was my neighbor, looking rough and weathered in an old t-shirt and faded jeans. I braced myself and opened the door.

How can I help you? And he gave me a sour grin. Well, you could start by accepting my apology. And then he thrust a six-pack of Miller High Life into my hands. My name's Jack Werner, and sometimes I'm a bit of an asshole. Why don't you come over and drink some beer on my porch? I looked down at the six-pack with dismay. Having a drink with this angry old bastard was about the last thing I wanted to do.

I tried to hand back the six-pack. Well, thank you, but I should really get ready for bed. I have work in the morning. Mr. Werner waved away my excuse and snorted. Who the hell goes to bed at nine o'clock? Bring over those wobbly pops and we'll have ourselves a visit. He was already walking away before I could take another stab at saying no. Damn it.

I said and started to pull my shoes on. I promised myself I would drink exactly one beer in record time, of course, and then I would get the hell out of there. I climbed his front steps with great reluctance and sat down across from him on his porch. A citronella candle was flickering on the table between us, making the shadows waver and dance on the aluminum awning above our heads. Mr. Werner raised his glass and said, Glad you could make it, young man. It's a fine evening to sit on your ass and get shitty. Yes, sir.

I firmly shook my head. I can't stay very long. I have to get up early in the morning, so... Me? I'm a night owl. I don't sleep so well anymore, so make sure you keep it down over there until at least noon. If I ever hear your lawn mower running before noon, we're going to have some words. I'm not a child, and I'll do as I please, I said in a pleasant tone, and I pushed back my chair. I think I'll just leave the beer on the table and be on my way.

He smirked at me and said, "'Ah, don't get your knickers in a knot. Fine, go ahead and mow your grass when it's still wet from the dew. Makes a huddle of a mess under the deck of your lawnmower, but if that's what you want to do, go for it. Thanks, Mr. Werner. Maybe I will. He grinned at my resentful expression.

Listen, I'm sorry we got off to a bad start. I just didn't want some asshole parking on my lawn. I think that's reasonable, don't you? Otherwise, I honestly don't give a rat's ass what you do over there. Just keep your vehicle off my grass and don't make a habit of waking me up before noon. Sound fair? Yeah, I guess that's fair. I popped open another beer.

I'm not much of a drinker, and when I do drink, Miller definitely isn't my first choice. However, it was cold, and it was free. I squinted at the lettering on his t-shirt and the candle. It read, if you weren't there, shut the fuck up. In bold lettering. I raised an eyebrow. Did you serve in the military, Mr. Werner? A long time ago.

He said quietly and took another swig from my head. his glass. The content smelled like it was mostly rum, with just a light splash of cola for some color. He grimaced as it burned down his throat. I was drafted into the service and served in Vietnam. I was a Marine. Oh, well, thank you for your service. I raised my beer in a toast. My new acquaintance gave me a weary frown and shook his head. Nah, don't say that. I got my draft card in the male like everyone else. I did my service and came home. It was my duty.

I nodded respectfully. Vietnam was a long time ago. You're looking good for your age. Mr. Werner shrugged and quietly answered. Fuck getting old. That's some pussy shit. I snorted out a surprised laugh and had another swig from my can. That's one way to look at it, I guess.

How long have you been living here? He thought about it for a second. Hmm, reckon I've been here about 20 years. years or so, I guess. He downed a third of his glass in one big swallow and let out a soft groan. After I got divorced, I was a drifter for a while, traveled around at all kinds of jobs. I planted potatoes in Idaho and harvested peanuts in New Mexico. I lived in Little Rock, Jackson, Fargo.

I lived all over the goddamn place. I was a tour guide of the Grand Canyon and a fire lookout in Big Sur, just buggering about place-to-place. always on the move. He drifted off and stared into his glass. I sipped away at my beer and waited for him to continue. After a long pause, he cleared his throat. Doesn't matter how much space you put between you in the past. It'll follow you.

Drowning it out works a lot better. It's all you can do. Mr. Werner guzzled down the rest of his drink and gasped at the burn in his throat. Generally speaking, I can't stand other people. Got no use from it all. But every now and then I feel like talking. Problem is, everyone I used to know is gone now, one way or another. It's just me and the bird feeder these days.

I nodded in gloom. Sure, I get that. Everyone needs some company once in a while. What do you want to talk about? Fucked if I know. He leaned over and picked up a bottle of Captain Morgan that was sitting at his feet. I'm not usually much of a compliment. Conversationalist, kiddo.

What do you want to talk about? I hesitated, and Jack murmured. Go on, kid. Ask whatever you want. I'm not going to yell at you or nothing. I don't know much about the Vietnam War, to be honest, just what I've seen in those old war movies. What was it like over there? Jack gave me a sharp look and poured himself another drink.

He filled most of the glass with booze, and then he topped it up with a small splash from a bottle of no-name cola. What you're talking about? Old movies? Platoon, Full Metal Jacket? Oh, those movies aren't old? What are you, a tadpole? Come with the wind. Now, now, that's an old movie. I raised my hands defensively and said,

I wasn't even born yet when those movies came out. It's been longer than you think, Mr. Warner. He shook his head and smiled down at the table. I suppose you're right. Speaking of those old war movies, I actually went to see the deer hunter in a theater. My wife and I had gone out for a nice steak dinner that night. Classy joint, good food.

We had a good time, just me and her. Anyway, when we were walking back to the car, she pointed at a movie marquee and asked, Can we go see the deer hunter, Jack? I love Robert De Niro. Well, I'll tell you something. I didn't want to do that at all. Not one fucking bit.

Just looking at the movie poster out front made me feel... I don't know. Made my chest feel tight. But at that point, we were still basically newlyweds, and I wanted to make her happy. We didn't hate each other yet. That came later. Anyhow, we go in and I pay for the tickets, the popcorn, the sodas, all that crap. We get settled and the movie starts.

It's actually pretty good. Real good drama about some regular working-class guys. I can relate, you know. So we're sitting there watching the movie. in holding hands, and suddenly the story goes back to when the guys were in the war. A village is getting bombed. They're spraying napalm and... And just like that, I wasn't in a theater no more.

I was back there. I was back in the nom and we were under fire. I could smell cordite and napalm in the air. I could smell the body's cooking. I jumped up and started screaming for the comms to call in air support. I saw a VC come running out of the dark out of the corner of my eye, had a knife in his hand. But I was ready for him. I grabbed his wrist and slammed the heel of my palm into his nose.

He went down like a sack of bricks, and I stomped on his head. Someone else grabbed me from behind, and they caught an elbow in the teeth. I dropped to the floor and started crawling for cover. I made it to the exit somehow, and I ran for my life. And that was the last time I ever went to a movie theater. I haven't stepped foot in once since. I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. He stared back, his eyes glimmering in the candlelight.

I cleared a sudden thickness from my throat. Jesus Christ, that's something else. The cops found me in the restroom. Jack murmured, and he took a giant swallow of rum. I was hiding in a toilet cubicle. The guy I hit was an usher, just a teenage kid. He was just coming to see what all the ruckus was about. The knife was his flashlight.

I broke his nose. Slowly, I asked, who did you hit with your elbow? My wife. I broke three of her teeth and split her septim in half. She didn't leave me after that, but it was the beginning of the end. Oh, fuck, that's rough. I reached from my beer can. Jack abruptly lashed out with the speed of a cat and slapped it off the table.

The can sailed over the railing of his porch and landed somewhere in his front yard. Go home. I'm done talking. It's time to drink in peace. Go on. Get the fuck out of here. I blinked at him in surprise. I slowly pushed my chair back from the table and said,

Yeah, I think we're done here. Have a good night. Jack fixed his gaze at the wall beside him as I slowly got up from the table. As I started to walk away, he muttered. I don't drink beer. Take it with you. Oh, sure. Thank you.

Still staring at the wall, Jack made a dismissive motion with his hand. Ah, you're welcome. Now go. I tried to watch a movie when I got back, but I couldn't get into it. I gave up around 11 and went to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I stared at the ceiling and tried to blank my mind. and I couldn't stop thinking. Around one in the morning I gave up the struggle and went down to rummage through the fridge.

As I munched on a bag of shredded cheese, I found myself peering out the window at Jack's house. He was still slumped at the table on his porch, drinking himself into oblivion by the wavering light of his citronella candle. I shook my head and wandered back to bed. When I finally drifted off, I dreamed I was running through a jungle. Everyone had left me behind and I was alone. In the distance, I could hear the whir of the choppers firing up. If they left me behind, there would be no way to get home again. When I left for work early in the morning, Jack was no longer on the porch.

The beer can was still laying on his lawn, dented on one side and swarming with ants. When I got home that afternoon, the beer can was gone and his lawn had been mowed. Jack himself was nowhere to be seen. I tried to busy myself with some painting I wanted to get done in the basement, but I gave up pretty quickly and laid on the couch instead. I ate some left over pizza and had a snooze while the weather channel babbled quietly in the background. I awoke to a knock on the door, firm and insistent.

It was Jack. He looked distinctly unwell, and his eyes were bloodshot. Caught you sleeping, did I? A young fellow like you shouldn't be snoozing away his youth? You can sleep in your grave. I blinked in the slanting sunshine and mumbled. What time is it? It's time.

for a car ride. Go take a piss and brush your teeth. You got a decent case of shit breath going on. I was still half asleep and I had no idea what to say. His last words to me had been get the fuck out of here. And now he wanted to go for a drive? What the hell was going on? Jack crossed his arms impatiently and said,

Don't break my balls, okay? I was half in the bag and I wasn't expected to answer that kind of question. I got out of line. I apologize. Now hurry up and get yourself presentable. Your hair's all fucked up. You look like a rooster. I gave him a bleary nod and scrubbed my palms over my eyes.

Okay, just give me a few minutes. Hurry it up. Jack called over his shoulder. We're going to get ourselves some ice cream. True to his words, Jack drove us down to the boardwalk, and he bought us both a double scoop of Dutch chocolate in a waffle cone. We sat down on a bench facing the lake. and we ate our ice cream in silence.

Jack took a breather from his ice cream and groaned. First thing I've eaten all day. I was hung over like a son of a bitch this morning. In a neutral tone, I said, yeah, I bet. And then I waited to see what was coming next. Jack looked out at the lake, his eyes hidden behind a pair of ancient-looking raybans. If I get hammered enough, I get a night of nothingness. No dreams.

It's a blessing." He turned to me and asked. Do you have a girlfriend? You've been there for a week and I ain't seen any broads coming around yet. I shrugged and answered. Not anymore. I was living with a girl, but it ended a little while ago. I moved out and that's why I'm your new neighbor.

Yeah, that happens. You have any kids? No, we hadn't even talked about that yet. Jack gave me an approving nod. It will always think having a kid will fix their relationship. It doesn't work. Jack gave the remnants of his cone a sour look and tossed it onto the sidewalk. It was immediately snatched up by a seagull who was abruptly swarmed by a small mob of

other seagulls. The cone was torn into fragments during the brief struggle and they all flew away with nothing. See that? That's us. That's how they make us live. Nothing's worth of shit no more. Agreed. I said with the nod.

Things always go up and down, though. There's good times and bad times. Right now, things are getting worse. Hopefully it'll get better again soon. There's going to be another war. You wait and see. That's the cycle. The economy starts to limp along and suddenly we're in another fucking war.

And who do we send to fight the war? Our kids, that's who. We sent our kids off to fight and die in a foreign land. No questions asked. Eighteen, nineteen years old. And off they go. There was a heavy blanket of expectancy in the air between us. I could sense that he wanted to talk, but I wasn't sure if I was prepared for the darkness that was bubbling inside him.

I threw the last piece of my cone to the gulls, which set off another noisy brawl amongst the lurking seagulls. Trying to sound casual, I asked. Is that how old you were when you got your draft card? Jack leaned back with a strangled groan and gently massaged his temples. Yeah, I was 18. I had just come home for playing basketball down at the park, and there it was, sitting on the kitchen table with the rest of the mail. I was a sheltered, middle-class kid from a small town.

I didn't want to leave everything I'd ever known and go to Vietnam. If I had to, I sure as hell didn't want to be anywhere near a combat zone. My dad took me aside before I left and said, I've heard it safer in the army. Stay away from the Marines. But that's not how things worked out. I gave him a puzzled frown and said. Wait a minute.

Then how did you end up in the Marines? Well, now, that's a funny story. After they were done with the physicals, they lined us up on a long row and started counting. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, Marine. I was one of the guys who got picked to be a Marine. I called home from the pay phone and told my dad what happened. He went quiet for a second. And then he said,

You're going overseas, Jack. Be brave and come home safe. And then he handed the phone over to Ma because there was nothing else to say. I was going to war. And that was that. That's crazy. You didn't have a choice? Yeah, that's pretty fucked up.

I agree. So off I went to Paris Island for boot camp. On the first night, I could hear some of the guys crying to themselves in the dark. Some of them looked like they didn't even shave yet. The next morning, someone came. got smart with a drill instructor. He turned around and knocked the poor bastard six feet back into a wall. Shit like that happened all the time. I remember there was a kid named Jansen or Anderson, something like that. He was slow as molasses and stubborn as a mule. It was always bringing heat

on the rest of us. Believe me, you didn't want any heat. Things were hard enough already. So we all jumped him one night and we held him down in his bunk with a sheet. We told him to stop fucking up and then we beat the shit out of him. Just beat his ass like a pinata. Didn't make him any faster or smarter, but it was satisfying. That was what it was like on Paris Island. Jack saw my disturbed expression and gave me a crooked smirk. You'd be surprised how fast it started to seem normal. When you're young, you adapt real quick. Anyway, after I completed the infantry training, I was sent back home for a month. Everyone treated me like a ghost, like I was already gone.

My next stop was Vietnam. I arrived in Da Nong just in time for the TED Offensive. My first week in country and boom, the shit hit the fan. Jack heaved himself to his feet and fished his car keys out of his pocket. I'm tired of watching the shit hawks. fight for scraps. Let's go. On the ride back home, Jack abruptly turned to me and said,

I used to be a dad. Yeah, no shit. I had a son. His name was Ben. His use of past tense prickled up my ears. I'm sorry for your loss. Can I ask what happened? Jack's lips twitched in a bitter, humorless smile.

Ben ran away when he was 17. They found him dead a year later. He overdosed in a phone booth. I felt my heart sink. That's really awful, Jack. I can't even imagine. I'm sorry to hear that. Yeah, it was a rough one.

After he was gone, my wife accused me at doing my best to push people away. I asked her, and why are you still here? She said, I don't know anymore. It wasn't long before she packed her bags. I left a note on the fridge. He pulled his aging Buick into his driveway and said, Well, there you go, young fellow. Say, why don't you come by again tomorrow night?

I won't throw your beer into the yard this time. I promise. I hesitated, then gave him a non-committal shrug. I'll give you a solid maybe. How's that sound? I do have to work early in the morning. Jack gave me a knowing look. It's like slowing down to gawk at a car rack, isn't it?

You're a little ashamed of yourself for wanting to see more, but that doesn't stop you from trying to get a better look. Nah, don't shake your head. Just admit it. Don't be a pussy. I tried to deny it, but the words dried up in my throat. He was right. You're a cagey old bastard, aren't you?

I said softly. Okay, then, I'll be over around dusk. Sound good? Ain't nothing good left in this world. But yeah. That's fine. See you then, neighbor. For the rest of the night, all I could think about was his sour grin, as he said, ain't nothing left good in this world.

I was starting to have a vague idea where this all might be headed, and I didn't think I was prepared to deal with it. I hoped I was wrong. Sometimes it's good to be wrong. Just like confession, it can be good for the soul. As the sun slid past the horizon, I climbed Jack's front steps and plopped down across from him at his table. The flame of the citronella candle was wavering in the tepid breeze, soon to be stifled under a motionless blanket of twilight. I set my beer on the table and said,

Good evening, Jack. How's it going? Jack tapped his glass of rum and said, Not so bad. This is the first drink I've had all day. I've been saving up for tonight. I popped open a beer and took a long swallow. From what you've told me, I don't blame you for having a few drinks at night. Oh, I have more.

More than a few. Jack snorted. He took a small sip from his glass, then chased it with a larger swallow. Ah, that's better. I needed that. So, how have you been doing, kid? Getting settled in? Little by little, yes.

It still feels strange to be alone. Just wait. You'll get used to it. And then you'll start to like it. When you're alone, there's no one cluttering up your life with their bullshit. I guess so, I said reluctantly. It can be nice sometimes too. There was an awkward silence.

Jack lit up a cigarette and rasped. Well, let's get this rolling. Where do you want me to start? Cautiously, I said, you were talking about your son yesterday. Do you feel like telling me more? I mean, you don't have to, but I thought maybe you'd like to get Ben. His name was Ben. He raised his glass to his lips.

And I saw that his hand was shaking a tiny bit. He exhaled a cloud of rum fumes and mumbled. I've never told anyone the whole story. Well, here goes. Ben was a good kid. He behaved himself when he minded his mother. I was always hard on him, though. I was afraid the world would eat him alive if he was weak,

so I tried my best to make him tough. He started getting an attitude with me when he got a little older. Being defiant just made me come down on him even harder. When he was a teenager, sometimes I'd get fed up with his smug little face. You know, I'd get fed up and I'd take him out to the garage. I'd scream at him and shove him around. Maybe he'd smack him up a little. He would never fight back.

I wanted him to fight back, but he wouldn't do it. He'd just hide his face and wait for it to be over. I looked at him with dismay and said, That isn't discipline, Jack. That's abuse. Do you understand that? Wasn't considered abuse back then. Parents always smacked their kids.

It kept them in line. Some people used their belts, a wooden spoon, and maybe even a fly swatter. It didn't hurt them permanently. It just taught them a lesson. I shook my head and demanded. What lesson? That it's okay to use violence to control someone? Ugh, you're one of those people.

There's no reaching you kinds of people. You live up your own ass. You want to hear this or not? I clamped down on my urge to argue this point further and said, Yeah, I do. Keep going. Anyway, after Ben turned 16, he started cutting class all the time. His grades tanked.

He always stayed out late and he wouldn't tell us where he'd been or where he was going. If he was stuck at home, he locked himself in his bedroom. Me and him tried our best to avoid each other. That's pretty much done with the kid, and I guess he was probably done with me, too. Whenever we were in the same room together, you could just about cut the tension with a knife. Something was ready to give. And then it did. I waited for him to elaborate, but Jack fell silent.

What was the final straw? I prodded. What happened? In a lifeless tone, Jack muttered. I was on my way to bed one night, and I caught him smoking weed in this room. He was trying to blow it out his window, but I could still smell it in the hallway. His mother was already asleep. We were having our own problems, but that's a different story.

So I come bursting in and catch him red-handed. I made him toss the dope out the window. I said, Is this why your grades ain't worth of shit? Is this why you hide away in your room all the time? He wouldn't give me an answer. He just stared at nothing and waited for me to stop. It made me even matter, you know.

I could barely contain myself. So I pushed him in the hallway and told him, Go out to the garage. We're going to sort this out. I took him out to the garage and I ripped into him for a while. I just kept getting madder and matter. I was seeing red. He was just standing there with his head down the whole time waiting for it to be over.

Jesus Christ, that pissed me off so bad. I ended up whacking him across the face with a backhand. He stumbled into the shelf and knocked the can of paint on the floor. I pointed at the paint splatter and I yelled. Look at that, you little prick. You're going to clean that up! And then he gets this look on his face, you know, like he's about to explode. I thought, here it comes.

Finally, he's going to fight back. But he didn't swing at me. He... Jack's voice became husky and thick. He cleared his throat and took a deep swallow from his glass. I could see a film of tears glimmering his eyes in the candlelight. He, uh, he picks himself up, straight and tall. He looks me in the eye and he says,

Dad, I'm gay. I just froze up like a statue. I couldn't leave it. But at the same time, I wasn't surprised. I think I'd always known that about him. I just didn't want it to be true. I grabbed him and shoved him into the wall. I couldn't make any sense of what he was saying.

I just kept asking, what do you mean by that? What the hell do you mean by that? Many didn't cower away from me. Not this time. He pushed me back and said, You know what it means. It means I'm gay. Well, that was that.

I told him, Put your fucking hands up. And I hit him in the stomach. He dropped to the floor, so I hauled him back to his feet and gave him a brisk shake. I yelled. Put your fucking hands up and fight me.

Come on! But he was still trying to catch his breath. He just shook his head and crouched against the wall. I was so fucking mad I could have killed him. I told him, there ain't going to be any of that shit under my roof. Do you understand me? What is your mother going to say? What do you think this is going to do to your mother?

He said, It's not going to do anything to Mom because it's not her life. It's mine. So that was that. I was done. I didn't want to hear any more of it. I told him, you need to pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house. He said, I'll leave tonight.

You won't ever see me again. And he did. When my alarm went off in the morning, he was gone. I realized I was leaning forward in my chair. My hands gripped together in a nod of tension. I sat up straight and gulped down some more beer. We had barely even started, and it was already getting rough. Even so, I wanted to hear the rest of Jack's story, his confession, as it were, and I wanted

every awful detail, because he was right. We all have a morbid fascination with the dark side of humanity. Infamy turns bad people into pseudo-celebrities, reviled and revered at the same time. People love to clutch their pearls when they look at the underbelly of society, but they still look, don't they? Jack angrily wiped his sleeve across his eyes. Ben was wrong. I saw him one last time before he died. It was about eight months after he left. I was driving down Fifth Avenue on my way home, and I saw Ben sitting on the curb. It was all by himself. I only saw him for a couple seconds, but I'm pretty sure he had a black eye. He was looking awfully thin. He looked like he hadn't eaten a square meal.

in weeks. I shook my head in dismay. He looked that bad and you still didn't stop to talk to him? Jack quivered. No. No, I didn't stop. I thought to myself, that's your son for Christ's sake, turn around and go back. But I didn't.

I just kept driving. A few months later, he was dead. I never told his mother I saw him that day. You'll never know the truth. What's the truth? Say it out loud. Jack took a bigger swallow from his glass and licked his lips. I could have saved him, but I didn't.

It didn't have nothing to do with him being gay. I didn't save him because I didn't want to admit I was wrong. My own pride was more important than my son. Well, there it is. My half-bears suddenly disappeared down my throat. I belched behind my hand, then took in a deep, cleansing breath. Not my shining moment. It haunts me every day.

Yeah, there's no way to spin that one and make it seem better. It was a really fucked up thing to do, but you seem to understand that. It's a start, I guess. I mean, fucking hell, man. I really don't know what to say. Let's change the subject. How about that? You want to hear about Vietnam.

He muttered, and he poured himself. some more rum. Of course you do. You've seen the movies and now you want to know what it was really like. Guilty is charged. Tell me about the war. It wasn't like World War II. It was guerrilla warfare.

Tom Brass said, we got more troops and more firepower so we'll eventually win. But these guys didn't understand the jungle. They didn't understand the enemy. Charlie was defending his country from invaders. He had something to believe in. Us? We didn't even want to be there. Jack stopped talking and nursed his drink in silence.

Go on. I prompted, and he gave me a disgruntled look. We've got all night. Give me time to figure out how to say it. I'm not much of a talker. I apologized and waited for him to continue. Anyway, these people were tough as nails. They would live in underground tunnels and eat nothing but rice for weeks on end.

You'd come into a village and they'd tell you there were no VC hiding there. But then you'd start poking around and you'd end up finding the entrance to a tunnel and a pig pen. The VC were different from the NVA. It didn't always look like soldiers. They could look like anybody. They were everywhere and nowhere all at once. The paranoia would get to you after a while. Anyone you saw might be secretly the enemy.

And even when the VC weren't around, you had to watch out for their booby traps. One of my best friends almost died after he got stuck on a pungy stick. What's that? A bamboo pole with a sharp point. They'd hide them in the pit or they'd put them in the ditch on either side of a trail. A sniper opens fire, you all dive into the ditch as someone gets impaled on a stick. It smear the pointy end with shit. You'd get a raging infection in no time.

I made a disgusted face and shuddered. War is something else, isn't it? Jack gave me a grim look. It wasn't just a con you need to watch out for a norm. Even the jungle wanted to kill you. There were vipers and venomous centipedes, parasites, leeches, all kinds of shit out there. Yeah, that's right. Leaches.

Huge, slimy fucking things. You'd wake up in the morning and peel off six, eight, ten of those motherfuckers. The mosquitoes were horrible, too. They carried dengue fever and malaria. We had to take a pill every day so we wouldn't get sick. We called it the Daily Daily. Jack smirked a bit at my obvious discomfort. You asked for the details, didn't you?

Shit, I barely scratched the surface. I popped open another beer and tipped at first. back. I was starting to get a buzz. I was pretty sure I was going to need it. I let out another belch and asked, What's your best memory from the war? Jack smiled a little. We just finished taking back a city called Huey. We were fighting from house to house and street to street. I barely ate or got any sleep the whole time. I was running on a combination of dexadrine and fear. I was so fucking scared that whole time you can't even imagine. Anyway, we found all these big earthenware jars of rice wine in the cellar.

After the night where we just went through, you better believe we wanted to get into that wine pretty bad. But we were all scared that the NVA poisoned it before they left. Finally, one of the guys just said, ah, fuck it, and started drinking. So we all sat round in a circle and waited to see if he was going to die. He didn't. So we all got drunk that night. I snorted some involuntary laughter and said,

That's pretty dark, man. They were dark times. Jack grinned. I could tell he was already sliding feet first into the bottle, as he probably did every night. But this time was going to be different. Tonight, Jack Werner was going to let it all out. He was going to lay it all bare for his audience of one, and I had a feeling things might get downright ugly. I was ready for it.

No, I wasn't just ready. I wanted it. I was darkly fascinated by Jack because he was a shit human being. If it weren't for the war, Jack's life probably would have taken an entirely different trajectory. The powers that B had stolen his youth and murdered his innocence. After all, the shit human beings aren't born that way. Everyone is shaped by their environment, and Jack was no exception. I raised my can and said,

Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't get poisoned. Um, what's next? How about you told me the story about how you met your wife? Jack looked bemused by this question. You're really picking at some old wounds tonight, aren't you? Well, I met her at an apple orchard. We both got hired on for the fall apple harvest. It was hard work, but she never complained.

Always smiling, always trying her best. I fell for her pretty hard, and eventually she took a shine to me too. She was the one who commits me to settle down, find a stable job, and finally drop some roots. That first year together, it was magic. I stopped having so many nightmares. I didn't feel so goddamn detached from everything, you know. I felt like I was part of my surroundings again. And then we went to see the deer hunter.

And things started going south after that. I was having nightmares again. and I started drinking to drown him out. I got into a fight at work and I got fired. I lost a good job at an auto plant all because I had a bitch of a hangover and I was feeling mean. The wife was furious at me. She stood over me at the kitchen table and yelled, How were we supposed to pay for this house we just bought?

What are we going to do? I told her, maybe you should stop yelling and go pick some fucking apples. She went ballistic and slapped me across the face. I said, don't you ever raise your hand to me again, you stupid bitch. And I'll be damned if she didn't try it again. Well, that was the last straw. I grabbed her by the throat and put her up against the fridge.

I choked her until she was red in the face, and I told her, you're trying to push a button in me, woman. Don't you dare push that button. Don't you fucking dare. I stared at Jack in dismay. Jesus Christ, man, why would you do that to your wife? Jack narrowed his eyes and said, Go ahead and clutch your pearls.

I didn't hurt her. I just showed her what it would happen if she crossed the line. She never tried anything like that again. She learned her lesson. I closed my eyes. Forget it. Just tell me about your divorce. Why did she finally leave you? Ben died. Jack answered in a cold, flat tone. His smile was gone. After that, there was nothing left to hold it together. We didn't love each other anymore.

We didn't even like each other. She followed for divorce a few months after the funeral. Just like that, it was done. I started to ask another question, and Jack shushed me with a raised finger. Okay, your turn. How about you? Why are you sitting here on my porch? Why aren't you still with your better half? I felt my jaw tighten in a flare of resentment.

I shot back. We aren't talking about me. We're talking about you. Why not? Jack demanded. His smile was back, but now it was gleaming with hostility. You asked me about my divorce, and now I'm asking you about yours. What happened?

I glared at him and snapped. She fell for a guy at work and kicked me out. Well, fuck a duck. Jack wheezed, and he toasted me back with his glass of rum. Ain't that some shit? What did you do to make her turn to another man? I gave him the side eye and muttered. What is that supposed to mean?

She wanted to be with you, and then she didn't. Jack explained patiently. So what happened? I stabbed a finger at him and hissed. It's none of your business. Do you want me to leave? I'll go right now. Oh, now he wants to leave.

Jack said. He was still smiling. Fine. Forget I said anything. Back to me, I guess. Ask me something. Go ahead. I clamped down on my anger.

That was exactly the response he was looking for, so I would deny him the pleasure. I shrugged it off and said, Okay, more questions. How about, um, What was it like for you when you came back from the war? Jack studied his glass of rum, looking for assurance within its murky depths. Well, I was gone for thirteen months. When I got home, a lot of things had changed.

Guys my age were running around with long hair. There were tie-dyes and mini-skirts. I had no idea this cultural revolution was happening. Not until I got off the plane and saw it for myself. Now, I fully expected to come home a hero, but I was dead wrong. They all fucking hated us. On the day I came back to America, someone spit on me and called me a baby killer. I'd just gotten out of a taxi with all my gear and this girl came up to me and said, welcome

back, baby killer. And then she spit on me and walked away. I just stared at her with my mouth open. This, this spoiled fucking brat, this soft little child who never had to lift a finger in her entire life. She comes clomping up in her sandals and her bow-bottom jeans and she spits on me. A friggin' baby killer? As if that's all I did all day, just walk around and shoot babies. Jesus Christ, I should have punched her in the throat.

That wasn't right, but people did. They did have plenty to be mad about, I interjected. There was a war going on that nobody wanted. Protests were being shut down by the cops. A couple of kids ended up getting shot by the National Guard at Kent State University. Nobody had any right to give you a hard time about your service, but they did have a reason to be angry. Jack scoffed at me and said,

"'Saw like I had any choice in the matter, did I? I wasn't going to get a college deferment like all the smart kids. I wasn't going to dodge the draft and run away to Canada like all the rich. kids either. The rest of us, we didn't have a choice. All those peace nicks and protesters thought they knew what was going on, but they didn't understand the reality of the situation. But the worst thing to me was that, even though most of them were dumb as fuck, they were still right. It was a bullshit war. We got involved for bullshit reasons. And in the end, what did we do? We gave up, and we let the NVA take over all those lives, all the suffering and the sacrifices.

It all meant nothing. I felt a pang of pity in my heart, and it struck me that almost nothing is completely black and white in this world. The truth is that reality is fucking complicated, and anyone who thinks otherwise is lying to themselves. I adapted after a while. I grew my hair out to fit in. I tried to lead the life they want you to lead.

You know, the house, the kid, green lawns, and church, suppers, all that, horse shit. I tried, but it didn't work. The war was many years and thousands of miles behind me, but I could still hear the echoes. They never fade away. I absorbed his answer and ruminated on my next question as I drank my beer. I drained that can and popped open another. How many people did you kill? Faintly, Jack said.

I don't really know. In the heat of a battle, it can be hard to say who killed who. Probably 15 or 20, maybe more. None of them were babies. Were they all soldiers, though? No, I don't think so. But I can't say they weren't the enemy either. That's just how it is.

There's always some collateral damage in a war. People get caught in the crossfire. I gritted my teeth at the casual and boozy brashness of this statement. I leaned closer and snapped. How about your own family? Were they collateral damage too? Did they get caught in the crossfire? Jack froze in his chair.

He gave me a dark stare from across the table, then poured himself some more booze. I guess that's a fair point. And you're probably not wrong. But you're crossing a line, little buddy. Make sure you stay away from that line. I held his gaze and asked, Why? You don't seem to care much about crossing lines. Why do you think you're entitled to make other people miserable?

So you're Mr. Perfect over there, are you? Your woman didn't seem to think so, did she? I gave him an antagonistic smile, followed by an insultingly enthusiastic thumbs up. Good one, Jack. I got you angry, didn't I? I can tell it's been a while since anyone's pushed back against your rancid bullshit. Let me tell you something, old man.

It's not because people are afraid of you. It's because you don't know anyone who cares. Jack opened his mouth to spit out a rebuttal, but I raised my voice and cut him off. Be quiet and listen, asshole. Let me explain what I mean. When you're being shitty to a stranger behind a cash register, they honestly don't give a fuck. You know why? Because you'll be gone in a minute or two.

And then they won't have to deal with you anymore. That's what I'm talking about, Jack. No one cares enough to engage you, get it? It's different when you're being a prick to someone close to you, isn't it? They'll push back and you don't like that very much. That's why you drove everyone away because you can't handle the consequences of your actions. Who the fuck do you think you are? You don't know me.

You don't know about my life and you sure as hell don't know about the war. You don't know nothing at all. So don't you use that tone with me. Not me, motherfucker. Don't you dare? Why not? Because you were in a war 50 years ago? How long is that going to be your crutch, old man?

Are you going to snivel about it forever? Fucking let it go for Christ's sake. Jack shoved his chair back and shot to his feet, spilling a wave of beer, rum and citronella across the table in the process. Shut your mouth! That's not how this goes, dickhead! I do the talking! Shut the fuck up and listen.

Talk to me like that again, and I swear to God I'll knock your dick in the dirt. I stood up, too, my face burning in the darkness. I beckoned him with a curled finger and said, I'm not Ben. I'll fight back. I'll give you what you're looking for. Jack's fist lashed out like a whip and connected with my chin. I stumbled back with stars in my eyes.

He shoved the table out of his way and came from me, splashing beer and rum all over the splintering floorboards underneath. I stepped forward with my fist clasp. linched, and I promptly caught a sharp jab in the mouth. I charged into Jack's next punch with my head down, and I tackled him around the waist. We slipped in the puddle of booze, and I landed on top of him. Jack let out a sharp cry of pain when he hit the deck. His fingers started clawing for my eyes. I shoved his hands away and clobbered him in the face. He tried to cover up his head with his arms, so I pinned them with my knees and hit him again. I popped

him a third time, then drew back my fist to give him a fourth one. Something jagged and primal had been released from the depths of my soul. I wanted to punch his face into oblivion. I wanted to kill him. Are you done? Fuckhead? Do you want some more? Jack smiled up at me, and I saw blood on his teeth. Come on, coward. Keep going. I looked down at his wild eyes, his bleeding face, and just like that, my rage was gone. I felt dirty. I whispered. No, I won't do it. I heard a door swing open across the street and a woman shouted.

If you don't know. I stood up on shaking legs and spat a mouthful of blood over the railing. I hollered back. Everything's fine. Mind you on business and go to bed. Jack sat up and mumbled. You tell her, boss. Give her hell.

I felt my stomach do a lazy roll in my gut. I grimly swallowed down a wave of nausea and crouched down to stare Jack in the eyes. I. Last question, Jack. What was the worst thing you ever did? Tell me the truth, you old bastard. Let it all out. I didn't think Jack was going to answer, but he did. He bowed his head and muttered. I ran in a room in Saigon when I was on leave. I was used to being on high alert at all times, but there wasn't any threat in Saigon. I didn't know what to do with myself. So I went out and got hammered all day. Every day. If I didn't get drunk all day, I probably would have lost my mind.

I got myself thrown out of a bar one night for causing trouble. I was walking down the street afterward, drunk as hell, and this shady-looking guy asked me if I wanted to meet a girl. I knew what he was talking about. Me? I didn't have a girl waiting for me back home. I was always too awkward, I guess. I hadn't even gotten my first kiss yet.

but I was a murderer. It was pretty fucked up if you think about it. Pretty fucked up all round. Anyway, this guy led me to a seating motel. I saw a few grunts lined up outside a door. I paid the guy's money and waited for my turn to go in. The other guys are all laughing and joking around, but I kept my mouth shut. Drunk or not?

I was nervous as hell. I knew it was a bad thing to do, but good and bad didn't seem to matter over there. Nothing mattered, not even the war. We were just counting off the days until we could go home. The line in front of me kept getting shorter and shorter, and then it was my turn. I stepped through the door, and then I almost turned around and left. The girl on the bed was alive, but... She was dead inside.

The lights were on, but nobody was home. She was somewhere far away from that dirty little room with the cockroaches on the walls. She was in a place where nobody could touch her. I hauled myself to my feet with the railing, and I spat more blood into the front yard. I'd officially had enough. My mouth was cut up, my stomach was churning, and I didn't want to be near him anymore. You knew she was being forced to sell herself, but you went through with it. Anyway, why?

I don't know. I've asked myself that question time and time again, and I just don't know. When I was a kid, I never imagined I would ever kill someone. I never thought I would break someone's face with the butt of a rifle, but that's what I did. I killed people, and I burned their homes. I burned their crops. I burned their livestock. I burned their entire lives to the ground.

And then... I moved on. I did so many horrible things. But that was the worst. I will never forget the dead look in her eyes. Just staring up at nothing and waiting for it to stop. When I was done, I came out and saw at least ten more guys waiting in line. I remember thinking, fucking hell.

It never stops. And then my stomach turned. I ran into an alley and puked against a wall. It got all over my boots and splattered my legs. After that, I stumbled back to my room and crawled into my bed, still covered in puk. I didn't wake up until half-past noon when I opened my eyes. My first thought was, we don't need help. This is enough.

I wanted to see if there was more, but Jack was finished talking. There was nothing more to say. I looked up at the stars, shining so clean and soft in their lofty perch, far away from the filth and madness of humankind. I took a deep breath and said, I'm going home. Jack held his ribs with one hand as he pulled himself to his feet with the other, clutching at the table for support. He lifted his shirt to wipe the blood off his face, and he murmured. There's nothing good in this world. Not now.

Not then, and not ever. It never stops, kid. There's no way out. I paused on the bottom step and said, I pity you, Jack. I don't know what else to say except fuck you and fuck off. Whatever happened here, it's done now. Don't ever talk to me again.

I walked away without looking up. I marched directly into my bedroom and cleaned up my face. I had a few cuts in my mouth and a spruce. split in my upper lip, but it was nothing too serious. When I was done, I struggled out of my pants and crawled into bed. I was drunk and the room was spinning in a large, lazy circle. As I faded into sleep, I could hear Jack crooning. It never stops, kid.

There's no way out. I dreamed I was running through the jungle again. I could see the choppers in a clearing far ahead. I was trying to reach them, but my gear was too heavy and I was too far away. In just a few seconds, they'd be flying over the treetops, soaring back to freedom, and I would be left behind. I had to wake up before the choppers left the ground. I had to wake up and stop him.

My eyes flew open, and I hopped out of bed. I knew exactly what he was going to do. And, for better or worse, I had to save him. For the sake of my own soul, I had to try. It was still dark outside. Jack's car was idling in the driveway. The garden hose was taped around the exhaust pipe. It was looped around to the car's driver's side window.

I could see Jack sitting behind the wheel. His eyes were open, but they were staring into the void. The doors were locked. I ripped away a strip of duct tape from the top window and smashed it with a rock. Jack let out a confused grunt as I dragged him onto the front lawn. He curled up onto his side and started to weakly cough into the grass. My head was pounding with a ferocious headache, and the exertion from dragging a fully grown man didn't help my.

I knelt down beside him in the wet grass and gasped, You can't die yet, not like this. He pushed himself up in a sitting position with a squawk of pain. Why? I just stopped me. I rubbed my temples inside. Because you could still do some good before you die, it's not too late. You can make this world a slightly better place.

He gave me an incredulous look and asked, How the hell am I supposed to do that? You want me to volunteer at a soup kitchen? What the fuck are you even talking about? I don't know how you'll do it, or if you'll even try. All I know for sure is that you're a human being. Where you take it from there is up to you. I helped him to his feet.

He held his left side and gasped. I think I cracked a rib earlier. I guess I deserved it. I don't know if you deserved it, but I'm not sorry. I told him, and I started to walk away. I called over my shoulder. Phone the cops if you want to press charges. I'll show them my lip, and maybe they'll end up charging us both.

I don't care. If not, then I wish you good luck in life, and I hope you find some peace. I left Jack standing there in his yard with his cracked rib and swollen face. I wasn't proud of myself, but I wasn't ashamed either. In real life, the hero and villain are often the same person. Most situations aren't black and white, and the echoes of the past. don't need to follow us into the future. These are all difficult truths, but that doesn't make them any less true.

Some form of redemption is always lurking right around the corner. We all have time to do some good before we're gone. If Jack can do it, so can you. He got sober and started a support group for veterans. I can hear them in his backyard when the weather is fair, speaking in hushed tones about their experiences both on and off the battlefield. Sometimes there is laughter, other times there is anger and tears. There are a circle of shattered souls, but with the support of their peers, they're piecing

themselves back together the best they can. Personally, I think it's sort of beautiful. To this day, Jack and I are still not on speaking terms. I don't think he would ever be able to look me in the eye again. I'm glad he's doing well, but I have no need to communicate with him. I'd always be silently judging him for his actions in the past, and that wouldn't be good for either one of us. After a lot of reflection, I was finally able to face my own demons. It took time to learn that I can share my life with someone else and still belong to myself. I recently

started seeing someone new. Neither of us wants to rush into anything heavy. It's nice to just enjoy someone's company and not feel any pressure. If anything, I think it's actually making us closer. No expectations mean no disappointments, and we both like that just fine. I have nothing else to say except to remind you that the past is behind you and the future is out of your reach. The present is where we exist and the perfect time to turn it all around is right now.