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All my friends were murdered, now I can stand on one foot.
I just got discharged from the hospital two hours ago.
I am sitting on the bed in my bedroom, with a brand-new pair of basketball shoes beside me. On sale, size 11.5, Nike. The left foot fits perfectly, but the right side requires me to stuff three layers of thick wool socks inside just to barely keep it from slipping off.
I am writing this not to seek sympathy, nor do I intend to ask you for the police's contact information. The case has probably already made the local news. If you’ve been following the state news over the past two months, you should have seen the headlines about the "Black Pine Woods Camping Massacre." All of my friends are dead.
Regardless of what the police reports say, I just want to tell what happened that night, from my perspective.
Before I talk about what happened that night, I must first explain to you what kind of person I actually am.
−
If you met me for the first time, you probably wouldn't think there was anything wrong with me.
I can walk, I can jog, and I can go up and down the stairs just like anyone else. If I don't actively tell people, no one would notice any difference between me and an ordinary person.
But ever since I was a child, I knew my body was worse than others in certain ways.
I couldn't do sports. Not "not good at it," but completely incapable. The word "clumsy" was stuck to me like a cutie mark, an innate trait. Just like my congenital amblyopia, it was something destined to never change.
I was never a picky eater, yet I remained skinny and weak, as if nutrients just slid right out of my stomach. Even when walking on flat ground, I would trip and bruise myself all over.
Elementary school PE class was practically a public execution for me. While other kids ran wild like horses across the playground, I always shrank into the shadows of the bleachers. I tried training myself, but every attempt ended in failure.
The comment all the teachers wrote on my report cards at the end of the term was always the exact same line: "Quiet, but very creative."
There was a fifty percent lie in that, and you can probably guess which half it was. Adults rarely tell a child directly that he is bad at fitting in with the group. They won't say you don't fit in, they won't say you are too timid, nor will they say you have nothing particularly outstanding about you. They will only say you are quiet, introverted, and add a line about being "very creative" that no one could actually see.
But I still had two friends, Jonathan and Anna. We were neighbors, and from the very first day I moved into this neighborhood, we hung out together. They never mocked me for always falling down or for my ridiculous bright-blue amblyopia glasses. Jonathan would fight off those who picked on me, and Anna would hand me a handkerchief to wipe the water spots off my glasses.
I thought we would be like this forever, until we entered high school, and everything changed.
Jonathan grew tall and strong remarkably fast, and Anna's facial structure began to mature; her face started radiating a unique charm that made anyone like her at first sight. She changed her name during the summer break of eighth grade because the name Anna "didn't match my face ".Her name is Ivy now.
Jonathan became the quarterback of the school football team, and Ivy was the cheerleading captain. They were naturally placed at the top of the school's food chain, becoming part of the popular cool kids, and subsequently started dating.
I thought they would naturally abandon me too. I was already prepared to go find fellow bottom-tier freaks to make friends with, but they didn't. Every time Jonathan ran into me in the hallway, he would shout my name loudly to greet me, and Ivy would smile at me and wave.
Jonathan and Ivy were the king and queen of this school. I was neither nobility nor a commoner, so I was excluded from the food chain altogether. I still only had the two of them as friends. I suppose I was probably just the jester keeping the king and queen entertained.
There were often rumors in school saying that Jonathan and Ivy only used me as a tool to run errands, or simply treated me as a little pet in their boring lives.
But I didn't care, really. They were just occasionally a bit too rough when fooling around. Even if they now doubled over in laughter whenever I fell, I was still grateful to them. In this cruel high school social circle, it was them who shielded me from the worst of the bottom-tier bullying.
If a friendship lasts for more than ten years, it becomes hard to define its decline through simple status gaps. We had been friends for ten years; they wouldn't abandon me.
Until that weekend, when Jonathan proposed that we all go camping together.
The temperature was very low that day, and the forest was filled with the smell of wet, decaying leaves. A total of nine people participated in the trip. Besides the three of us, there were three other football teammates and their girlfriends.
They set up tents at the campsite and lit a campfire. Jonathan brought several cases of beer, while Ivy was in charge of turning on the speakers. Everyone could only listen to her playlist, but it didn't matter; it was full of pop music, so everyone could hum along to a few lines. I sat on a rock a little distance away from the fire, responsible for handing out drinks to everyone.
Jonathan kept telling inside jokes from the football team, and everyone was laughing out loud. Even if I didn't understand them, I laughed along with them. I liked that atmosphere. No matter how terrible a person you were before, knowing that right now you were included in the group made you feel temporarily safe.
I thought I was lucky.
Then, an ridiculously tall man walked out from the shadows of the woods.
He wore a dirt-covered black apron and held a large machete. Over his face was a leather mask with crude stitching, featuring two small holes cut out for eyes.
That's right, his outfit was entirely a hodgepodge from low-budget 80s slasher films——so much so that when I first noticed him, I inappropriately thought of Jason Voorhees.
Mike, the teammate standing on the outermost side, didn't even have time to fight back before Jason swung the blade at his neck. He screamed frantically, trying to cover the wound with his hands, but it was in vain. Blood sprayed onto the tent canvas like a high-pressure water gun, making the sound of rain falling on an umbrella.
My brain was screaming at me to run, but my legs were heavy as iron. I saw Jonathan try to fight back, only to be kicked flying by Jason, slamming heavily against a tree trunk.
No one could fight back against him. He looked so strong, so invincible. He chopped through everyone like vegetables. There were bodies everywhere, along with severed limbs and bright red blood.
When I was finally able to move my feet and back away trembling, just like all the stupid side characters in horror movies, I was tripped by a tree branch.
I fell beside a tent, my glasses dropping to the ground. Through the gap in the tent zipper, I saw a terrified face staring at me. It was Ivy.
Her makeup was ruined by tears, or perhaps sweat. Her black eyeliner had smudged into a large blotch, looking somewhat absurd. She stared at me with pleading eyes, shaking her head at me, begging me not to expose her.
This was the first time Ivy had ever looked at me like that, so I dragged myself up from the ground with all my strength, shouting and screaming as I ran in the other direction, attempting to draw the killer's attention. But he ignored me completely, walking straight toward Ivy's tent.
He unzipped it and stepped inside. A brief scream echoed out——the voice was very raspy and didn't sound much like Ivy's. Then came the dull thud of a sharp weapon plunging into flesh, and a slender figure collapsed, the arc of spraying blood showing exceptionally clear under the firelight.
Now, I was the only one left.
I slumped onto the ground, my back drenched in cold sweat. He dropped the blood-stained blade and stopped in front of me, heavy, turbid breathing coming from behind the mask.
"Hey, hero. Stand up, let's play a game."
His voice was very hoarse, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other. I was shaking violently all over, using every ounce of strength just to prop myself up against a nearby wooden stake to stand steady.
"Stand on one foot for me. If you can hold it for ten seconds, I'll let you go."
The cadence of his voice arched upward in a bizarre way at the end, just like a little girl who had found a beloved toy.
"Three... two... one..."
He began to count. I took a deep breath and slowly raised my left foot. Although wobbly, I tried my best to stay balanced.
He watched my performance with great interest, then said, "Now switch to standing on your left foot."
No.
I have always felt that there are very strange things inside the human body. They don't affect your normal life, so you rarely notice them, eventually even forgetting they exist. Not until one day someone suddenly magnifies these hidden defects in your body, making them the key to deciding your life or death, do you realize how much you shouldn't have ignored them.
I couldn't stand using only my left foot.
My left leg was abnormally weak and frail. Aside from my parents, only Jonathan and Ivy knew about this. I didn't know if this killer acted on a whim or what, but clearly, I was going to die now because of this stupid flaw.
Regardless, I had to try. But almost the instant my right foot left the ground, an intense sense of imbalance washed over me——my left ankle felt as if it were made of Play-Doh, completely unable to support my weight.
Before even two seconds had passed, I fell down.
"Again."
I scrambled up in a panic to try again. This time I held on for four seconds, but my ankle twisted unnaturally once more, sending me crashing sideways into the fire pit next to me, burning several holes into my clothes with sparks.
"Again."
I tried again and again, falling time after time, as dirt, blood, and tears mixed on my face. I knew I must look hilariously foolish right now. My left ankle was already sprained, throbbing with excruciating pain. But I didn't dare to stop, because that large machete was hovering right above my head.
When I fell yet again, Jason dropped the machete and burst out laughing.
"God! I can't hold it in anymore, how can someone be this clumsy!"
"I told you he couldn't do it."
A familiar voice suddenly came from behind me. I turned my head——it was Ivy. She was covered in bloodstains, but standing there completely fine.
Immediately after, more laughter rang out from the surrounding shadows.
"See, I told you! This guy can't even hold it for three seconds, even with a knife pointed at his head!"
Jonathan, who had originally been lying slumped against the tree, stood up, wiped the fake blood off his face, and laughed so hard he could barely catch his breath. The other "dead" friends also picked themselves up from the ground one after another, high-fiving and cheering.
Jason Voorhees took off his mask——he wasn't Jason, he was Jonathan's cousin, Andy.
This was a meticulously planned prank aimed solely at me. The blood was a mix of red ink and corn syrup, the machete had a retractable blade, and those severed limbs were Halloween props they bought for a few dozen dollars.
The sky was dark, and immersed in terror, I had been completely unable to tell the difference.
They went through all this effort simply to verify a joke Jonathan had made: even under the threat of death, I wouldn't be able to stand on one foot for more than ten seconds.
They won.
Ivy gave me a hug, thanking me for not exposing her earlier, though she hadn't expected that I wouldn't even realize it wasn't her voice. For theatrical effect, Andy had volunteered to perform that scream for her.
Jonathan patted my shoulder: "Hey man, you know what the most amazing part is?"
"…what?"
"All of us thought that in a situation like this, you would definitely burst out with some hidden potential… Like suddenly becoming super badass and knocking the killer out with one punch."
The muscles on his face twitched strangely as he tried desperately to hold back his laughter.
"Turns out you're still the exact same."
The spot Jonathan had patted throbbed with a dull ache. I stood in place, hearing my own voice come out of my mouth.
"That really is... pretty funny."
Jonathan spread his arms wide, making weird noises while wildly flailing his hands in the air, mimicking the posture I had just used when trying to balance my body.
"Oh god, please don't kill me, I'm a massive loser, I can't even stand straight..."
He looked both stupid and ridiculous, and I couldn't help laughing out loud too. I sat on the ground laughing along with them, at my own stupidity, clumsiness, and absurdity.
As Jonathan moved closer and closer to me, his movements suddenly became somewhat stiff. His eyes opened wide, and the laughter in his throat turned into a bubbling, gurgling sound squeezed from deep within.
I wanted to say that his acting was really good, so good that I couldn't recreate it this perfectly myself, so stop it, don't come any closer to me. Until I saw a real machete pierce straight out through his chest, hot blood dripping down the tip of the blade, landing right on the toe of my shoe.
Jonathan collapsed heavily at my feet like a heavy sack of potatoes.
Standing behind him was a stranger. He wore clean grey overalls and an old newsboy cap, with thick metal-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He looked very ordinary, just like a biology teacher preparing to start a lesson.
"Don't kids these days know anything about 'manners'?"
He sighed, his gaze sweeping across everyone's face.
"Ten... still nine left. Alright then."
This time it was definitely not a prank, because Ivy began screaming for real.
He didn't run around chasing people with a machete like Andy did. He kicked Jonathan aside, then raised the shotgun in his hands and took aim.
Everything ended very quickly. I sat paralyzed next to Jonathan, watching it all happen. The campsite finally fell silent. Nothing remained except the crackling of the campfire and the sound of blood gurgling into the dirt.
He squatted down in front of me. I was surprised that I could still notice his clothes weren't stained with much blood, with only a few tiny specks of blood splattered on his glasses lenses.
"Stand on one foot for me."
He looked at me, speaking in an extremely gentle, almost encouraging tone.
Perhaps because I was too desperate, or perhaps because the prank earlier had already exhausted all my fear, I actually felt a long-absent sense of calm at this moment.
I said, "No, I can't."
"Stand up. Left foot only."
I used my hands to support myself as I stood up, trying to raise my right foot, but my body lost balance once again. I fell right at his feet.
"I can't do it... I really can't..."
I lay on the ground, burying my face deep into the dirt. Even now, I can still recall that smell of earth mixed with blood, and the feeling of waiting for him to blow the back of my head off with his gun.
"I've never been good at sports... my coordination is terrible... I'm a loser, I can't do it..."
I could feel his gaze watching me, and he let out a sigh. I quietly raised my head and found him sitting on top of Jonathan. Jonathan was very close to me, not quite dead yet. His lung seemed to have been punctured, blood bubbles overflowing from the corners of his mouth, every breath sounding like a broken bellows.
The man gently patted my shoulder, pulled me up from the ground, and wiped the dirt off my face.
"Good boy, take off your shoes and socks."
I knew this request sounded very strange, but I didn't dare disobey him. Whatever was going to happen next, I was already prepared, as long as I could survive.
I untied my shoelaces and took off my shoes and socks. He reached out a heavily calloused hand and grabbed my left ankle. His hand was very cold, like ice.
He began forcefully twisting my ankle, clockwise, counterclockwise.
"Stand up, try again."
His tone was no longer gentle. I endured the excruciating pain in my ankle to stand up again, only to fall once more. But this time he caught me, then sat me down on the ground.
"I know where the problem is."
He pointed below my ankle.
"Your talus has a congenital deformity, and the medial ligament of your ankle joint is extremely loose. This isn't a coordination issue; it's an anatomical defect. Your body structure is limiting you."
He raised his head and looked at me with absolute seriousness.
"It's not your fault. But don't worry... I will fix this ."
That was the last sentence he said to me under the dim firelight. That is the entirety of my memory.
−
When I woke up again, I was already lying in a hospital room. Countless people walked back and forth in front of my hospital bed, constantly asking questions and arguing about something. They told me that when the police found the campsite, two officers even threw up. Most of the victims had missing limbs to varying degrees, and the missing body parts were not found at the scene; it was tentatively speculated that he took them away.
Everyone died, and I survived.
The nurse told me to mentally prepare myself, then pulled back the blanket covering my lower body.
"It's a miracle... it's an absolute miracle. When we found you at the scene, your lower left leg had already been severed."
The lead doctor stood by my bed, speaking quickly and softly, making me try very hard to hear what he was saying.
No wonder I had no sensation in my left leg. But to be able to survive was already lucky enough.
I looked down at my lower body. My right leg was completely intact, while my left leg——
About five centimeters above the ankle bone, there was a gruesome ring of dark purple sutures. Two pieces of flesh were forcibly bound together by the stitching; one-tenth of my body had turned into Frankenstein.
The foot below the sutures was two whole sizes larger than my right foot. Its skin tone was wheat-colored, and there was a distinct callus worn onto the edge of the right big toe——a mark left by wearing cleated shoes for a long time.
That was Jonathan's foot.
He had cut off Jonathan's left foot and sewn it onto me.
"We were actually prepared to perform a second, higher-level amputation on you. In that kind of outdoor environment with zero sterile conditions, the infection rate and rejection reaction for an allogeneic limb transplant are almost one hundred percent fatal. But for some reason..."
The doctor pointed to the place where I was sewn together; he looked like he really wanted to reach out and touch it.
"You recovered exceptionally well. Your immune system seems to have completely accepted this foot."
The doctor said he had never seen anyone survive such a crazy transplant surgery without any lingering side effects. He even asked me to be a volunteer for his new research project, but I declined.
For two full months, I was busy being questioned by the police: What did he look like? What happened that day? Why did he spare you? And my answer never changed: Very ordinary. A prank and a massacre. I don't know.
Of course I chose to tell the truth, I told them every piece of information I knew. I don't know why this case remains unsolved even after I fully recovered. Maybe they spent the taxpayers' money somewhere else.
At any rate, after finishing all the psychological therapy and rehabilitation training, I completed my discharge procedures today. The psychologist suggested I find someone to talk to and not keep everything bottled up inside. I went to the store, bought two bottles of milk and a pair of new sneakers, then came home and opened my computer. Ta-da, and here I am.
I've recovered very well, and I feel great.
Aside from the two feet being completely asymmetrical in size, forcing me to buy two pairs of shoes in different sizes, Jonathan's foot is really great to use. It's strong, powerful, and springy. I can even feel the blood circulating smoothly through those five thick toes.
By the way, I can stand on one foot now. I can stand for a long time, and I can even stand with my eyes closed for over a minute.
Goodnight, Anna. Goodnight, Jonathan. May you rest in peace in heaven.
And thank you, for everything.
#entertainment
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I just got discharged from the hospital two hours ago.
I am sitting on the bed in my bedroom, with a brand-new pair of basketball shoes beside me. On sale, size 11.5, Nike. The left foot fits perfectly, but the right side requires me to stuff three layers of thick wool socks inside just to barely keep it from slipping off.
I am writing this not to seek sympathy, nor do I intend to ask you for the police's contact information. The case has probably already made the local news. If you’ve been following the state news over the past two months, you should have seen the headlines about the "Black Pine Woods Camping Massacre." All of my friends are dead.
Regardless of what the police reports say, I just want to tell what happened that night, from my perspective.
Before I talk about what happened that night, I must first explain to you what kind of person I actually am.
−
If you met me for the first time, you probably wouldn't think there was anything wrong with me.
I can walk, I can jog, and I can go up and down the stairs just like anyone else. If I don't actively tell people, no one would notice any difference between me and an ordinary person.
But ever since I was a child, I knew my body was worse than others in certain ways.
I couldn't do sports. Not "not good at it," but completely incapable. The word "clumsy" was stuck to me like a cutie mark, an innate trait. Just like my congenital amblyopia, it was something destined to never change.
I was never a picky eater, yet I remained skinny and weak, as if nutrients just slid right out of my stomach. Even when walking on flat ground, I would trip and bruise myself all over.
Elementary school PE class was practically a public execution for me. While other kids ran wild like horses across the playground, I always shrank into the shadows of the bleachers. I tried training myself, but every attempt ended in failure.
The comment all the teachers wrote on my report cards at the end of the term was always the exact same line: "Quiet, but very creative."
There was a fifty percent lie in that, and you can probably guess which half it was. Adults rarely tell a child directly that he is bad at fitting in with the group. They won't say you don't fit in, they won't say you are too timid, nor will they say you have nothing particularly outstanding about you. They will only say you are quiet, introverted, and add a line about being "very creative" that no one could actually see.
But I still had two friends, Jonathan and Anna. We were neighbors, and from the very first day I moved into this neighborhood, we hung out together. They never mocked me for always falling down or for my ridiculous bright-blue amblyopia glasses. Jonathan would fight off those who picked on me, and Anna would hand me a handkerchief to wipe the water spots off my glasses.
I thought we would be like this forever, until we entered high school, and everything changed.
Jonathan grew tall and strong remarkably fast, and Anna's facial structure began to mature; her face started radiating a unique charm that made anyone like her at first sight. She changed her name during the summer break of eighth grade because the name Anna "didn't match my face ".Her name is Ivy now.
Jonathan became the quarterback of the school football team, and Ivy was the cheerleading captain. They were naturally placed at the top of the school's food chain, becoming part of the popular cool kids, and subsequently started dating.
I thought they would naturally abandon me too. I was already prepared to go find fellow bottom-tier freaks to make friends with, but they didn't. Every time Jonathan ran into me in the hallway, he would shout my name loudly to greet me, and Ivy would smile at me and wave.
Jonathan and Ivy were the king and queen of this school. I was neither nobility nor a commoner, so I was excluded from the food chain altogether. I still only had the two of them as friends. I suppose I was probably just the jester keeping the king and queen entertained.
There were often rumors in school saying that Jonathan and Ivy only used me as a tool to run errands, or simply treated me as a little pet in their boring lives.
But I didn't care, really. They were just occasionally a bit too rough when fooling around. Even if they now doubled over in laughter whenever I fell, I was still grateful to them. In this cruel high school social circle, it was them who shielded me from the worst of the bottom-tier bullying.
If a friendship lasts for more than ten years, it becomes hard to define its decline through simple status gaps. We had been friends for ten years; they wouldn't abandon me.
Until that weekend, when Jonathan proposed that we all go camping together.
The temperature was very low that day, and the forest was filled with the smell of wet, decaying leaves. A total of nine people participated in the trip. Besides the three of us, there were three other football teammates and their girlfriends.
They set up tents at the campsite and lit a campfire. Jonathan brought several cases of beer, while Ivy was in charge of turning on the speakers. Everyone could only listen to her playlist, but it didn't matter; it was full of pop music, so everyone could hum along to a few lines. I sat on a rock a little distance away from the fire, responsible for handing out drinks to everyone.
Jonathan kept telling inside jokes from the football team, and everyone was laughing out loud. Even if I didn't understand them, I laughed along with them. I liked that atmosphere. No matter how terrible a person you were before, knowing that right now you were included in the group made you feel temporarily safe.
I thought I was lucky.
Then, an ridiculously tall man walked out from the shadows of the woods.
He wore a dirt-covered black apron and held a large machete. Over his face was a leather mask with crude stitching, featuring two small holes cut out for eyes.
That's right, his outfit was entirely a hodgepodge from low-budget 80s slasher films——so much so that when I first noticed him, I inappropriately thought of Jason Voorhees.
Mike, the teammate standing on the outermost side, didn't even have time to fight back before Jason swung the blade at his neck. He screamed frantically, trying to cover the wound with his hands, but it was in vain. Blood sprayed onto the tent canvas like a high-pressure water gun, making the sound of rain falling on an umbrella.
My brain was screaming at me to run, but my legs were heavy as iron. I saw Jonathan try to fight back, only to be kicked flying by Jason, slamming heavily against a tree trunk.
No one could fight back against him. He looked so strong, so invincible. He chopped through everyone like vegetables. There were bodies everywhere, along with severed limbs and bright red blood.
When I was finally able to move my feet and back away trembling, just like all the stupid side characters in horror movies, I was tripped by a tree branch.
I fell beside a tent, my glasses dropping to the ground. Through the gap in the tent zipper, I saw a terrified face staring at me. It was Ivy.
Her makeup was ruined by tears, or perhaps sweat. Her black eyeliner had smudged into a large blotch, looking somewhat absurd. She stared at me with pleading eyes, shaking her head at me, begging me not to expose her.
This was the first time Ivy had ever looked at me like that, so I dragged myself up from the ground with all my strength, shouting and screaming as I ran in the other direction, attempting to draw the killer's attention. But he ignored me completely, walking straight toward Ivy's tent.
He unzipped it and stepped inside. A brief scream echoed out——the voice was very raspy and didn't sound much like Ivy's. Then came the dull thud of a sharp weapon plunging into flesh, and a slender figure collapsed, the arc of spraying blood showing exceptionally clear under the firelight.
Now, I was the only one left.
I slumped onto the ground, my back drenched in cold sweat. He dropped the blood-stained blade and stopped in front of me, heavy, turbid breathing coming from behind the mask.
"Hey, hero. Stand up, let's play a game."
His voice was very hoarse, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other. I was shaking violently all over, using every ounce of strength just to prop myself up against a nearby wooden stake to stand steady.
"Stand on one foot for me. If you can hold it for ten seconds, I'll let you go."
The cadence of his voice arched upward in a bizarre way at the end, just like a little girl who had found a beloved toy.
"Three... two... one..."
He began to count. I took a deep breath and slowly raised my left foot. Although wobbly, I tried my best to stay balanced.
He watched my performance with great interest, then said, "Now switch to standing on your left foot."
No.
I have always felt that there are very strange things inside the human body. They don't affect your normal life, so you rarely notice them, eventually even forgetting they exist. Not until one day someone suddenly magnifies these hidden defects in your body, making them the key to deciding your life or death, do you realize how much you shouldn't have ignored them.
I couldn't stand using only my left foot.
My left leg was abnormally weak and frail. Aside from my parents, only Jonathan and Ivy knew about this. I didn't know if this killer acted on a whim or what, but clearly, I was going to die now because of this stupid flaw.
Regardless, I had to try. But almost the instant my right foot left the ground, an intense sense of imbalance washed over me——my left ankle felt as if it were made of Play-Doh, completely unable to support my weight.
Before even two seconds had passed, I fell down.
"Again."
I scrambled up in a panic to try again. This time I held on for four seconds, but my ankle twisted unnaturally once more, sending me crashing sideways into the fire pit next to me, burning several holes into my clothes with sparks.
"Again."
I tried again and again, falling time after time, as dirt, blood, and tears mixed on my face. I knew I must look hilariously foolish right now. My left ankle was already sprained, throbbing with excruciating pain. But I didn't dare to stop, because that large machete was hovering right above my head.
When I fell yet again, Jason dropped the machete and burst out laughing.
"God! I can't hold it in anymore, how can someone be this clumsy!"
"I told you he couldn't do it."
A familiar voice suddenly came from behind me. I turned my head——it was Ivy. She was covered in bloodstains, but standing there completely fine.
Immediately after, more laughter rang out from the surrounding shadows.
"See, I told you! This guy can't even hold it for three seconds, even with a knife pointed at his head!"
Jonathan, who had originally been lying slumped against the tree, stood up, wiped the fake blood off his face, and laughed so hard he could barely catch his breath. The other "dead" friends also picked themselves up from the ground one after another, high-fiving and cheering.
Jason Voorhees took off his mask——he wasn't Jason, he was Jonathan's cousin, Andy.
This was a meticulously planned prank aimed solely at me. The blood was a mix of red ink and corn syrup, the machete had a retractable blade, and those severed limbs were Halloween props they bought for a few dozen dollars.
The sky was dark, and immersed in terror, I had been completely unable to tell the difference.
They went through all this effort simply to verify a joke Jonathan had made: even under the threat of death, I wouldn't be able to stand on one foot for more than ten seconds.
They won.
Ivy gave me a hug, thanking me for not exposing her earlier, though she hadn't expected that I wouldn't even realize it wasn't her voice. For theatrical effect, Andy had volunteered to perform that scream for her.
Jonathan patted my shoulder: "Hey man, you know what the most amazing part is?"
"…what?"
"All of us thought that in a situation like this, you would definitely burst out with some hidden potential… Like suddenly becoming super badass and knocking the killer out with one punch."
The muscles on his face twitched strangely as he tried desperately to hold back his laughter.
"Turns out you're still the exact same."
The spot Jonathan had patted throbbed with a dull ache. I stood in place, hearing my own voice come out of my mouth.
"That really is... pretty funny."
Jonathan spread his arms wide, making weird noises while wildly flailing his hands in the air, mimicking the posture I had just used when trying to balance my body.
"Oh god, please don't kill me, I'm a massive loser, I can't even stand straight..."
He looked both stupid and ridiculous, and I couldn't help laughing out loud too. I sat on the ground laughing along with them, at my own stupidity, clumsiness, and absurdity.
As Jonathan moved closer and closer to me, his movements suddenly became somewhat stiff. His eyes opened wide, and the laughter in his throat turned into a bubbling, gurgling sound squeezed from deep within.
I wanted to say that his acting was really good, so good that I couldn't recreate it this perfectly myself, so stop it, don't come any closer to me. Until I saw a real machete pierce straight out through his chest, hot blood dripping down the tip of the blade, landing right on the toe of my shoe.
Jonathan collapsed heavily at my feet like a heavy sack of potatoes.
Standing behind him was a stranger. He wore clean grey overalls and an old newsboy cap, with thick metal-framed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He looked very ordinary, just like a biology teacher preparing to start a lesson.
"Don't kids these days know anything about 'manners'?"
He sighed, his gaze sweeping across everyone's face.
"Ten... still nine left. Alright then."
This time it was definitely not a prank, because Ivy began screaming for real.
He didn't run around chasing people with a machete like Andy did. He kicked Jonathan aside, then raised the shotgun in his hands and took aim.
Everything ended very quickly. I sat paralyzed next to Jonathan, watching it all happen. The campsite finally fell silent. Nothing remained except the crackling of the campfire and the sound of blood gurgling into the dirt.
He squatted down in front of me. I was surprised that I could still notice his clothes weren't stained with much blood, with only a few tiny specks of blood splattered on his glasses lenses.
"Stand on one foot for me."
He looked at me, speaking in an extremely gentle, almost encouraging tone.
Perhaps because I was too desperate, or perhaps because the prank earlier had already exhausted all my fear, I actually felt a long-absent sense of calm at this moment.
I said, "No, I can't."
"Stand up. Left foot only."
I used my hands to support myself as I stood up, trying to raise my right foot, but my body lost balance once again. I fell right at his feet.
"I can't do it... I really can't..."
I lay on the ground, burying my face deep into the dirt. Even now, I can still recall that smell of earth mixed with blood, and the feeling of waiting for him to blow the back of my head off with his gun.
"I've never been good at sports... my coordination is terrible... I'm a loser, I can't do it..."
I could feel his gaze watching me, and he let out a sigh. I quietly raised my head and found him sitting on top of Jonathan. Jonathan was very close to me, not quite dead yet. His lung seemed to have been punctured, blood bubbles overflowing from the corners of his mouth, every breath sounding like a broken bellows.
The man gently patted my shoulder, pulled me up from the ground, and wiped the dirt off my face.
"Good boy, take off your shoes and socks."
I knew this request sounded very strange, but I didn't dare disobey him. Whatever was going to happen next, I was already prepared, as long as I could survive.
I untied my shoelaces and took off my shoes and socks. He reached out a heavily calloused hand and grabbed my left ankle. His hand was very cold, like ice.
He began forcefully twisting my ankle, clockwise, counterclockwise.
"Stand up, try again."
His tone was no longer gentle. I endured the excruciating pain in my ankle to stand up again, only to fall once more. But this time he caught me, then sat me down on the ground.
"I know where the problem is."
He pointed below my ankle.
"Your talus has a congenital deformity, and the medial ligament of your ankle joint is extremely loose. This isn't a coordination issue; it's an anatomical defect. Your body structure is limiting you."
He raised his head and looked at me with absolute seriousness.
"It's not your fault. But don't worry... I will fix this ."
That was the last sentence he said to me under the dim firelight. That is the entirety of my memory.
−
When I woke up again, I was already lying in a hospital room. Countless people walked back and forth in front of my hospital bed, constantly asking questions and arguing about something. They told me that when the police found the campsite, two officers even threw up. Most of the victims had missing limbs to varying degrees, and the missing body parts were not found at the scene; it was tentatively speculated that he took them away.
Everyone died, and I survived.
The nurse told me to mentally prepare myself, then pulled back the blanket covering my lower body.
"It's a miracle... it's an absolute miracle. When we found you at the scene, your lower left leg had already been severed."
The lead doctor stood by my bed, speaking quickly and softly, making me try very hard to hear what he was saying.
No wonder I had no sensation in my left leg. But to be able to survive was already lucky enough.
I looked down at my lower body. My right leg was completely intact, while my left leg——
About five centimeters above the ankle bone, there was a gruesome ring of dark purple sutures. Two pieces of flesh were forcibly bound together by the stitching; one-tenth of my body had turned into Frankenstein.
The foot below the sutures was two whole sizes larger than my right foot. Its skin tone was wheat-colored, and there was a distinct callus worn onto the edge of the right big toe——a mark left by wearing cleated shoes for a long time.
That was Jonathan's foot.
He had cut off Jonathan's left foot and sewn it onto me.
"We were actually prepared to perform a second, higher-level amputation on you. In that kind of outdoor environment with zero sterile conditions, the infection rate and rejection reaction for an allogeneic limb transplant are almost one hundred percent fatal. But for some reason..."
The doctor pointed to the place where I was sewn together; he looked like he really wanted to reach out and touch it.
"You recovered exceptionally well. Your immune system seems to have completely accepted this foot."
The doctor said he had never seen anyone survive such a crazy transplant surgery without any lingering side effects. He even asked me to be a volunteer for his new research project, but I declined.
For two full months, I was busy being questioned by the police: What did he look like? What happened that day? Why did he spare you? And my answer never changed: Very ordinary. A prank and a massacre. I don't know.
Of course I chose to tell the truth, I told them every piece of information I knew. I don't know why this case remains unsolved even after I fully recovered. Maybe they spent the taxpayers' money somewhere else.
At any rate, after finishing all the psychological therapy and rehabilitation training, I completed my discharge procedures today. The psychologist suggested I find someone to talk to and not keep everything bottled up inside. I went to the store, bought two bottles of milk and a pair of new sneakers, then came home and opened my computer. Ta-da, and here I am.
I've recovered very well, and I feel great.
Aside from the two feet being completely asymmetrical in size, forcing me to buy two pairs of shoes in different sizes, Jonathan's foot is really great to use. It's strong, powerful, and springy. I can even feel the blood circulating smoothly through those five thick toes.
By the way, I can stand on one foot now. I can stand for a long time, and I can even stand with my eyes closed for over a minute.
Goodnight, Anna. Goodnight, Jonathan. May you rest in peace in heaven.
And thank you, for everything.
#entertainment
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