Time To Remember

sitting in a grungy diner having a bit of gossip with a friend the bells on the door jingle

a dark stranger walks through the door wearing all black and a trimmed goatee and carefully styled hair he looks right at me

I barely pay him any mind but keep up my mundane talk

the air moves and suddenly he’s standing right there next to the table I turn to him and there’s something vaguely familiar about him I can’t place

he’s holding a zippo and flicking it open and closed





I’m nearly in a trance

he says my name and an uneasiness sweeps across my conscience and my eyes lift from his hands to his own dark eyes

his glance sweeps across my friend’s face she slowly backs away then turns and leaves in a hurry; looking around I realize everyone has left, it’s just me and him; when did that happen? it’s as if time is cutting in and out, the air is thickening around us

what do you want? my voice quiet

his raspy one responds I want you to remember don’t you remember me? don’t you remember anything? when we were kids and you came to my house?

I shake my head

well we’re going to play a new game now he steps forward a little closer

instinctively I lean away

he reaches into his leather vest and draws out a scalpel holds it daintily, considers it a moment

no I say

his eyes flash from the blade to my face, a grin spreads across his shadowed face, teeth gleaming in the pale light

oh I think yes he hisses and faster than I can comprehend his hand darts forward slashing a symbol into my right cheek just before stabbing me twice in rapid succession right above my heart

somehow I know I’ve been poisoned

I stand up quickly my chair scraping across the tiled floor I hear his gravelly chuckle I feel a little dizzy

here’s the fun part his voice echoing as through a fog remember and go to my house, it’s time for a new game little girl, one where this time I find you and then you’re going to remember everything and pain will teach you a few things along the way; don’t worry I’ll give you a little head start

I don’t know how but I somehow do remember his house and I find myself there though now it’s abandoned there’s dust and cobwebs everywhere

it’s a big house one fun for exploring as a kid not so fun when you’re being hunted

the drug is making it hard to maintain, I’m confused do I hide? do I …. oh I know now I need to find something, to remember…. what? I need to remember

he’s coming for me

tara caribou | ©2018-2021

40 Comments on “Time To Remember

  1. This is deep! I’m visualizing the demons I’ve ran away from all coming after me to make me hang with them, again. I love how you wrote this.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Love this. I get flashes of colour from the present, but fades to black and white when you interact with him. Though when he cuts you, you’re blood is red, as if the present is fading from you. I don’t know, just how I saw it in my mind whilst reading.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. My mother had told me to entertain him for a while so she and her bestie could chat. I resented the time taken from my latest Harlequin Romance. I told him to hide and I would find him. Finding him was easy, keeping him out of the way, till I could finish my book, would be hard. I saw the door of the tiny closet half open, closing it, I pushed a chair up against it’s handle and started to leave the room. “Is that you”, he cried out, “you found me fast”. I replied with venom, ” stay there you little shit, and keep quiet, and maybe I’ll let you out later”. I heard his wailing as I left the room, ” I don’t like the dark, it frightens me, the bad man will come”. Ignoring his cries I marched triumphantly towards my Harlequin Romance. As I passed my mother she said that we would be staying the night so that she and her bestie could catch up. Would I tell the boy to put himself to bed. I answered in the affirmative. Then settled down to my book and to dream. I awoke the next morning on the couch, yawning, I remembered the boy in the closet. I ran towards the closet door, removed the chair and peeked inside, to the blubbering wreck of the boy, covered in blood laying in the fetal position on the floor. He had used a wire hanger to cut symbols of the cross into his arms, to ward off evil. I now remember it all. Where can I hide.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. That’s some “crazy sick” writing….by that, I mean intense, edgy, spooky & dark, Tara….amazing & artistic

    Liked by 1 person

art & writings by emje

original artwork and the occasional rant

The Peddler

Art Consignments in Ninilchik, Alaska

The Pegasus Fiasco

Apologies for my apologies


Poetry by Charles Joseph

Rum and Robots

We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive

Robert Charboneau.

Writer and Artist

living document

a collection of short poetry from an autistic mind

Anonymously Hal

Poetry, Photography, and Thoughts


The Lies in the Skies Exposed

Writer In Retrospect

"When I am writing, I am trying to find out who I am..." --Maya Angelou

The Tigress Awakens

Welcome to my tiny corner of the universe filled with poems that I have written.


Author | Freelance Writer | Blogger



Better Letters

Butterwell's Blog

%d bloggers like this: