I Live In A Small Town In Texas Called Sanderson, And I Can Tell Something Weird Is Going On

“I’m not you’re fucking family!” I screamed and I threw my Zippo into the puddle. The flame ignited the chemicals in rapid succession and an intensely bright flame crawled up the creature with a purpose. The screeches became louder and louder as the bastard writhed in place, gouging at itself in the fire. I stepped around it, putting it between me and the open door. I knew I’d lose more blood with this next move, but I had to do it. I gripped a bar above me with one hand and kicked the flaming fucker with all my might. His flaming body went sailing out of the train car, leaving only a trail of dying embers behind. I didn’t bother to look out the door to see where it landed. I closed it as quick as I could. I used what little strength I had left to push a few of the barrels in front of the door to try and prevent whatever would come next from entering so easily.

And now, here we are. Funny, with all the dumb bits of knowledge I pride myself on, I couldn’t see what was right in front of me my whole life…until it sliced me in the damn gut. I cut the fuse down on my last bomb as short as I could. Every few moments, I light my Zippo again. Just to make sure, I guess. I can hear them out there, jumping on the car sometimes, or trying at the latch. I don’t know why they haven’t just ripped in here yet. Maybe they saw what I did to their buddy or they can smell the chemicals. I don’t know. It’s getting cold, and I can’t feel my fingers very well.

I’m going to tell you now. And please, remember this. Don’t ever fucking go to Sanderson, Texas. It is not a good place with good folk. It is a place of fucking horrors. Don’t stop by, don’t drive through, don’t even come near it. You’ll live a happier life if you don’t.

My vision’s starting to get a little blurry, but if I’m reading my computer’s clock right, it’s just about dawn. Who knows, maybe I’ll make it to the next station, or even Austin. Or maybe I’ll take my little bomb and Zippo here and light one more fire. Either way, those damn things aren’t getting me. Wish me luck.

Looks like I’m harder to kill than I thought. I made it through the night and into the morning. The train stopped at Del Rio and I opened the freight car door to the sun.

Fuck, it was beautiful. It was probably the first time I ever honestly thought the sky was beautiful. I fell face-first into the dirt when I tried to step out. Luckily, someone who worked at the station spotted me and got me to the clinic in town. That’s where I am now. They stitched me up real nice, pumped some good ‘ole morphine into me, and I’m feeling just fine. I told them it was a mountain lion that got me. Rare down here in this part of Texas, but not unheard of. No one would believe the truth, and it’s better if I don’t ever mention Sanderson.

I got my sketchbook out, and figured you folk would want to know what one of the Sanderson monsters looked like. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

A couple hours ago, I could swear I saw Fred’s truck at the edge of the parking lot out my window. As soon as the drugs wear off, I’m out of here. I gave these people a fake name, and I’m thinking I might start keeping to that habit. Gonna’ head up to San Antonio, then Austin. Hitchhike, hop a train, I’ll do whatever it takes to put ground between me and Sanderson. This’ll probably be the last you hear from me, folks. Got to make it as hard to track me as I can.