Mars stood alone in the middle of the woods somewhere; he didn't know how he got there. This wasn't just woods though. I mean, really, when does anyone just find themselves in woods nowadays? No, these were campgroundy-type woods. This campground, in fact. Just up the path there a ways.
Only, it wasn't like it is now. There weren't any other campers with sounds of music and laughing and, "Shut up you God-damned kids!" bellowed by patient-to-the-point-of-snapping grandmothers. No dogs running wild, mooching from masters while the pellets packed in Tupperware sat ignored. The campground was deserted; only the sound of the creek remained. And, it was dark. Darker than tonight, though. No stars in the sky, no moonlight invading the earth. Mars couldn't see a damned thing, not even the tree standing two feet in front of his face.
Now, people called this guy Mars, people he once considered friends who had resoundly fucked him over. People he went to school with, people who he liquored up with, people who dragged him out here on this infernal camping trip with intentions. All of them bad. They'd gotten him good and drunk, lured him into the woods somewhere to pass out, and then left before he had a chance to catch the ride back.
Mars wasn't particularly big or strong. Not much muscle definition to speak of at all, though he wouldn't consider himself helpless by any stretch. He'd taken classes in the Martial Arts, though these had featured the sword most proficiently. Without his trusty blade by his side, Mars almost let himself succumb to panic. The only thing keeping him going was his now intense hatred of the people who'd left him here. The main culprits being those named Konstantin and Steven.
These two enjoyed raking him over the head with their practical jokes. Getting him in trouble with various authority figures to which he'd have to explain that he, indeed had an alibi. They put a garbage can full of water against his door so when he opened it, the water flooded his bedroom. If he happened to sleep with his door unlocked, or doze in a public setting, they took every opportunity to cover him with shaving cream, dip his hand in warm water, pour warm water carefully over his crotch, or just simply bring their bare asses to his face and let the gas fly out, the wet, brown mist spattering across his closed eye sockets. Mars was never one to have a sense of humor about such things, yet he found himself falling for their insincere apologies when they came. After all, these jokes caused him no physical damage.
It all changed now, though. Now that he had been abandoned in the dark like an unwanted dog who'd dumped his last shit on the master's carpet. Now, Mars would seek revenge. Tenfold to the damage that might befall him in escaping these woods. He hated to think that his steel might be brought into the healing process, but if it did, so be it.
Mars wasn't all that frightened, mind you. These woods haven't seen their share of wild animals in some time. He figured, all he'd have to do was wait out the night until he could see again, and then try to track his way down to the nearest highway. After bumping into a few trees, Mars simply took a seat beside one and closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come quickly, as his boiling anger saw to it for him to curse the names of those who'd brought him here. But, like all bad blood, it finally cooled. And with it, sleep came.
Mars awoke in what felt like hours from the time he rested his head on the dirt, but the scenery did not change. That same blinding darkness remained. And, when the thought that maybe he did, in fact, go blind crept into his head, that's when the panic returned. But, no. It wasn't completely dark. When he brought his hand to within a millimeter of his face and wiggled his fingers, he could see the faint movement of light molecules in front of his eyes. Blind, no. But still fucking dark!
Now, this started to concern him. Mars figured he could still wait it out and the sun would come back, even though it should have been past the time of sunrise. The three of them had started drinking at 10 o'clock and hadn't stopped until well past 1am, as noted by his last checking of his watch. In a flash, Mars remembered that watch and the fact it had a light, which would visualize the time for him. But, upon feeling his wrist, he discovered those fuckers had stolen his watch on their way out. Nevertheless, this would not daunt him. He'd simply wait. Of course, that was when he started talking to himself.
"All I gotta do is sit here. This won't be so bad. At least it isn't winter; at least they gave me that much respect. Respect! Ha! That's a fucking joke. They've never respected me. I'll be dead and they'll still be laughing about how they fucked me over once again. That's what I get for trusting them. Well, no more. The next time I see them, I'm gonna kill them. That's all there is to it. I'm gonna kill them and bring them out here and bury them right here where I sit. And I'll stand by this fucking tree and piss all over their graves. And every - what day is this? July 30th. Every July 30th I'll come out here and piss and shit all over this spot. And I'll laugh at them! And I'll give them a stupid fucking nickname and keep calling them that. Maybe I'll carve it on this tree. Something like, 'Here lies . . . Ballsack and Douchebag.' And, for an epigraph, I'll write, 'Ballsack and Douchebag died as they lived, hairy and full of shit!' They'll be immortalized. Forever known as the last people to fuck with me!"
And, Mars was correct. Ballsack (Konstantin) and Douchebag (Steven) were the last people to fuck with him. Because he died on that spot. Ranting and raving to himself. As the hours passed, the sun still never came up. In the dark, Mars slowly started to go insane. His chatter never ceased as he sat against that tree, just up the path over there. Hours passed. Then days. Mars had no idea of time, and he soon gave up on the notion that the sun would ever come up. He forgot all about it. As he grew crazier and crazier, he stopped talking in complete sentences. Mars reverted to simply shouting the names of Ballsack and Douchebag. Over and over again. Ballsack and Douchebag. With each chant of each two-syllable name, Mars started banging the back of his head against the tree trunk behind him. Ball-thud; sack-thud. Douche-thud; bag-thud. Mars died there, from major head trauma and bleeding. His last word uttered was "Bag," followed by an intense thrashing of the back of his head against the wood, much harder than any of the other dozens of times he'd rocketed it back that way.
Of course, Ballsack and Douchebag returned the following morning at five am (before anyone else in the campground had awoken) to retrieve Mars. Of course, it had all been a practical joke in their minds. When they saw what Mars had done to himself, slumped over next to that tree, dried blood in a huge pool all around his legs and butt, down his back, still quite moist from the crack in his skull, Ballsack and Douchebag didn't know what to do.
Douchebag immediately wanted to leave the body and split. "There's no proof that we were ever here with Mars! We can be each other's alibis. It'll be cool!"
But Ballsack, the calmer of the two, took it upon himself to devise a plan. It wasn't much of a plan, really, but it required the two to unpack their shit and camp out for another night. With Douchebag's help, the two dragged Mars's body back to where they'd originally been camping, wrapped him in a tarp, and left the body next to the pile of firewood they'd purchased before coming here. They waited until night, after all the other campers finished with their partying. That day, neither said much, but the beer was taken down in mass quantities. Past midnight, past 1am, past 2am, until finally, the last of the rowdiness around them finally diminished. That's when the two got up from their camping chairs to attend to the body.
They dragged that body to the place that made the most sense. The outhouses. After all, it already smelled like shit. The tanks were full of it. It wouldn't take much force to remove the toilet bowl-like things off and shove the body down there. And, with the tanks being infrequently emptied, the body would have a chance to decompose. As it decomposed, it would start to rot and stink, but other campers would simply mistake that for the smell of shit. No one would be the wiser. So, that's what they did, and they left the campgrounds the following morning, though not before each leaving Mars with a present for the afterlife, plopped in and wiped away clean.
Over time, they forgot about poor old Mars. He simply wasn't worth thinking about, if they did, they might go as crazy as Mars had become. And, when the time came to go camping again the following summer, neither gave it much thought. Not until they arrived and heard the stories.
Stories from people who'd camped there over the last 12 months. Stories of some zombie-like creature, stinking of the foulest shit imaginable. Lurking in the woods, in the deepest of blackest nights. Crying out the names, "Ballsack! Douchebag!" Over and over again. Some said they'd actually seen this creature who'd once been called Mars. Lurking about the campsites. Searching out those two who'd left him here to die.
And, like I said, those two were Konstantin and myself. We didn't mean to hurt him, mind you. It wasn't our fault that Mars went crazy.
Since nobody's actually taken out the creature that is Mars, he must still be out there. Lurking in these woods, still searching for Konstantin and myself. People say that Mars has even killed people who look like either Kon or me. And everyone else who camped with them. People say there's no way to avoid Mars's fury. Once he sets a hand on your shoulder, a hand stinking of shit and death, he's got you and it's all over.
Of course, I haven't seen any proof of that, so there's no way I could know if he's still out there. One thing's for certain, though. If you ever hear the words, "Ballsack" or "Douchebag" after dark, you better watch out. Because, if you don't, Mars, who died banging his head against that tree right over there, could easily sneak up behind you and ...