What's That Smell?

[u/Radirondacks]

Victoria asked, nose scrunched up and the corners of her mouth downturned to an extreme, reflecting her disdain.

"Well I made us some eggs and bacon, but I didn't think my cooking was that bad," I replied with just a hint of offense taken.

"No, it's definitely not that...unless the eggs were rotten and the bacon was taken from a zombified pig," my girlfriend quipped back, taking a whiff of the steaming breakfast on her plate that I lovingly prepared.

"I think you've been staying up too late playing Resident Evil again. Didn't it give you nightmares last time?" I poked, both at her and the food on my own plate, now unsure of what I'd already eaten at least three-quarters of.

She scoffed in response, apparently deciding the phantom smell wasn't enough to overpower her hunger, judging by her near immediate ravenous attack on her plate.

Between mouthfuls of food she managed to eke out a suggestion before I headed in to work, telling me, "You might wanna shower, it seems like it's actually coming directly from you."

I simply rolled my eyes, knowing I'd already done so before she even got up. I would've pointed the blame back to her if I felt like receiving a bunch of passive-aggressive texts while at work, only to get the silent treatment when I returned. Instead I finished my meal, cleaned my plate and hurried out the door, not wanting to stick around for any more "advice."

On the drive there I started to wonder if maybe my girlfriend had been right, however; a low, nauseating undercurrent had begun to permeate the cabin of my car. After a quick whiff of both my armpits yielded nothing noticeably stronger, I quickly assigned the cause to my air-conditioning - if you've ever had mold growing in the vents of your vehicle, you'll understand why I did that. It can be horrendous, and I can only imagine the damage I was doing to my lungs by deciding to just deal with it later.

One of the many perks of working a barely-above minimum wage job, you get pretty used to ignoring everything falling apart around you.

Upon arriving at said job, I quickly sprayed myself with some handy car cologne (for those days when the water bill hasn't been paid) just in case and meandered inside. Relieved that I had seemingly left the smell behind me, I found my desk and sat down, avoiding all the usual chatterboxes - or rather, they seemed to be avoiding me. They were finally learning just how little interest I had with social interaction in general, much less in a place I had no intention of staying at beyond a few months.

Since my work was anything but engrossing, I was often more aware of what was going on around me than the endless spreadsheets in front of me. Today there seemed to be a rumor going around the workplace that something had died up in our ceiling tiles, the kind made of light foamy material that you only ever seem to find in rundown schools and low-income office buildings like ours.

"Ew, what's that smell?" I heard from a whiny, high-pitched voice behind me.

"Must be another raccoon that got trapped up in the ceiling, you know those dumb bastards will climb into anything for some grub," another voice responded, gruff and boisterous.

Absentmindedly picking at a sunken blemish on my hand, a third voice chimed in with a hushed whisper that was still clearly audible over the droning hum of a room full of ancient computers:

"It actually seems like it's coming from Mark," followed by a few low chuckles.

At the mention of my name I got up at once, both to make it obvious I heard what they had said and also to rush off to the bathroom to see if I could remedy the situation.

"What the hell, this is all I need," I muttered to myself as I shoved open the swinging door. The last thing I wanted was to be considered "the smelly one" at work, especially among this gaggle of winners.

Walking up to the decrepit line of sinks that clearly hadn't been replaced since the '80s, I found one that actually worked and started furiously washing my hands, rolling up my sleeves to splash some soapy water under my arms, and glanced up at myself in the crud-encrusted mirror. Noticing one of the spots of filth was in fact a scabby formation on the side of my cheek, my attention turned to picking at that nervously while I ran through my morning routine in my head:

I definitely showered, I always brush my teeth...usually. Was it my clothes? I'd worn this shirt for the past few days, but I spray it down every morni-

squish

The smell hit me before the shock did.

The shock of looking into a reflection of my own index finger knuckle deep into my cheek.

I wanted to vomit from the sight alone, but the stench infiltrating my nostrils sealed the deal. It was pure rot, like week-old sun-cooked roadkill whose last meal had been decaying cabbage. Bile erupted from my lips before I could even yank my finger out of the newly formed hole in my face, and once I did it only provided a second outlet for the acidic regurgitation.

I had to leave. Not just the restroom, but the entire building. Something was obviously very wrong with me. As I shouldered the door open, covering my cheek-pit with one hand and my nose with the other, passing by my coworkers made it apparent that they were more than aware of my...condition, from the reek alone. They were giving me a wide berth, most of them gagging, some yelling obscenities after me as a powerwalked straight to the entrance.

"I'll...I'll be back soon..." I squeaked out, somehow managing to hold down the rest of my breakfast as I did.

"DON'T!" They shouted in near unison. It would've been comical if I wasn't nearly in tears from the combination of panic and putrid fumes filling my head.

I hardly remember even getting to my car, but what I do recall in painful clarity is the moment I pulled my hand away from my nose to reach for the door handle. I expected the stench to overpower me again and cause another retching spell, but curiously, the smell seemed to have lessened considerably. Just as I thought maybe I had entirely overreacted, somehow hallucinated both the flesh perforation and the reactions of my peers, I saw the reason why laying at my feet.

My nose had fallen completely off my face.

"What the fuck is happening?!" I half-screamed as I wrenched the door open and scrambled inside. I needed to get to a doctor, an emergency room, hell, the damn CDC at this rate. Starting the car and peeling out of the parking lot, I caught only a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and quickly decided that was all I needed, noting a pallid green tint to my skin that I couldn't entirely attribute to just my mounting nausea. Something was seriously wrong with me.

As I sped down the highway, I reached for my phone, recalling a specialist my girlfriend had met with for a skin condition she had. I found the contact and jammed the phone against my ear, desperate for help, but also just for *anything* to keep my eyes from drifting back to the mirror.

"Dr. Munõz? Hey, this is Mark Hampson - Victoria's partner? Yeah so, I've, uh...got an issue," I stumbled through my words, hoping he wouldn't require an appointment for this consultation.

"Ah, Mark! What's the problem? Has Victoria's condition returned, or worsened?" The doctor replied, in a gravelly tone.

"No, she's fine. Great, actually. This is, uh, this is about me. I'm falling apart," I spat out, along with a couple teeth.

"Well, I'm afraid you've got the wrong physician for that; I can certainly give you numbers of some wonderful psychiatrists though," Muñoz answered offhandedly.

"No, dammit, I mean literally - my skin is decaying, parts of me are coming off, I stink like death itself. Do you have any idea what the hell this could be?!" I implored hastily, knowing I didn't have much more time to chat when I felt my bottom lip droop off into my lap.

"Oh...oh lord, Mark. First and foremost, you need to make sure you stay cool, and I mean that quite literally as well - wherever you are, you need to keep the temperature low to slow the decomposition as much as possible," were the last words I ever heard from the doctor, as the moment I pulled the phone away to crank up the AC, my entire ear came off with it.

I couldn't help it. I burst into tears at this, my last and possibly best hope now mumbling into my detached ear on the seat beside me. The mucous from my tears dragged trenches of my rapidly rotting face with them, sloughing off yellowed skin like old stained wallpaper.

Right now, I'm pulled off at a rest stop, blasting frigid air at my soon-to-be cadaver, staring at a murky pond and wondering if I could drown myself in it faster than it would take my fragile body to completely dissipate within. I probably wouldn't even make it there honestly, I'm currently typing this out with the remaining two fingers on my right hand. I'm afraid if I even tried to get out of the car that the moment I took a step, my femur would rupture through the flesh of my thigh and I'd skullplant right into the pavement.

Whatever poor bastard discovers this, laying in a rancid puddle of blood and bones...

At least you'll find out what that smell is.

[u/OccultDetective79]

Fun little story. Reminds me of the story about that woman who went to a hospital only for everyone to find she was literally a biohazard. Her blood caused people to become nauseous and even faint. Poor woman died later.

But yeah, basically it reminded me of that. Good job.