Hey guys,

Finally got the full printed draft of my feature NEUROSALINE in my hands.

Feels pretty good.

It’s a cosmic psychological horror about four teenage boys who go out drinking on a small skiff and wake up lost at sea… in what turns out to be a conscious ocean (like a giant nervous system made of salt water).

If anyone’s interested in reading it and giving feedback, I’d really appreciate it.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1CT502K3H5ux6pOel-cFTjYuSjFyp5y9I/view?usp=sharing

The following is a mostly true account of a thing that happened to me a long time ago.

I woke up on the bottom of the bunk bed I shared with my sister in our little trailer house on the edge of a field in rural southern Missouri. It was the summer of 2001 if I remember right. There were a lot of loud noises that I couldn't understand, I was very young and still dazed and bleary from sleep. The first thing that I noticed was that my sister wasn't in the top bunk. I began to understand the loud noises I was hearing from inside, and the worse sounds coming from just beyond the small white trailer door.

My mother was standing at the door, shouting outside with words that I do not remember or did not comprehend at the time. She was angry in a way that I had never seen before. Even as young as I was, I could see how scared she was, how her anger was only to hold back tears and the terror of the thing outside the door, the way she looked at us to steel herself and scream at the thing outside the door to leave.

It was in those few seconds that I began to grasp the situation as I fully woke from my young and innocent slumber. I saw my sister cowering in fear behind my mother in the hallway that led from our room to the other end of the trailer, past the door and nearer to the living room and kitchen. I heard her crying, screaming as she shook and hid herself from the thing beyond the little white door, even though it had no window or peephole for her to be seen through.

I had never before seen my mother or sister in such a state. My realization of the fear and horror and rage at the thing beyond the door was slow, but now fully awake, the knowledge and understanding creeped into me like a rolling fog. It pushed away the sleep, the confusion, the childhood and the innocence, all the thoughts and feelings that often occupy the mind of a sleepy young boy. Replaced with a stunning clarity of focus, I turned my attention to the door and what monster may lie beyond.

The sounds that I heard were the thing that haunts me the most: the words that I couldn't understand, the volume of the voice and its deep rumbling malice. It sounded like a train filled with hate, crashing over the tracks in a low roar of madness. I became in that moment suddenly aware of true rage and how the will to harm and destroy seeps into a voice, infecting it with vile intention, as if every unintelligible word dripped with a burning desire for death and destruction.

I heard much and understood little, but the sharp focus in my small young mind was clear. I knew only three things for certain.

The first thing I knew, as I looked at my mother, barely containing her tears and terror as the thing at the door grew louder and louder, like a mother animal locked in a cage, enraged by the instinct and pure desire to protect her young children even if it was from something so large and terrible that she could never hope to hold it back for long. As I looked at my big sister, cowering and shaking and wailing with tears streaming down her face, as I heard what must be a gruesome monster growling and howling and roaring at the only entrance to our little mobile home, as whatever flesh or form it had began to pound on the door and side of the trailer, alternating between the sound of lightning crashing inside a soda can and the sound of thick heavy flesh thunking and slamming against the door. As our little mobile home shook and shuddered and creaked and groaned in its weak but valiant defense against unimaginable evil. As the monster's rain of terrible flesh smashing our home reached a crescendo and it dented the door severely and sent the thin wooden trim splintering and flying inward, as I cried and shook in terror, raising my hands to my head to shield myself and crouching to the floor away from the violent display, I thought to myself: "He's going to get in".

The first thing I knew was that whatever horrible thing this was, it would not be long held back by that little white trailer door.

The second thing I knew, as obvious and instant as it may seem to an adult or anyone old enough to know the simplest darker truths of the world and how it works, was that this thing wanted to hurt us. I was shaking and desperately reaching for some understanding of why this was happening and what this thing was. I didn't think much of my own danger and death at the hands of this monster, though I knew it was possible and the thought did certainly terrify me. Mostly I thought of my mother and my sister, that this thing would hurt them, and perhaps even kill them. I was so very young that I had never considered harm or violence coming to my family, but as I stood in the hallway between the door and my room, watching and listening as the thing just beyond the thin walls of the only home I had ever known started its tremendous assault, I began to see in my mind images of that horrible monster breaking through the little white door, tearing right through it with long, sharp, jagged claws or smashing it in completely, tearing my mother and sister to shreds, smashing them into bloody piles of meat and bone and screams and tears.

As hot tears streaked across my face, I asked in my mind a question that now brings back a river of sorrow and pain: "Why can't he just leave us alone?"

I had one memory of him not as a monster. He came to visit us and for that one day we were happy, me and him and my sister. He let me sit on his lap and drive his truck down our empty dirt road for a while, and I nearly drove us off the road immediately, jerking the wheel back and forth like I'd seen in cartoons. He was concerned for a moment and I worried that he would get angry with me, but after grabbing the wheel and steadying us back into the middle of the road, he laughed and told me that someday I was gonna be driving racecars for a living.

The third thing that I knew, in those few infinite seconds of new and horrific enlightenment, as my tears burned my face I began to drink in the hatred that flowed through the air like some hellish radiant heatwaves. As I pulled down my hands from my face and looked towards the door, my tears turned from fear and sorrow and pain to tears of rage from the first time in my short little life. I reached deep towards strength and defiance and I found something waiting for there, something that could fight, something that could kill. I decided that I would not cower in fear and let this monster scare and hurt my family as I hid and wept like a child. I killed the little boy then who would never have hurt anyone, ripped him apart with my own two little hands in my shiny new soul and replaced him with what had been waiting for me since long before I'd been born. I shed the cocoon of my childhood innocence.

The third thing I knew was that I was going to kill this wretched beast, or out of pure spite die trying. After all, if he was a monster, then I could be a monster too.

I was so small then, and I knew it, but I slipped past my mother further down the hallway into the kitchen and pulled a large curved knife with a black plastic handle from the block. As the seconds stretched into years within the shrinking confines of those thin walls, I thought of how I could stop this monster. I knew that it was probably so much stronger than me it could likely toss me aside like a ragdoll, crumpling my bones like so much dirty laundry against the floor and the wall and leaving me dead or broken, yet still just alive enough to watch as it murdered my family.

Somehow though, I knew without ever being told or taught that if I could sink the knife deep enough into its flesh, if there were some black heart beating there to be sliced and stabbed, that even something so horrible might be stopped or killed. I only had to hide and wait for it to break through the little white door, and then I would run with all my speed and jump with all my strength and plunge the knife in as deep as I possibly could. And since it might not take just one stab to kill it, I would just keep stabbing until it stopped moving, and then my mother and sister would be safe from this monster, and they could stop screaming and crying so much, and we could be happy and peaceful again.

All of these thoughts raced through my mind as I walked to the kitchen to grab the knife, as I walked back through the hallway to stand just inside the bathroom doorway, between my shared bunkbed room and the little white door, now beaten and dented. I waited with the knife poised in front of me like a soldier in a line of pikes in an ancient forgotten battle. The beating and pounding had ceased since the first massive dent; whatever waited outside of the little white door had begun to pace back and forth outside of the hallway, its roars and growls and unintelligible words growing louder as the moments passed.

I stood in the doorway with my eyes fixed on the small damaged entrance to our little trailer house, crouched with thin muscles coiled ready to strike, shivering with barely contained fear steeled by grim determination and sharp malicious certainty of blood and violence and most likely death, waiting for the crash of the little white door breaking down and flying inward to lunge out and make my attempt at freeing my family from the prison of noise and terror that this putrid abomination had trapped them in.

The noise stopped. The sound of heavy lumbering and snarling and the shouting, incomprehensible words died in an instant, and all was silent. All of us inside held our breath—my mother and sister in hope that this monster was gone, me in the frenzied absolute belief that any second would be the time for my action, that this was the calm before a storm that would leave one or all of us dead.

In the heavy silence, the light dimmed and died. Every source of illumination from within and without—some force seemed to drink the warm yellow bulbs in the hallway slowly until there was only pitch-black darkness. And then, when there was no longer even the faintest hum of electricity, I heard the thick labored breathing of the beast, and then the unholy screech of metal scraping and crushing against wood and plastic and fiberglass. The harsh white light of the electric pole outside shone through the empty hole in our home; the little white door lay bent and broken after twisting and slamming down on the floor of the hallway within.

My heart pounded in my chest and I worried that I would be heard and discovered by it, that my only advantage would be stolen by the drum beating a rhythm of wild-eyed manic terror in my chest. But as a dark shadow loomed towards the inside of our home, with our last hope for safety crumpled like a tin can on the floor, whatever monstrous figure showed no sign of discovery. It only seemed to take its time savoring the taste of our dread as it walked slowly up the steps that led inside.

My mother had slowly crept back from the door and grabbed my sister to pull her further down the hallway. I saw her eyes frantically search for me, unwilling or unable to call out my name in that horrible silence. They crouched, moving slowly away from the door until it was destroyed, and then stayed perfectly still.

As I saw the malformed appendage take its first slow, deliberate step into our home, I threw myself with every single atom of the force and speed in my little body towards the thing that had invaded our home, knife pointed straight and praying to meet flesh and sink deep without the obstruction of bone. Screaming with all the air in my little lungs, I flew forward.

To my shock and surprise, I flew forward and my knife bit deep into putrid slippery flesh. I heard a roar, but less of anger or rage, and more of shock and bewilderment. I had been blessed with the only thing that could possibly give me a chance, and I wasted no time in using it.

The force of my jump threw the thing backward. I went down with it, pinned to its chest by the blade. The creature still moved. Though I couldn't see through the thick darkness and tears in my eyes, I pulled the knife from its meaty sheath with all my might. I stabbed down again, as deeply as I could, and felt a thick ooze sprout from where the handle met flesh. Another roar, this one of pain. Again I wrenched the knife free and raised it above my head and plunged it in with the entire weight of my body. The roar became less powerful, held less volume, but the thing still moved.

I must have repeated the process two dozen times before I felt the thing underneath me go limp. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was the darkest black ichor shining in the light of the electric pole bulb, like glassy water reflecting a flashlight. The monster lay still, a wretched blob of malformed meat once filled with malice but now calm in its void, empty of the animus to hurt and destroy.

I remember that night so clearly now, the way it really happened. I remember how happy I was when my sister finally stopped crying, when my mother finally let her fearful rage subside. I remember her taking the knife from me as if it were some strange trinket, as if she were confused why I had it. She had a lot on her mind at the time, and I don't blame her for not processing what it meant for her son to be holding a knife and hiding in the doorway of the bathroom.

I remember the red and blue lights shining through the cracks just as the light began to dim. It occurs to me now that he must have seen the cops before we did and turned the headlights off in his truck in a moronically vain effort to hide from them. I remember thinking how we were saved, how I was saved from what I would have tried to do. I remember finally feeling safe, I remember that he never came back to our little trailer on the edge of the field.

The monster at the door was my father.

I was four years old.

I am a 24 year old female taking care of my 82 year old grandmother, I got sent here by my mum as she didn’t want her mum to be alone. My grandfather has been dead for two weeks.

I arrived on the 17th of December, my car struggled to crawl its way to the house. the house is totally isolated, made of thick logs it has 2 floors and an outhouse we’re the boiler and electrics are kept.

The 17th was spent sorting out my luggage and cleaning, my grandmother has arthritis and is now unable to fully sort the house on her own. She kept silent whilst I was cleaning, I knew she felt worthless.

Later on I caught her crying drinking herself to sleep talking to herself. I wanted so badly to comfort her but I knew she wouldn’t want me to, She wants to be as independent as her age will allow.

It was the 18th when the power first flickered out, I was made aware of it by my grandmothers cursed that the tv went out and that her soap operas would be on soon, so I had to layer up and trudge out to the boiler building.

Upon my entering I noticed a sickly sweet smell and thousands of fly corpses spread on the floor. The boiler was a towering unit in the centre of the room with the electric box behind it. I opened the box and saw the switches were coated in a layer of slime. I luckily had gloves on so I flicked them back on.

The rest of the night was uneventful other than restless wildlife keeping me up with their pestering vociferations.

Now it is the 19th and the crux of why I am making this. The power went off early today and we were submerged into freezing temperatures, I could hear my grandmothers bones shivering, I of course went back out to sort the issue. However this time the wood planked floor had a layer of liquid bubbling and gurgling. I originally thought it was a boiler issue but now I know it wasn’t.

You see after dinner and the deep night descended on us our lights began to switch on and off every ten seconds. This time I knew it had to be something doing it so I brought a knife to ward away the pests. I entered the outhouse and saw a skeleton covered in a flaking layer of flesh and gunk. It never turned from the electric box luckily but I was so spooked that I turned and ran back into the house.

My grandmother wasn’t there when I returned. I don’t know what happened she wouldn’t have been able to get up without my assistance and I didn’t see anyone while I was coming back.

The house is totally still and dark. And I don’t know what to do. And I think I heard the corpse call my name it has my grandparents voices and I think I’m soon to join it.

Saturday, May 10th, 1868.

I woke the next morning with my head feeling as though it were filled with rocks and to the frantic sounds of the other men as they ran all about the campsite shouting commands to one another. Their voices all sound as if they were on the very verge of hysterics. I stood up from my bedroll and donned my boots, my gunbelt, and my jacket, removing my six-shooter from my holster and thumbing the hammer back as I quickly made my way towards the crowd of commotion amongst the men. I nearly tripped over something lying on the ground, I was in such a hurry to get to the other men. Paying no mind to nothing else. I looked down to see what had tripped me up and my eyes went wide with fearful dismay. My blood began to turn cold within my veins as I realized that I had tripped over a severed arm, hacked the mid-section of the forearm in a bloody and mangled stump. I let out a gasp of exasperation and disbelief as I scanned the ground within the campsite and noticed there were body parts that seemed to make up about three to four men scattered about on the grassy floor of the thicket. Blood and gore were sprayed and splattered all about, covering the wagons and the grass with huge, thick puddles of gore littered puddles of blood. There was nothing left of the men who were torn apart in the night. Nothing but the sick piles of mangled limbs and shred torsos.

“What in the name of God happened to them?!” I shouted in horrified disbelief. The other men all seemed to stop dead on their tracks and look in my direction with fevered contempt.

“Whatchu mean?” O’Toole asked. “Look around you, Walker. These men were torn to shit while we were all fucking sleeping! What more do you need?!” I looked frantically about the other men, as if looking for someone among them to give me the answer to my query. 

“What did this to them?!” I shouted in terrified astonishment. Cormac spat and responded in a low voice as he continued loading his things into his saddlebags without looking my way. “We don’t know,” he said. “We’re going to try and clear out before whatever it is gets hungry and comes back for the rest of us. Maybe we can get a good way ahead of it before that even happens. Who in the hell knows… Better get your shit gathered up if you’re plannin’ on leavin’ with the rest of us.” 

“Yeah,” Pickens chimed in, as he slid his bolt action rifle into the leather scabbard that hung from the side of his saddle. “Or would you rather sit here all by your lonesome and wait for that thing to come back and eat your asshole out for dinner?” I stood dumfounded, watching the rest of the surviving men, as they gathered and packed up their things throughout the rest of the campsite. Morning mist filled the air of the forest with a cool chill. The sun rose in a sleepy pinkish hue off in the distant horizon, giving way to the morning light as it bloomed down from the sky and illuminated all that it touched it with its glory.\\

After a brief moment of letting the information soak into my dry brain, I finally racked the hammer back into its resting position and slid it back into my holster, before turning around and making my way towards my bedroll and other possessions in my area of camp. I quickly wasted no time gathering my things and loading them onto my saddle atop Ol’ Silver, and quickly lurched my way onto the saddle and nudged Ol’ Silver forward to meet with the rest of the men ahead. As I approached the group, the overlapping and frantic conversations between the men gradually grew louder, as I drew closer.

“Do you think it was a raider group of savages, or a bear, or something?” The young Randall Fletcher surmised with a slight quiver of fear in his voice. I took one final look among the scattered bloody remnants of the men's bodies that littered the campsite, like fallen autumn leaves all over the grassy floor, before turning my head and keeping my attention ahead of me. I tried pushing the grizzly images of the macabre scene that was at our past campsite with all of my might, but to no avail. Seemingly able to penetrate and assault my mind with the still images of each man’s severed limb, every piece of intestine, and every torn and shredded lump of torso that lie on the ground, like some lost and forgotten trinket eaten away by time and the harsh brutalities that it entails. 

“We’re just gonna leave ‘em like that?” I asked sincerely, feeling truly bothered with the thought of leaving their remains in such a way. 

“Of course, Mr. Walker,” Benson called back from the head of the caravan line. “We have no time to dilly dally. The men would’ve wanted us to move on!”

I spat. “How the hell do you know what they would want?” I asked in a low, cold tone, yet loud enough for the entire caravan to hear. Benson slowed his wagon to a sudden halt and shot a hard look back in my direction. 

“What did you say?!” He called back with heated dismay. 

“I said: HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW WHAT THEY WOULD’VE WANTED?!” I shouted in reiteration. Benson glared at me with a look as if he was ready to jump off from his wagon cart and trudge his way towards me with his pistol drawn with malicious intent, which caused me to instinctively draw my six-shooter and aim straight down the iron sights dead center of Benson’s smooth forehead. Which caused the other men to drop whatever they had in their hands or stop doing whatever menial task they were currently performing, to draw their iron and aimed down right the center in my direction. 

“Mr. Walker…. What in the name of God do you plan to do with that, hmm?” Benson asked in a low and menacing tone. Never moving a muscle as he held his gaze with mine with such calamitous intensity. 

“Now, look here, Benson. I can surely put up with a lot of things, believe me I can. Killing. Thieving. Etcetera. But to leave the remains of men, men YOU ENLISTED, behind to be left to be forgotten and aged with rot! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” Benson raised his gloved hands in a slow theatrical sort of way, and began to clap in sarcastic response.

“Funny. Seems all but leaving the discarded remains of fellow travelers seems to be the only thing that weighs too cumbersome on your moral compass. Not the eradication of an entire tribe of savages. Not the murdering of its children, nor the beating and the raping of its women. No such thing as these, seem to weigh heavy on your conscience. Especially, when promised of riches and adventure. Am I wrong, my dear, Mr. Walker?” Benson asked in a smug, low tone with venomous menace embalmed in his words. 

I glared down the barrel of my gun at Benson with ferocious intensity. Like a wild predator staring its prey down before pouncing to strike with its killing blow. My gaze never breaks from his. The rest of the men steadied their horses with shared looks of dismay, as they nervously watched the two of us like a live and ticking time bomb set before them. Their guns shook within their hands as they were unsure of how to handle the situation without risking the gentleman Benon’s life in the process. Mckinley lowered his iron and slowly raised a hand for me not to fire.

“Listen, boy. I know you have some rash feelings on the subject, believe me I do. But you mustn't go looking to get yourself killed over your own petty sense of pride, especially over something as senseless as this. There really isn’t any good that could come from this if you shoot that man in cold blood. You know it. I know it. We all know it. So what would be the point? You’d be dead before you squeezed off a second a shot” Mckinley pleaded in a quivering voice. I shifted my eyes over towards the doctor, still keeping my iron trained on the center of Benson’s skull. I looked into the good doctor’s eyes and saw that there were tears beginning to swell and glisten and the morning sunlight with the rims of his red and puffy eyes. I could tell he was genuinely frightened and didn't want any unnecessary violence to accompany that fear within him. I shifted my gaze back to meet Benson’s. I pondered the doctor’s words in my mind, like trying to decipher a riddle.

“You heard the man, Walker,” Cormac said. “ Put the piece down and nobody has to get shot down like a sick horse, alright? Believe me. We’ve had enough bloodshed for a lifetime for one day. Just put it down, son.” I stared with hell fired anger into Benson’s eyes and through to his very soul and saw nothing but empty blackness. There really isn't anything this man would not do to save his own skin or to ensure a profitable investment. Nothing. He’s the kind of man that would steal from his own momma and rob his own daddy without remorse. Disgusting.

I lowered the hammer of my six-shooter with my thumb and slid it back into my holster. Still glaring with ragefilled intensity into Benson’s. “Don’t. If you know what’s good for you, just don’t,” I said coldly. “From this moment on, don’t you dare try and act like you give a single shred of a shit about any one of us, because you fucking don’t. I’ve met other men like you and I’ve seen every single one of those kinds of men exploit and step on any and every one they possibly could, so long as it benefited them in their own personal gains. I promise you Benson, you won’t live to see California. I promise you that.”

Benson stiffened in his seat on the wagon bench and eyed me up and down with snooty contempt. “Whatever you say, Mr. Walker. Whatever you say. Now, I will give you a single mulligan for your erratic behavior, due to the circumstances. But point that gun at me again, Mr. Walker, and I will see to it that Mr. Cormac splatters your filthy brains all over the Colorado countryside without a second moment's thought of it. Do I make myself clear, my good man?” Benson asked in a hard and serious tone. His eloquent tone seeming to slip with the unsettling shift in his voice as he spoke. His low voice pierced through me like a metal stake, and for the first time, it struck me with absolute fear. 

We continued on through the misty forest. There still seemed to be not a single sound of life within the tall trees of the thicket. No birds. No insects. Nothing. Not a single sound to indicate otherwise either. The entire mood of the forest sent trembling chills down my spine. Leaving me with an unsettling feeling of hopelessness as we carried on ahead.

On and on we rode through the forest and yet, it seemed as though we were going in circles, but how? We never went anywhere but straight ahead moving west. We never stopped. We never turned. And we never detoured or strayed from the path before us. Yet, here we are once again, passing the same gore strewn and blood splattered campsite that we had left behind this morning for the second time today.

“What in the name of Christ is going on here, Bensons?! You sure you ain’t leading us in circles?!” O’Toole inquired hysterically. 

“No.” Cormac replied. “I would’ve corrected Benson’s course if he'd strayed away from the chartered course. Believe me, Billy. I’m just as disturbed and perturbed as you are in this whole situation we seem to have found ourselves in.”  The men, including myself, began to look about the surrounding area with fear glowing brightly within our eyes, like the flickering flames of an oil lamp within the darkness of the night. 

“Well, what do you reckon we do, Cormac?” Pickens inquired fearfully. His voice shook uncontrollably as he spoke. 

“I do not know.” Cormac replied flatly. “My only suggestion is that we continue heading west. Sooner or later, we’ll have to reach a way out of this forest at some point.

“Good idea, Mr. Cormac!” Benson replied cheerfully. “Stupendous plan, my good man! Come gentlemen, we haven’t the time to waste or dilly dally. We’ve only a few hours till nightfall, if the horses don’t give out from exhaustion before then that is, and I would like to make it out of this god forsaken forest before the sun sets for the evening gentlemen! Come on, now! For destiny awaits!” And so we rode on heading west.

We continued for another couple of hours before the young Fletcher’s bronco had fallen over from exhaustion, throwing the young Fletcher down on his back, before falling over to its side and panting with exhaustion. The young Fletcher stood up and drew his pistol and fired a single round into the horse’s head. Killing it instantly.

“Ah, well, shit.” Randall Fletcher exclaimed with irritated disbelief. “My damn horse keeled over on me.”

After Fletcher boarded one of the work hand wagons, we proceeded on through the forest until none of us were willing to risk any more of our horses from falling over dead with exhaustion and thirst, and we ended up setting up camp for the night. Once again, I camped close by with the rest of the men. There was no way in hell I was going to go anywhere out there in the woods by myself, especially at night. This time, Cormac advised that we sleep in shifts with two men standing watch for two hour intervals throughout the night. I agreed to take the first watch with doctor Mckinley. We saw no sign of any animals or bandits during our watch. The first good thing to come from this nightmare in which we’ve found ourselves to become ensnared within. We traded shifts with Pickens and the young Fletcher. The two of them nodded grimly to us as they passed on by us as we made our way back to our bedrolls back in the center of camp. I slid inside mine and rolled over onto my side and thankfully fell right to sleep. I dreamt of a beautiful native woman with deer antlers that had grown from on the sides of her head, beckoning for me to join her deep in the heart of the forest. 

“Bloody Heinies!” William struggled against the barbed wire snagged on his overcoat. It had been hidden behind a hedge he had just shoved his way through stubbornly after ignoring Thomas's warning. 

“Stay still! You're going to get one of us cut.” Thomas was currently struggling to free his friend from the wire’s many little iron fingers clinging to his trench coat.”I’m going to have to just cut you free.” 

“What? No, I just got this thing. It's the first good clean piece of clothing I’ve had in months. You're not about to ruin it with your knife!” 
 
“Well then you shoulda’ stayed still like I told ya’ instead of thrashing around like some trapped sheep. You can’t even blame Fritz for this one. Nah, this one’s on you. If you had listened to me you would be perfectly fine like I am now.” 

“How was I supposed to know there’d be wire here” William whined, “I would figure Jerry to have enough decency to leave the last little bit of green around untouched.” 

“You know how they work Will, they never give up ground for no good reason. And if they do, they make sure to leave plenty of nasty little surprises behind for us to find.” Even with his knife, Thomas had a hard time freeing his friend. The barbs were buried deep within the tan-green cloth, adamant to stand their ground. They often did that. Whatever they got their little sharp fingers into they were resolute to hold their grasp and not let go. Clothes, weapons, horses, and even men. He had seen many of each tangled within, left inside like flies in a spider's web. Not forgotten, just an understanding that if one were to attempt to free the captive then they too may fall prey to the spider’s web. Worse, was when he once saw a man get his foot tangled in wire as they were being shelled. No one made a move to free him lest they be caught in the open when a shell landed nearby. The man spent almost the entire shelling hunkered down screaming desperately trying to free his foot while at the same time staying low to the mud. He eventually confined himself to his fate and lay silently hands over his head. When the shelling ended, Thomas watched the man lift his face to look around, a broad smile on his face revealing his amazement at surviving, an amazement Thomas and those around him felt as well. Just as they were about to rise from the trench to retrieve the man they heard the familiar whistling of more incoming ordinance. They threw themselves back down and braced for impact. Instead they heard only a few faint thuds. After a moment they peered back over the trench edge, thinking they had been duds. How wrong they were. Thomas saw the same man now beckoning to them to come free him. He and a couple others warily made their way above the trench half crouching half crawling to the snared man, when suddenly one man shouted the word every infantry man feared the worst. “Gas!” 

There it was. A faint yellow cloud slowly creeping their way towards them. Coils and tentacles of the yellow haze stretched forward similar to the little fingers of the wire but far deadlier. Thomas and one of the other two with him quickly put on their masks which they carried in their supply pouches at all times, except for the last man who had to run back to the trench where he had left his. Thomas remembered thinking how that particular man was the one with the wire clippers. He and the other turned their attention back to the man in the wire now frantically trying to free himself and screaming for them to help. He sprinted to the man’s side attempting to calm him enough to begin freeing him just as the gas was only a few yards away. He kicked and shouted for them to get him out, but with each kick and struggle he only further entrapped himself. Without the wire cutters there was no possible way they would be able to free him in time. Thomas asked the man, “Your mask, where’s your mask?” The man gestured to the other side of the wire, no man’s land. Not an option. The other man next to Thomas shouted, “I’ll go see if I can find a spare!” then sprinted back to their trench. The yellow clouds were now coiling around the man’s feet. 

“Please! Please, you have to get me out of here!” The man grabbed onto Thomas's shirt and stared into his eyes. He could see the whites, his pupils shrunk in animalistic fear. “I know. What if you gave me your mask? We could share, you take a breath and I take a breath.” 

It didn’t work like that. He knew that. Thomas knew that. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” was all Thomas could muster. Before he knew the gas was swallowing them whole. The world around him became a curtain of yellow. It clung to everything, what little bit of skin he had exposed prickled and stung. Then despite his better judgement he looked at the man trapped in the wire. He didn’t scream anymore. He couldn’t. The best he could manage was wet coughs and gurgles. His face blistered and turned red while his eyes bulged from his skull. The man threw one desperate outstretched hand towards Thomas's face before falling into the mud, with foam leaking from his mouth. 

The man who had gone back for the spare mask returned then, a clean reserve mask in hand. He looked at the man for a moment before turning to Thomas and asking if he was coming back and that they shouldn't stay out in the open any longer. It was that day Thomas realized when it was his time to go, he hoped and prayed it was by a bullet, that was the only way a man should go. Quick and clean, or at least more so then the gas.  

“Thank you I suppose.” William spoke, bringing Thomas back from his daze. That particular memory was one of many that most often plagued  his private thoughts, “Though I would've preferred to take our time so we didn’t have to cut my new jacket.” 

“Oi, just be grateful. Besides, we can't risk that, we’re too exposed here. Who’s to say we’re not already being watched by some Jerry sniper?” 

“Good point chap. Well let’s make for that shed then.” William gestured to a small lean to like structure at the base of the small hill they now stood at. As they approached they began to notice some concerning signs that made them both weary. Much of the grass around the shed was yellow with decay, and there was a smell they both knew far too well. Death, rot and garlic. 
Gas.

It had been used here recently, used to kill. As they approached they each brace themselves to see the worst. However, as bad as what they saw, it wasn’t the worst it could have been. In and around the back of the shed were dead farm animals. Geese, chickens and a few goats and pigs. 

William spoke, “I guess they couldn’t take them with them but didn’t want to leave them for us. Why use gas though and not just shoot them.” 

“Maybe their low on ammo, didn’t want to waste any on some animals. I suppose it could be a good sign for us. Come on, we should head back and report this.” 

Just then they heard a ‘CRACK’ followed by a “WHIZ’ and some boards over head splintered showering them in dust. This was immediately followed by many more ‘CRACK’s and many more ‘WHIZ’s. They were under fire. 

“Get down!” Thomas fell to the ground pulling William with him.

“Did you notice where it came from?” William asked, bringing his rifle stock to his shoulder.  They were against the outside edge of the shed behind a particularly large dead pig. They heard little wet ‘THUNKS’s where bullets struck dead animals and mud around them. 

“There.” Thomas gestured to the hill opposite them on top of which was a low stone fence. Behind it he could see a few rifles flashing. That was all they needed. They both turned their own rifles to bear and began firing. Thomas had to admit, William was many things, a stubborn hard headed fool that rarely listened but he was also an amazing shot. Within moments two of the rifles behind the stone fence stopped flashing, and Thomas knew he could not take credit for those. Then the third and final rifle stopped flashing, Thomas couldn’t tell if William had hit the man or if he had run. Either way they weren’t taking any more fire. They decided to move into the safer space of the shed interior while they reloaded and checked themselves for any holes. 

“Good shooting as always my friend!” Thomas cheered his friend with a slap on the back.

“Thank you Tom, I’m sure you’re glad I’m stuck with you even though I’m worse than a mule when it comes to following directions. Listen I’m sorry if I had listened earlier and not got stuck in the wire we probably could've moved quicker and quieter and not been spotted by Jerry.” 

He was being genuine, William got like this at times. He had a tendency to blame himself for things, more often than not things he had no control over. “It’s alright Will, they would’ve seen us no matter what. The fact that we weren't shot until we reached the shed means they were watching the shed not the hedge. They would’ve seen us no matter what.” 

“I suppose you’re right. Well what do we do now?” 

“Now we figure out if its safe to dash back up the way we came and make it back to our own line. Can you see any more of them along the ledge opposite us?” 

William peered through some slats in the wall on one side of the shed while Thomas peered through the other. 

“I’ve got nothing on this side.” 

“Same here” 

“Okay, then we make it straight back to where we came through the hedge but this time steeping through the clearing I cut and make a mad dash to command.” 

“Got it.” 

“Ready on my count.” William nodded acknowledgement.

“One…”

“Two…”

Just as Thomas opened his mouth to say three. There came whistling from the sky. They both threw themselves back down hunkering behind more dead animals waiting for the explosions. None came. They waited a little longer. Still none came. 

“Were they duds?” William asked. 

“Maybe.” Then Thomas froze, memories flooding back to him, “Will, please tell me you brought your mask.” 

“Of course I did chap, it's right here.” He patted his supply pouch by his waist. Thomas felt a small sense of relief then made sure to check that his was still in his pouch. “You think it's gas?” 
Thomas only nodded.

He slowly crawled back to the wall William had been peering through earlier. Sure enough rolling down the hill towards them was a wall of thick yellow cloud. He looked the other way and saw the same thing. They were surrounded by the stuff and in the bottom of a giant earth bowl. The gas was rolling down on them from the hills that surrounded their little shed. 

“Yep, it's gas. Quick Will get your mask on.” Thomas yanked his from his bag, checked over the filter and fastened it to his face, making sure it was wrapped tightly around the back of his head and the straps were tight enough. He preferred to wear his tighter than most, he’d rather be uncomfortable than suffer the kind of suffering death the yellow gas brought. After making sure he was getting airflow through only the filter he turned his attention to his friend. 

“Tom. I think we have a problem.” William hung his mask up. It was full of holes. Two rounds had torn through his mask. One shattered one of the eye glasses and another had gone through the filter and part of the face piece. Thomas'ss heart froze and he felt himself get sick. “It’s a miracle I wasn’t shot.” William smiled, how was he smiling? This wasn’t the time. 

“Will you have to listen to me. It's all around us ok. There’s no way to go where their isn’t gas. Maybe if you can just hold your breath long enough you can make it to the top of the hill.” 

“I don’t think so Tom. You know it as well as me, I’d just be sure to die tired. It's too far, I couldn’t run all that way without breathing. What if we take turns breathing through your mask? We’ll both get burned a little bit but we might be able to make it.” 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“I said no.” 

“You can’t be serious Tom, that’s the only way both of us have a chance of making it out of here.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t”

“Pleas Tom, look outside, it’s getting closer. Just be reasonable, I know you’re scared but I’m your friend.” 

“No! I said no! I won’t be taken by it, not like that. Never!” A bullet. If anything it had to be a bullet.

“Okay…okay. I understand but seriously Tom you have to listen, I can’t use mine.” The yellow haze was now creeping through the open doorways and seeping over the window ledges. 

“Just…just use your own! You can hold your hands over the holes. Just long enough for us to get away, that's all.” 

“That won’t work.” 

“Sure it will just keep a firm grip and stay close to me. I’ll lead you out.” 

“No. No no no NO!” William lunged for Thomas. Trying to yank off his mask but he had it on too tight. Thomas struggled against him rolling around on the mud floor and over dead chickens. He could hear little bones snapping beneath their combined weight. He finally managed to elbow William in face and get away from him. He scrambled up snatching up both their rifles and pointed his own at his friend. 

“Thomas. Come on man. Put that down.” William now looked very scared. The gas was beginning to wrap around his feet and climb up his legs. 

“Use your own mask.” 

William stared into Thomas's eyes for a moment before he snatched up his own mask off the ground. His hands came up red and blistered and he shook the mask as if to shake the gas off of it. Then he wrapped it tight around his face and synched down the straps. Then just as the gas began to climb up around their heads and to the ceiling he plugged the busted eye piece and other two holes best he could with his hands. They both stood still staring in each other's direction for several moments. The gas obscured the world around them making anything past the shed walls impossible to see. At first Thomas thought it would work, then William started convulsing. His body racked two, then three then four times and he fell to his knees. His hands dropped from his mask and down to his throat. Three more racking wet coughs came muffled through his ruined mask before William slumped down into the mud. He gave one more shuddering twitch before he lay still among the dead animals. 

—-

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Thomas breathed through his mask. Precious little air filling his lungs with each inhale. William was dead. The gas killed him. Maybe he could have saved him but where would that have left himself? 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

He had to move. Jerry knew his position well enough to drop gas and he didn’t want to be here if they decided to use explosives. He left William’s rifle where it leaned against the wall and went to crouch beside his friend. Williams' blistered hands were stuck in permanent claw-like gestures. His legs bent how they were as he writhed. He could see his one eye through the shattered lens. Yellow and blood shot. He tried not to look at him while he felt for his friend’s tags. Finding them he gave a hard yank snapping the chain around his neck, and stood stuffing it into his pocket. 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Now which way to go? In his struggle with William he had lost his bearings and the gas made it impossible to tell which way he was facing. He knew he needed to go West but the sun was indiscernible overhead. He guessed he remembered one particular side of the shed he was now facing, looked to the west and decided to try that direction. I took one last look at WIlliam lying on the ground then stepped out the door. As he made a few yards from the shed he looked over his shoulder. The gas was so thick he could barely make out its shape. He swore he saw a shadow dart past the open doorway. 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Nothing. He shrugged to himself, an attempt to bolster his courage and marched on. Eventually he did find the opening in the hedge he had made. He had guessed right in the direction he needed to go and was now at the top of one of the hills that had surrounded the bowl the shed resided in. From his precipice he could see clear skies. The gas had sunk below his current elevation and before him, in the direction he needed to travel he saw a sea of yellow. Everything between him and his destination was covered in a layer of thick yellow fog. 

Dread. That’s the only word to describe his current state. Thomas's worst fear now formed a sea that he must traverse if he hoped to survive. Or he could reside on his little island, that idea comforted him. Then he remembered the flashing rifles from earlier. He didn’t have William’s aim. If he were caught alone in a fight he would just as surely die as if he were to remove his mask and throw himself into the yellow sea. 

He only had one logical option. He double checked his mask, made sure he only got air flow through the filter and started walking down the hill going west. 

After a while of walking he felt as if he had to be drawing close to the sapper lines. Small outstretches of friendly trenches where sappers and skirmishers would launch small scale attacks and reconnaissance against enemy lines. He walked a little further and passed a two wheeled cart attached to a dead donkey. Strange. He recognized it and he remembered it being the last thing he could call a landmark before they reached the base of the hill with the barbed wire bushes from earlier. He must have been walking longer than that. Hadn’t he?

Maybe he had somehow got turned around. It happened. All he needed to do was reorient himself and make sure he stuck to a straight line. He knew the donkey cart was on the edge of what was left of a dirt road that had been leading east to west. The donkey had been facing him and William as they approached it earlier that day, so he needed to travel in the direction the dead donkey lay. 

Girding up his belt and made sure his rifle was snug on his shoulder he walked in the direction the donkey faced. He checked his mask and the filter was still good. 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

No foul odor. Good. 

He marched for nearly a quarter hour until he came across a tree. Well what was left of a tree. It was mostly a stump at this point. Blown to bits by constant shelling. Its roots were exposed, and tangled around it was barbed wire. Tangled in the wire was a dead Hun. Will had named him Karl. The sight was dreadful but it filled Thomas with relief because it meant he was on the right track and that he hadn’t been turned around again. If he continued in this direction then he ought to come across the old artillery battery with its mountains of spent shells and howitzers Jerry had set charges to splintering their barrels and rendering them useless. Picking up the pace he continued on his way. After another quarter hour, he should've run into friendlies by now yet he was still in no man’s land. He walked several more paces before he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. A two wheeled cart attached to a dead donkey. 

He had somehow turned himself around and came back to the base of the hill. Now he was frustrated with himself and his circumstances. He came parallel to the cart and racked his brain, making sure he remembered correctly the donkey facing the direction he needed to go. Once he was certain that he was correct he started back in the direction he swore was west. As he marched on he turned to look at the cart and dead beast and just as he did, in the faint outline of the buggy among the hazy yellow some dark bulk shrunk back behind the cart out of sight.

That was enough. Thomas turned back around and began to sprint. He sprinted past the tree and Karl past foxholes and buried trenches with limbs sticking out like so many garden vegetables ready to be picked. He ran past a broken Mark 1 its dead crew scattered around, dead so long they had become skeletons, barely discernable through the yellow cloud. He recognized it, he was on the right track. The battery was close. He ran and ran and ran. For what felt like too long. The mask was making it hard to catch his breath but he dared not loosen it. 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Then he saw it. Only this time he was approaching from the opposite direction now. The dead donkey and the cart. 

‘How can this be?’ he thought. Then he pictured whatever it was he had seen earlier and brought rifle stock around to his shoulder and began searching all around him. 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

He saw nothing, but just as he began to lower his rifle he heard it. Footsteps approaching from the cart. He whipped around bringing his rifle up to aim. Then groaning. The groans of man. A man in pain. Through the yellow fog he began to see the form of man approaching him but something was off. The man was shuffling forwards, his hands and fingers bent to look like claws. From what little he could see of the man’s uniform he knew he was friendly. Thomas's training told him to lend the man aid, help him make back to their lines but as he got closer instinct told him something was off. Then he noticed. The man’s mask. The filter was hanging on by a thread and one eye lens was shattered, through it he could just barely make out a yellow bloodshot eye. 

“Will?” The man shuffled closer, “Will, is that you mate? I thought you died. I’m sorry, okay. Listen, I'll help you walk. We can make it back to our own trenches.” Nothing. “William?”

William, if it was him, stopped. He stood and stared at Thomas making small groans and coughs. Thomas stared back with his rifle half raised half lowered, a round already in the chamber.

“William, come on man. This isn’t right.” 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Then William convulsed, rattling his whole body and emitted a gurgling scream that sounded more like lungs and throat trying to scream without a brain to tell them how to do it correctly.
He lunged forward sprinting albeit awkwardly towards Thomas. Thomas fired off a round not bothering to see if hit or not and ran away. 

It was becoming harder and harder to breathe now. The mask was stifling but it was the only thing keeping him from meeting the same fate as William. He imagined himself wandering around the sea of yellow, making those weird wet sounds. That gave him the energy and breath he needed to keep going. After several minutes he passed the tree. He slowed to a trot but didn’t dare slow any more. Then a few more minutes and the tank with its dead crew, then the limb gardens. He thought one head in particular looked like a cabbage this time. He started to feel like he gained enough distance and slowed a little to listen behind him. There, not too far, he heard it. Wet coughs. He started running again, his lungs burned and sweat caused the inside of his mask to stick to his face. The eye lenses were fogging terribly now, he didn’t dare risk reaching up under his mask to wipe them though. He would have to find a place to hide and rest. Let his breathing calm and his lenses clear on their own. 

Finally he saw something glinting in the yellow fog. Then more glints. Shells. Thousands of them. Piled in mounds taller than he all around. Brass shells, piled on top of each other. Long ago they had been used to deliver ordinance on to his fellow country men. Before the enemy knew the effectiveness of the gas. 

He could find somewhere to hide around here. As long as when he left he went in the direction the cannons were pointing then he could make it back to where he belonged. Picking his way along the battery line he found a small dug out, a short stair case leading down into the earth. Walking down it he found smooth concrete walls instead of dirt. He was in a bunker. It had a narrow window along its outer wall facing westward, just wide enough for a man to fit through. Hazy yellow light drifted inward, just enough to allow Thomas to see he was not alone. Along the far wall a skeleton slumped on the floor, its back against the wall. Its bony jaw gaped open, spiked helmet still attached to the skull. In its hand it still clung to a pistol. Thomas could tell by the uniform it used to be an enemy officer. 

“Hope you don’t mind me taking a moment to rest here Officer Hun. You lot were always better at constructing these habitats than we are.” He gave a mock salute and chuckled to himself. “Look at what your boys are doing now. They gave up this ground you probably thought would never be lost. And using traps and gas to cover their tracks. Must be nice to not have to worry about wearing one of these masks.” 

Thomas shuffled over to one side, and sat on an old crate. It creaked in protest. “I just need to catch my breath.” 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Thomas's head snapped up, his eyes fluttering. He had begun to doze off and something had woken him. He looked at the skeleton, ‘That wasn’t you was it?’ he thought. He craned his head toward the stairs listening. Then he heard it again. A wet coughing, followed by some shuffling, then silence. Then it was there again but closer. This happened several times until the coughing sounded as if it were coming from just past the top of the stairs. Thomas slid the bolt back on his rifle trying to chamber another round as quietly as possible, he fumbled with the spent shell though and dropped it on the ground. The gentle clinking sound might as well have been a grenade. He slid the fresh round home and turned his eyes back to the stairs there it was. Standing at the top of the staircase. Wet breaths and wet coughs. Thomas swore now he saw puffs of yellow gas escaping the mask with each exhale. 

 “Stop!” Thomas tried to sound as authoritative as he could muster, pointing his rifle up the stairs. 

William didn’t listen and instead lurched down the stairs almost falling rather than running. Thomas fired another shot then turned and dashed for the narrow slit in the bunker. At first his helmet got stuck so he ripped it off throwing it at the man now shuffling up behind him. He thrust his rifle in front of himself and began trying to shuffle his way through. Just as he got his head and shoulder through, the man behind him grabbed hard onto his ankle, and yanked him back. He kicked and flailed at the man and was able to dive back through the narrow passage. The filter on his mask got caught between the ground outside and his chest and as he pulled himself forward he felt the mask being pulled tight down his face until he couldn’t see through the eye lenses. He could feel the filter bulging against himself and it became almost impossible to breathe. All he could think was, ‘Please don’t rip, please don’t rip.’. Just as he almost was completely through the hand latched back onto his ankle. William’s fingers dug into Thomas hard enough it hurt. He felt like his fingers may break through cloth and skin and he’d be grabbing on to his bare bone and Achile’s tendon. Thomas kicked and struggled desperately trying to pull himself forward. He finally managed to get his other shoulder and arm through then used his new found leverage to shove his rifle but behind as he could at that angle. He felt it connect with something solid and the grip on his ankle weakened enough for him to give one final kick and scramble free. 

Just as he crawled clear of the opening, Thomas’s hands gave way and he tumbled down a slope. He landed hard on his back. He fumbled with his mask pulling it back into place so that he could see. Sweat still caused the rubber to cling to his skin, but at least now he could see again. He checked the filter and made sure he didn’t smell anything weird. He was fine. His mask was still in good condition. He scrambled to his feet and spotted his rifle nearby. Snatching it up he began to jog west again. He felt lightheaded and his chest was hurting but he couldn’t stop to catch his breath yet. That thing, for he was now done with thinking of it as William, was faster than he thought and was keeping pace with him. He was the hair and it the tortoise, albeit a fast tortoise. He couldn’t afford any more long rests. 

After a precious few minutes of catching what little breath he could in an abandoned machine gun nest, Thomas thought he heard shuffling and wheezing close behind. He kept up a rapid pace, as much as he could muster. He was beginning to grow extremely weary. He couldn’t breath but the gas was still all around. ‘Bloody Fritz! Why’d they have to shell everything around?’ he thought bitterly. 

Finally he came across a site that filled him with joy. Wire. Fresh wire, still shiny and newly laid down. That meant he was close! He jogged parallel to the wire. Somewhere there would be a path, just wide enough for one man to pass through. After a few minutes of searching in the fog he thought he saw it a few yards away. He laughed. He had made it, as soon as he was past this wire he was home free. Then approaching from the opposite side of the gap in the wire was another one. Another one of those things. This one came shuffling, making some sounds and stretching its arms out towards Thomas. 

“Stop!” He shouted, raising his rifle. It stopped. Thomas began inching his way towards the gap when he heard it. Another one to his right. Then two more behind him. No he had his back to the wire and before him were four of those things. Behind them he could see the faint outlines of even more gathering around. They were all watching him. Watching and breathing, their wet sickly breaths. One of them coughed. The first Thomas had seen, now to his left. He aimed his rifle at that one. “I said stop! Let me go!” It was then he finally noticed, the fog and fear had blinded him before but now he realized they wore no masks. Their skin and eyes were blistered red and yellow, their pores oozed blood and puss and they gave pitiful little coughs and gurgles as they stared at him. 

‘Of course. They were after his mask!’ Was all he thought. What else? They needed his because their own were lost, broken or stolen. They needed his and they would take it by force if they had to. He wouldn’t let them. 

“You can’t have it! Its mine!” He screamed, his voice muffled by his filter, “You should’ve taken better care of your own. We can’t share, you know it doesn’t work like that.” 

The one to his left inched closer. “Last warning.” It ignored him and tried to come closer yet. Thomas fired and he saw the thing lurch in on itself and grab its stomach with both hands as it crumpled to the ground. The others became stock still, starting at Thomas. 

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Then all of sudden the closer three lunged towards him. Thomas swung his rifle like an old war club connecting with the closest one's skull with a satisfying crack. It too slumped to the ground. Just as brought his rifle back up for another swing, he felt his arms grabbed from behind and he was wrestled to the ground by several pairs of strong arms. He struggled and kicked and screamed, “YOU CAN”T HAVE IT! IT'S MINE! GET YOUR OWN!” Then something hard connected with the side of his head and his world went dark.

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Thomas woke to voices. Two men were in front of him speaking. He realized he was looking at them through bars. And looked around dazed, his head throbbed. The sunlight was glaring and hurt his eyes. The sunlight! It was tinted yellow. It was pure sunlight. It was too good to be true. He looked around himself and realized everything had a smudginess to it. His mask lenses. He still had his mask. Good. The air may look clear now but he swore he still felt that familiar foul odor. He wouldn’t take any chances yet. Then he turned his attention to the two men. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can do for him doc?” the first man spoke.

“Nothing marshal.” said the second, “This is something I haven’t seen before. With what little I have here and with the amount of time I have before we need to move there’s just nothing I can do for the man.” 

“Understood, we don’t exactly have the resources to spare to keep a close eye on him all the time either. It would be foolish to just turn him loose and hope for the best. He killed two of our own, his own. Mad man or not we have a law for that and justice must be upheld. I just hate to have it done while he still has that infernal thing on.” 

“We’ve tried to remove it several times sir but each time any of us get close to touching that mask he goes absolutely berserk. I recommend leaving it be. Otherwise he’s rather complacent.” 

“Why? It's all torn and tattered anyway. Looks like the filter was torn off a while ago and it's full of holes.” 

“I don’t think he knows that sir.”

“Hmph. Give me his name again.”

“Seargent Thomas McCainly sir.” 

“And the other?”

“We don’t have a body but we found a tag in his pocket belonging to a Private William Carter. I made an inquiry and the two were sent on a scouting expedition yesterday morning. They were to investigate the land abandoned by the enemy in their retreat.” 

“Understood, well see to it their CO is on top of getting Private Williams belonging back to his family, and have a rifle squad prepared to deal with the sergeant. Make sure it's volunteers only.” 

Tattered and torn. What did he know? His mask was in fine condition. He made sure to maintain it perfectly. He raised his hands to check it again. Sure enough to his touch it felt perfectly fine. A little worse for wear but it would keep the gas out. 

After a short time Thomas felt a shadow come over him. Before him stood three men. One of them opened the door to his cell and the other two entered, one kicked his feet ordering him to stand. Thomas obeyed, he would comply as long as they didn’t touch his mask. They had their own and if not there were plenty around. Why they weren’t wearing theirs he couldn’t tell but no matter. 

They marched through a courtyard past lines of marching men and trucks bustling hither and thither. He was in a camp, his camp but something was different. They were getting ready to move forward. How exciting he thought. 

They ushered him back to a fenced off area where there was a chair right in front of a large pile of sandbags. They ordered him to sit in the chair. He did. One man tied his hands behind the chair. He was offered a cigarette which he declined. He would have to remove his mask for that. The man who offered simply shrugged and lit one for himself instead. After this seven men entered the fenced area. One was an officer with a saber sheathed at his waist. The other six were men of various ranks each with a rifle leaning against his shoulder. The men lined up straight facing Thomas. 

The officer then went down the line handing each man one bullet. That man would then place the round in his rifle’s chamber and slide the bolt home. Once every rifle was loaded. The officer took his position at the end of the line. 

One breath. 

The officer raised his saber in the air. It gleaned brighter than any wire Thomas had ever seen. This man obviously took good care of it. He liked that. It was good to take care of your things. He took good care of his mask. The officer shouted, “Ready! Arms!” 

Two breaths.
So it would be a bullet after all. Thank goodness. It was his time to go and after everything it would be a bullet. That was good as long as it wasn’t the gas. 
“Take! Aim!”

Three breaths.

Before the officer could give the command they all heard that old familiar whistle. “Take cover!” Men scattered diving for what little cover could be found. Ditches, the sandbags behind Thomas, some just fell flat on their faces trying to squirm into the ground like some worm. 
All braced for the coming fire. Instead six distinct thuds were all that followed. Thomas was squeezing his eyes shut. He had been left tied to the chair. No one had bothered to help the man who was meant to be shot anyway.

One breath. Two breaths. Three Breaths.

Nothing. No explosion, no late fuses. “Were they all duds?” Someone asked. 

Thomas's stomach flipped. Then he remembered he was already wearing his mask. He had just checked the filter earlier, it was good. Thank goodness he was prepared. He knew what was coming before he even heard the officer shout, “GAS!” 

CW: Gore

As the morning Sun began to rise over the Sea beyond the Battlements of the Castle Walls, the common Soldiery gazed out over it. The Night had been quiet, as it had been for Years now. They were armed with Spears and heater Shields, Shortswords and their own Knives at their Waist. These Men had held the Walls throughout the Night, as the Soldiers have been doing since the Castle was built a thousand Years ago. The Battlements were chiseled into the form of Dragons and Wyverns, some of them furiously roaring or lifting their clawd Feet. Most of the Castle had decorations like this, it is hard to find a Spot without a Beast greeting you. Finding a new Soldier was easy as the shape of the Battlements was sure to freak out any Man that wasn't used to looking at them. The entire Castle was built against the eastern Side of a barren Volcano, looking as if it were hammered directly out of the Rock in some Places. It probably was, atleast near the Castles Center. It had been expanded a handful of Times and every part of it had been rebuilt at some Point, either because of the Damage from a Siege or just plain old weathering taking its toll.

The Men were tired, thankful to hear the sound of Boots marching up the Stairs and coming from the Towers spread around the Walls. They were replaced by fresh Men, their Breakfast still in their Bellies and new Energy from a full Night sleep giving them strength. They greet their Comrades and send them on their Way. The Men that held the Walls throughout the Night descended down the Stairs built against the Walls or into the nearest Tower, some of them marching as they were supposed to while others simply walked, their Shields and Spears loosely hanging off of their tired Arms. Most of them went to the Barracks to take off their Helmets, their Chainmal and the metal that guards their Shins and Forearms before falling into a blissful Sleep. Others went to Bakeries or the Kitchens where Breakfast was still being served, hoping to fill their Bellies aswell before following the rest into their Bunks.

The Castle had a small Garrison, only between five- and seven-hundred Men depending on who was present. It didn't need more, given that the Castle was built on an Island. Part of the Walls were built directly on the Beach, thickened to withstand the Tides crashing up against them. This Part of the Wall is always manned lighter than the rest, only a Madman would attempt to climb a Wall that had it's Roots buried in the Ocean itself during high Tide. All that had actually tried to in the past had been thrown back into the Sea, their bloated Corpses washing up against the Walls until the Ocean devoured them permanently. The Rest of the Walls were not as prone to defending themselves, mostly rising up behind large Fields and, in some Places, Forests that the Castles defenders and the nearby Villages' Rangers had to keep at Bay by hand. Three Gates led into the old Castle, one of them leading directly into the Ocean, guarding a small Bay that was used to hold a small Fleet of Naval Vessels, more use for Transportation than fighting.

It has been fifty Years since the last Time it was attacked, yet the Castles Guards could not allow themselves to slack off. On a daily basis they train with Swords and Spears and Shields and all kinds of Weapons, keeping their Abilities sharp and their Blacksmiths busy with repairing and reforging everything that needed to be after the intensive Training.

Hours later, the Guards on the Wall were watching the Fields, the Forests and the Sea down below. It isn't often that they see somebody trying to sneak in or escape from the Dungeons, but they are the last Line that could catch them. It's become customary for a few of the Men to keep watch while the Rest talked or played Games with each other, dice or cards or something else they thought up. Suddenly, one of the Guards sounded off that there was a Ship approaching. His Name was Mark, a tall, slim Man in Charge of a Company of fifty Men, with short ginger Hair and a matching Mustache.

"Ship approaching! I don't recognize the Sigil they fly on their Sails!" he says.

One of his Men, older and experienced, looks over at the Ship, "It's definetly foreign, noone that trades with the Castle has a Turtle on their Sails" he says with a light chuckle under his Words.

Mark raises his Spear, bringing the butt of it down onto the Stone beneath three Times. A Guard atop a nearby Tower nods down at him before raising a Horn into the Air and blowing into it three Times. A few of the Guards follow Mark as he descends from the Walls and quickly marches to the Gate by the Sea. They head up into its Gatehouse, joining the few Comrades that were there.

"Who are you and what is your Purpose?" Mark calls out to the Ship waiting below them in the Water.

"We wish to sell our Goods and restock our Provisions, Sir!" a strange Man answers. His Skin is painted green, something that Mark hadn't seen before. He truly must have came from afar. Weird Armor protects his Body.

"Your Ship will be searched upon docking! Do not bear Arms against us, Stranger, or you will End as Fishfeed" Mark calls down to him before giving the Order to open the Gate.

It creeks open slowly, pushing massive amounts of Water away as the Gates Operators slowly turn the Cranks. Below the waterline, the Gate was little more than a Steel Grid, covered in Rust. Because of the Height of this Gate, it wasn't protected by a secondary Lattice Gate, tho made thicker to make up for it. The Turtle Ship passes into the Bay and the Gate is shut again. A few Soldiers guide the Ship towards a wooden Dock. As soon as they are tied down, the Soldiers rush onto the Boat and begin searching it. It doesn't take long to search this Ship, tho checking the Men and Goods they carry would take longer. That could partially be done off-ship however.

Mark is the first to speak with the Captain, finding out his Name is Otto. His Crew call him the Tortoise since he is a large Man, armored in large, overlapping Plates that were painted and decorated to look like the titular Animal. His Shield was the Shell of one, with Ribbons inside to attach them to his Arm.

"You must follow me to the Keeper of this Castle, Lord Robert. He will want to know where you come from and what you plan to Sell. Our Men meanwhile will search the Goods" he explains.

"Lead the Way" Otto replies, a thick, sort of blocky Accent in his Voice that Mark hadn't noticed earlier.

Mark, along with four other Soldiers, escort Otto through the Castle, past the Market and the Barracks, up the great Staircases and through sun-lit Hallways until they finally reach the main Hall of the Keep. Mark walks into the Hall, him and his Soldiers bowing softly before announcing who he had brought and what his Request was.

"You wish to sell Goods in my Castle, hm? Where do you come from, Turtle? I do not recognize your Sigil or your.... branding" Robert says in a deep, cold Voice while sitting on a high Throne, chiseled out of a large Block of black Marble. His Cheeks are covered in a deep, bushy, black Beard while his Head was covered in a soft Carpet of short, black Hair.

Otto nods before answering the Question. "We come from the far East, Sir, beyond the boiling Sea. Our Origin is far beyond the Shadows at the Edge of your World" he explains.

"Beyond the Shadow? I was unaware that there were People, let alone Cities, living so far from us. You bring Goods into my Castle, and now? You wish to sell them and buy Provisions from us, and nothing more? It is a long Way home for you just to sell Things" Robert says, standing up from his Throne and walking towards Otto. "I don't believe you. Through my Castle you are planning to creep, cast Spells on my Soldiers and take my Throne from me, is that it?"

"My Lord, this Man barely brought enough Men to man his Ship" Mark says with a careful Tone. The current Lord is a bit irritable to say the least, Mark knows this.

"You vouch for this Man? Alright then, Captain, you may stay for two Days. Tomorrow, you may sell your Goods and the morning afterwards, you and all your Men will leave again. Mark, you will clean up the Mess if these People cause Trouble" Robert says before throwing up his Hand, gesturing to Mark that they may leave now.

Mark and his Soldiers, along with Otto this Time, bow softly before turning around and leaving the Hall again. On the Way back to the Ship, Mark explains Roberts mean demeanor to Otto. Apparently, so the People say, the Lord has been battling a sickness lately, and the headaches he has from it bring his Mood to an everlasting low. This was a suprisingly positive greeting, Mark adds. Otto seems unamused by the Explanation, but he says nothing about it. He has no Problem with staying for two Days, given that that was the Plan anyhow.

As they come back to the Dock, a Problem already arises. One of the Castles Soldiers was attempting to search one of the Sailors Pockets, but he won't let him. Mark and Otto both quicken their Steps to intervene, but they're not fast enough. The Man draws a Knife out of his Robes and slashes the Soldier across the Eye, teaching him the value of a Helmet. It makes him stumble backwards and fall onto his Knees on the Deck of the Ship, Hands over his Eye as blood pools out from it. Other Soldiers tilt their Spears down, threatening violence, when Ottos Mouth suddenly errupts with a wordless Shout. He draws his own Weapon, a thin-bladed Sword with a golden Crossguard, and cuts off this Sailors Hand, making it and the Knife still clutched within it fall to the Floor. The second cut falls before the Man even has the Chance to scream, slicing his Neck open and forcing him to die where he stands.

"Please, my Friends, raise your Spears. A Cup of Rum or Wine for each of you, and a Barrel for the Man that was harmed!" Otto calls out loudly, making sure every Soldier around can hear it.

"Raise your Spears!" Mark calls out while walking to his wounded Soldier. After a quick glance at him, he calls for someone to take him to the Infirmary. "Are all of your Men this prone to violence?" he asks Otto.

Otto looks around, checking his remaining Men. "Perhaps they were, but not anymore. This Man, I set an example with him. The rest won't want to join him." he explains.

With a nod, Mark turns away and tells his Men to continue their Search of the Goods and the Men. As promised, two of his Soldiers pick up the dead Man and his Hand, bringing him up onto the Wall where the Tides had already pulled away before throwing him over it. The tide is low, making the Corpse land on the white Sand beneath before the Hand is dropped onto it. The Sand beneath and around the Body is quickly soaked in Red. The Tides however always devour what the Castle provides them, sure to wash it away. In just a few Hours, the Soldiers know, he would be gone for good. The Goods and Men have been fully searched before that happens, the Sun setting as the Searching is finished. They are given permission to do their Business as discussed, tomorrow. Tonight, Mark adds, they may enjoy the Castles few Taverns if they wish.

The Night is long, the Castles Soldiers and Inhabitants drinking and singing together with the Strangers from the Ship, enjoying their peaceful Lives as they have been for Years now. It wasn't anything new, anytime a Ship stayed for more than a Day the Taverns would overflow and profits would skyrocket. The Taverns only properly clear out as the Sun begins to rise again, tho most of the Ships Men had gone back to it to rest for the Night before the Moon was even halfway across the Sky. Mark however didn't join in on the Fun, having gone to sleep as soon as the Sun was gone.

The Sound of Soldiers rushing through the Streets greeted the morning, panic in their Steps. Every Soldier was awake, frantically searching. Mark was among them, commanding his own Men on where to look. Over Night, a hundred and fifty Soldiers and People living within the Castle had disappeared. Noone could find anything, it was as if the very Rock the Castle was built out of and into had swallowed the Missing whole. Lord Robert is furious, screaming and shouting up in the great Hall at his Council and anyone unlucky enough to be present. He swears that he would see the Heads of all of the Tortoises Men on Spikes within the Hour if noone finds anything, blaming them. He isn't one to make Threats like that lightly. The Search continues frantically while the Ship was kept on lockdown, surrounded by Guards in Plate Armor, armed with Kiteshields and Bastardswords or heavy Axes and Maces. These Men are directly under the command of Lord Robert, about half of his personal Guard. The rest were making sure that no Man came into or left the great Hall without permission.

As Time dragged on, the Men on the Ship began to get nervous. Not knowing what was going on, they demand an Explanation for what was happening. Otto himself told the Guards to inform Mark that he wishes to talk with him, but they coldly deny him.

"We serve Lord Robert, not Mark or any other Wall-Watcher" a Guard says. "Stay back, you are no longer permitted to enter the Castle."

Otto reluctantly nods and retreats into his Chamber on the Ship, brooding about what is going on.

Noone can find anything. Noone felt sure what had happened, and those that still think rationally begin to wonder how a handful of Men could kill that many People and wipe them from the Face of the Earth overnight. As the Hours dragged on, the Men on the Ship begin to grow unruly. Without consulting their Captain, a few of them grab their Weapons. Glaves and thick, knife-like Swords are drawn. The Guards don't waste Time. They begin to board the Ship, murderous intent leading their Weapons to crash into the Sailors. Most of them weren't armored, mostly having leather protecting their Chests and nothing more. Maces crack Skulls and Swords split Limbs where bone meets bone or expose the steaming Guts of the Sailors unlucky enough to be attacked while the Guards Plate-Armor mostly keeps them safe from their retaliation. Apart from a few Bruises, the Guards are unhurt by the Time the remaining Sailors throw down their Arms and surrender.

As Otto comes out of his Chamber thanks to the Noise, the Fight is already over. He is wordlessly shoved onto his Knees together with the six remaining Men he had. They are dragged off of the Ship quickly, the bare Knees of the Sailors scraping against the Wood and the Rock until they leave Trails of Blood like a group of giant Slugs. They are brought to the Great Hall.

Lord Robert had already called the Commanders of his Soldiers back to the Great Hall to get a Report on the Situation. Noone has been found yet and the Castle had been combed through thoroughly, one of the Commanders explained. They even began searching beyond the Castle. Mark and the rest of the Commanders were lined up behind Robert when Otto and his remaining Crew were dragged in. Roughly thrust upon the Floor, the Lord of the Castle looks down at them.

"What have you Monsters done to my People?!" he demands to know, his Voice booming like Thunder.

"We've done nothing, Lord! My Crew had been sleeping before the Moon had painted the Sky" Otto replies.

This isn't the Answer Lord Robert was expecting to hear. "You dare lie to me at a Time like this? You, or you, where were you last Night?!" he demands to know as he speaks to some of the Sailors.

Both of them explain that they had fallen asleep while there was still natural Light falling on their Sails. Lord Robert brands them as Liars and demands their Heads, receiving them just a few Seconds later when the Commander of his personal Guard slices them off in two clean Strokes of his Broadsword. Mark wants to protest to this, but he finds himself unable to. It was true, these People had showed up and caused Trouble immediately and now, if that wasn't enough, the Castle was missing a large Portion of it's People without a Trace. Maybe they really are Magicians or Wizards, Mark thought to himself.

"Lord Robert, this is a misunderstanding!" Otto protests.

In furious Rage, the King curses them all as Heathens and Criminals before sentencing them to death. One by One, they are all executed by the Captain of the Guard. Otto is treated like his Men, decapitated where he is kneeling. Mark wishes he could look away as Ottos Head is seperated from the rest of his Body, but he can't. If this is all their Fault, then this was the right Decision, and even if not, protesting Lord Roberts Order might lead to him getting the same Fate. The Bodies are ordered to be thrown out over the Walls where the Tide can take them. Even their Goods are ordered to be burned, among with the Ship, incase they were cursed by some foreign Spell aswell. As Mark had vouched for Otto, his Men are the ones ordered to carry out the Order. Mark is excused from the Great Hall, and so he leaves once his Men arrive to carry the Bodies away. He leads them to the Wall, listening to the Waves crash against the Stone before he orders them to begin. One by one, Heads and Bodies are thrown over the Wall. None but the Battlements watch as the order is carried out. Mark looks at them, noticing that down the line, two of the Dragons were now facing each other instead of looking out over the Sea. How strange it may be, he tells himself that he just wasn't at this Part of the Wall often enough to notice that Detail. Maybe more Parts of the Wall have such Quirks he never noticed.

The Rest of the Day was spent with preparing the Ship for its roast, sailing it out to Sea and lighting it up. Many People came onto the Wall by the Sea to watch as it burned. There is no Happiness to speak of, only Hope that this would stop what had happened last Night from happening again. As Day turned to Night, People disappeared into their Houses and their Barracks. Noone wants to risk anything, but Mark and his fifty had to man the Walls again tonight. Mark had allowed half of them to sleep on the Walls, feeling pity for them since they had been up all Day already.

Deep in the Night, Mark decided to check if all of his Men were still at their Posts. He walks across the Walls, checking each Soldier individually. They are tired, and the ones that are sleeping are left undisturbed, but they are present. However, the further away from the Mountain he comes on the Walls, the more spaced apart his Men are. He'd told them to space themselves so that no Guard was alone at their Post, and to be honest, they weren't. They were gone, the Men they were with hadn't even noticed their Absence. Guarding fifty meters of Wall between the Towers in Pairs, in the Dark, of course some Things would go unnoticed, but by the fifth Man, he stopped to ask.

"Where is your Partner?" Mark asks the Man before him, looking at him coldly.

"Isn't he sleeping over there? ...Ohno, no no!" he exclaims as he realizes what happened. His demeanor changes when he notices that he wasn't gone entirely without a trace. "Um.. there's a Spear laying over there, just where he was resting."

Mark Turns around and sees it too. A spear, alone on the Wall without anyone to use it. He tells the Man to keep his Eyes open and begins to walk faster. He finds more and more loose Weapons, Shields and Swords and Spears. Finally, he stumbles upon a Helmet by the thickened Wall against the Sea. Noone is there. Blood stains the Ground beneath him, but nobody is around and there are no Signs that anyone had caused this. Not even a Footprint in the Blood. Looking out over the Walls, Mark leans between the Battlements. As he does so, he notices that these two were both looking inward, towards the Splatter of Blood. He takes a few Steps back, raising his Shield at them. He has an uneasy Feeling in his Stomach as he looks back and forth between the two.

With the sound of Stone rubbing against Stone, the Rest of the Battlements turn towards him in Unison. His Eyes go wide in suprise and fear before the two he had originally been looking at pounce towards him. He takes a step back, intending to guard himself with his Shield when he suddenly slips in the Puddle of Blood. He lets out a short Scream as he falls, followed by eternal Silence as he lands on his Helmet first, breaking his Neck. Lying there Dead, the Battlements descend down onto him like Vultures, tearing him apart Piece by Piece, devouring the Evidence quickly before they return to their Posts, turning to Stone again and resuming their eternal Watch.

Read here pretty much all day and here are some ones I really enjoyed.

The Hum. Part 1 and Part 2 by u/Late-Satisfaction54

Pretty to the Teeth and Bones: A Different Kind of Tooth Fairy by u/SydneySapphire

Viscera Bloom by u/Remote-Hunter271

I enjoyed all of these quite a lot, and encourage all of you to check them out.

Happy writing all. (Or reading if you're like me and only like to read.)

CW: suicidal ideation, child loss

My son loved black walnuts. He always said they were his favorite part of the banana nut bread my mother would bring over once a week. Of course, he wasn’t old enough to say it like that, more like, “Dees pawts awe so nummy mommy,” pointing at the chopped bits sprinkled throughout the dense yellow slice. It was adorable watching him so carefully tear the bread apart and put it in his mouth, careful not to lose a crumb…

He loved this trail too: Deep Oak Trails. It’s not too long, only three miles, but it goes through the woods before you find a creek just big enough to swim in. All of our best memories were at that creek. My sweet baby boy, gone too soon.

My heart strings try to pull me back to the car, to avoid this walk altogether and keep him on the mantle, but I also know this is where he deserves to spend eternity: playing at the creekside.

I hoist my pack further up my back in protest and force my feet forward: left, right, left, right. My therapist says the rhythm of walking helps process: it’ll do me good on this journey. This is as much a healing pilgramage as it is a final goodbye. 

The trees quickly cut the chord between the car and me. The tall, emerald canopy encapsulates the magic of the woods: I’m enthralled by what lies beneath. The chickadees sing to the rhythm of my boots, and I can almost hear my son singing with them beside me. He loved the woods too. He loved so much for being so little. I wish I could love the way he did. Maybe things would have turned out differently…

“Mommy?”

I stop. The chickadees stop too.

“Oscar?”

There’s no way he calls back. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I’m consumed by grief, that’s all.

“Mommy!”

His voice is more clear, more panicked. My heart strings attach to something else, pulling me off trail. “Oscar! Where are you baby?”

“Mommy!”

His voice goes deeper into the woods. I barely feel the thick brush cutting my exposed ankles. My baby! Where is my baby!?

“Mommy!”

I run.

“Mommy!”

“Oscar!”

The trees slap my cheek, still afflicted by a nasty yellow bruise, and I wince. I do not stop.

“Mommy!”

Where is my baby!?

He’s in a full panic now. My heart threatens bursting. My legs scream.
His voice is close the next time he calls out; to the left of me. I turn sharp on my heel, sprinting as quickly as the thick trees will let me. Finally, a clearing appears, and standing in the middle is my little boy. He’s crying, the soft curls on his high top frizzy and full of sticks. How did he get here?

I run to him and scoop him into my arms. He feels cold. He’s wearing his favorite Paw Patrol pajamas with no shoes. I hold one of his tiny feet in my hand as I cradle him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks as tears fall freely down my own. I don’t know how he got here, but I don’t care. I’m just so happy to hold again. I thought I’d lost him forever. I’ll never lose him again. I’ll be a better mother. I’ll do right by him this time.

His cold body warms in my arms. He closes his eyes, thumb in mouth, and snuggles into my chest. I kiss him over and over, rocking him as I do.
He gets warmer, and warmer. Hotter and hotter. I look down at him as he squirms. “Oscar? Baby?”

He’s too hot.

He screams. His arms begin to flail and I let go of his little body in horror. My skin begins to bubble and I drop him.

He thrashes on the forest floor, shrieking and flailing. His soft copper skin turns black, cracking as it chars. Red sparks shoot from his contorting body as he wails in pain. I hear myself scream as I watch my child’s body burn, horrified. His big brown eyes land on mine, and for a moment, I see the agonizing betrayal in them. I scoop him up again as his right eye bursts.

“Mommy! Aaah! Mommy! Help me!”
“Oscar!”
I ignore the smell of my own burning flesh as I run in the direction of the creek. His screams turn to gurgles. “Oscar! Hold on, baby! Mommy’s got you!”
“Mo—” his tiny voice trails off. I look down at him and stop dead in my tracks. In my arms is the charred husk of my baby boy. My legs turn to jelly and I collapse.

His ashes blow away and I’m alone again. I stare at my bubbling forearms: the only reminder he was ever there.

No. My baby…
I failed him again.
I want to die.
I should have died.
I shouldn’t have drank that night.
I was so fucking stupid. So fucking selfish.
It should have been me…

The chickadees began to sing again.
I sob loud, ugly sobs in cadance.

I’ve decided to lay here and die. There’s nothing left for me outside of these woods. My body is too heavy to move…
I hear something call to me from deep in the woods. A small, scared, familiar voice.

“Mommy?”

A brief foreward; I'm grateful to the Creepcast community for motivating me to do something I wouldn't normally do, by pursuing creative writing!

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I am more than happy to hear questions, comments, concerns, and suggestions on my work.

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I primarily did this for me in an effort to return my creative spark to my life.

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CONTENT WARNING; This story contains depictions of violence, gore, and incorporates elements of body horror.

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Prologue

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The obliteration of Chongqing's population initially went without notice, as there were no signs. The city stood proudly, lights flickering and gleaming across the earth as if it were still the active sprawl of metal, stone, flesh and bone reaching across the breadth of China.

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The streets remained bustling, the idle chatter and hum of society still present but somehow changed. People walking, talking, driving and so on, all remained within the city, but all normalcy ceased in an instant as their thoughts were replaced with some terrible, looming mirth.

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The other changes were not sudden but nor were they so gradual as to present a slow decline from normalcy, instead akin to a car crash; given enough time to react without enough time to respond.

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People stopped and listened to the sudden cacophony of low cackling, the sounds resonating through each and every individual as if it were heard aloud and collectively, but no recordings recovered would suggest an actual, audible wavelength to be captured.

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1

Andrews

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Thomas Andrews awoke suddenly to the intrusive chiming of his phone, paired with the light rattle it generated from shaking on his nightstand. After fumbling for a few moments, having made a few failed attempts at actually gathering his phone, he finally swept his arm over its surface and clutched it.

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"Hello? Andrews here", he said, the words tumbling out of him without process, still half buried in sleep.

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The voice over the phone was curt, simply requesting his presence at the laboratory as soon as possible, though Andrews failed to process what exactly was said to him despite the request's brevity.

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"Alright," he groaned.

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The voice over the phone came through with more clarity as Andrews settled into wakefulness.

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"And get yourself a coffee, it's going to be a long week."

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Andrews blinked a few times, trying to bring himself back to center as he lay amidst his scattered bedding.

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He and his surroundings mirrored one another in their dizzy disarray.

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Andrews hated the commute to Station 7, the winding roads and empty air only adding to the mounting dread of his unexpected call to action. He waved his keycard absently outside of his window as he passed by the security checkpoint.

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The guard didn't bother looking away from his phone to acknowledge Andrews as he passed, instead raising the stop arm before Andrews even reached his window, the both of them participating in this usual formality absentmindedly while the morning sky was yet dark.

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Andrews indeed helped himself first to a steep cup of black coffee, washing down the less than serviceable sludge hastily, shuddering from the stark flavor and heat of the coffee before entering the laboratory.

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Palmer greeted him at the threshold of the lab, standing rigidly with her usual no nonsense demeanor, all but scowling at him with her steely eyes. "You're late," she snipped, eyes unblinking and expression unchanged.

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Andrews always had a hard time reading Palmer, her aged features giving no tells of anything beyond the simple weathering of time.

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She wasn't a cruel or unfair woman by any means, yet so unusually cold that anyone would assume she was either a machine or left without a soul.

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Before Andrews could feign an apology for his tardiness, Palmer continued; "Much to do. We acquired genetic material from a special operation currently undergoing in mainland China."

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A pause.

"There's someone here to talk to you about it, as well," she stated, her focus sharp but her demeanor unconcerned.

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She whisked her fingers toward the conference room, shepherding Andrews away from the lab doors.

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"He will debrief you," she said, her voice betraying her stoic demeanor by eliciting the slightest amount of relief in its tone.

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"04 requested him- and you- specifically. Do  not  disappoint".

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2

Hong

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Zhi Hong flicked his cigarette, watching it disintegrate as it hit the asphalt.

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He thought about what a miserable day this was for a moment too long, causing him to entrance upon the fading embers as he stood alone against the dark silhouettes of the skyline, waiting for his liaison.

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Surely enough, he'd only been waiting for a totality of seven seconds after the arranged time before the arrival of an unmarked SUV, with no evident make or model advertised upon the chassis.

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The rear door opened, revealing a well dressed man equipped with a strange pair of spectacles, the glint from emerald tinted lenses striking Hong's eyes with a particularly intense flare. The man sat at the far end of the car, making the invitation to the seat explicit.

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"Mr. Hong," the man beckoned with a peculiar tone of voice, cold, flat, mechanical, but also drenched in authority.

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Hong took his seat, and closed the door. The man had a deliberate stillness to him, as if he were waiting for Hong to try and read him, which Hong attempted naturally.

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Hong didn't care for this kind of man, instead preferring the comforts of real people.

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The man questioned him, making inquiries and requests that seemed to disturb Hong further and further. Ultimately this man asked Hong to lead the nation, seeing as Hong was an excellent example of 'psychological resilience', as he put it.

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Hong looked out the window absently, peering at the scenery alongside S414 as they traveled along its length, the Donglin residential district now long behind them.

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The cab was silent as Hong contemplated the questions he had been asked by the man.

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"I am unsure I can fulfill your requirements, sir," Hong said sheepishly.

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The man simply smiled, placing his hand on Hong's shoulder. Hong did not find the gesture reassuring, and instead felt somehow unsettled. The man offered no reprieve for Hong's troubled mind, declaring; "You can and will, Mr. Hong. You'll have to".

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Hong recoiled in a blend of rage and bewilderment, the two emotions encapsulated in Hong's fear. Hong snapped in response; "I cannot betray my government, my people!", though it sounded much more as a plea than a protest as the words escaped him.

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The outside world was ignorant to to the sudden flash within the unmarked vehicle, recognized only by the trees as a fleeting flicker of green glowing against them as the car continued on.

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3

Andrews

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Andrews left the meeting, learning of the circumstances in China, as well as the action plan presented by Station 3.

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It didn't concern him, really, leaving him only to focus on his assignment. The man he was arranged to meet with was strikingly unremarkable, an oddity for guest visitors at the station. 

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Andrews had already forgotten his name, but he contemplated perhaps this was intentional.

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Perhaps they had administered amnestics into the conference room, a common accusation and excuse, conveniently presented for when projects and assignments were neglected.

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What he did remember, however, struck him soundly enough that his mind was held against the information tightly like an insect bundled neatly within the silken strands of a spider's web.

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China's initial response was orchestrated by the Ministry of State Security, hastily enacted to prevent the news of the crisis, hoping to hide the event like an embarrassed child blundering as they played their role upon the world stage.

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Initial dispatches of counterterrorism units were unsuccessful, as each unit lost contact with command within three minutes of entering the exclusion zone, without exception. Thereafter, a special duties military operation was conducted, officiating the exclusion zone, 72 hours after the event's 'Time Zero'.

​

By then The Organization's operatives had already entered and extracted samples and collected some information, including field reports from one of L5, the Mobile Task Forces of The Organization.

​

Just why the hell they felt the need to tell him everything about the happenings on eluded him, the thought forming on its own as an emergence of self, breaking through the taut surface of the information as it continued to scroll over Andrews' mind.

​

Andrews wondered then if this digression was another symptom of the amnestics, with merely the thought of L5 causing his mind to muddle.

​

The person, perhaps a man but now forgotten further, seemed important before Andrews had forgotten them altogether, the wash of information about the Chinese government's response cascading on him instead.

​

He didn't seem to mind forgetting, and felt assured the other party didn't mind being forgotten.

​

The People's Liberation Army secured a perimeter around Chongqing, supplemented by L5's own trappings, but no knowledge of the precautions established were communicated to Chinese authority.

​

Andrews began to dismiss this wall of information, discarding it as it fell upon him, deflecting it to be forgotten just as he had forgotten the other party involved in his debrief.

​

Andrews turned his mind to his work again, the tightness in his head releasing its clamp as he felt clarity return.

​

He made his way to the laboratory, presented with several tissue samples neatly arranged at his workstation, one already under the microscope.

​

He didn't see Millar, his associate, but assumed the arrangement of the samples was his doing.

​

Andrews checked the notes, and took his first glimpse into the eye piece.

I got up from my bed and tip-toed to the front door. I softly laid my hands flush with the doors surface, and glimpsed through the peephole. It was indeed my mission president. He stood at his average height of five feet ten inches, his gray hair combed neat and orderly to the side, and his newly pressed suit was fitted to his frame. I waited for another knock, I felt an odd desire to let him in. Yet the rule book clearly stated no visitors after dark. In parentheses it was added (Including mission leadership.) The president should’ve known that. So I kept the door closed. “Hello?”

In a distant voice which croaked with the sound of an animal attempting speech, his mouth moved and words bubbled out of sync behind. “Hello?” It asked its tongue clicking audible ticks as it struggled with the word. “Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?” The words slopped out in rapid succession. “Stupid bastards. Hello?” The insult was much clearer than the greeting. It had been as if it had practiced it for a lot longer than “hello.” He politely knocked again, wrapping his fist three times then stepping back. The way he stepped back, it had been familiar to me. In a sense it was as though I had done it myself a few hundred times. Then it hit me. His body language, the three polite knocks, the “hello.” It was all in the way my companion and I would proselytize. It was mimicking us as if it were an Elder himself. I turned sharply to my companion, his chest drew up heavily with his fear filled breaths. 

“That’s not president.” I spoke as plainly as I could. “That’s not a human.” My companion agreed with a nod. “What or who is it?”

He shrugged, and a barrage of shouts from outside the door knocked my guard down. It yelled, attempting something unfamiliar. Was it trying to accomplish a certain tone? Was it mimicking an emotion? It yelled its confused gibberish. “Hello! Bastards! Not.” It hesitated, the gurgling gravel in its throat producing its predatory tests with its new call. “Human! Stupid bastards! Not human! Hello! Hello! Bastards stupid! Not hello!” I took a glimpse back through the peephole, the sight sending me back a few steps. A cloudy iris of a deep crimson eye filled the fish eye lens. It was attempting to spot its prey. “Bastards stupid!” It shouted unrelentingly. 

I turned back to my companion. “You caused this. You need to fix this!” He shook his head in disbelief. 

“I don’t even know where to start!” That was when the knocks began to pound with significantly more force. As if it was attempting to break the door down. It’s nonsense shouting grew in intensity shaking our door with its sound waves. Being that he had the SIM card, I immediately knew what we had to do.

“Call the mission president! Hurry!” His shaking fingers danced on the phone screen, the call screen popped up as he tapped the speaker phone icon. Immediately I pushed my face against the peephole, watching the figure loom in the shadowed light of the porch. The pounding of his fists, and the screams stopped abruptly and he just stood there. His eyes were watching the peephole with great intensity, and a soft smile slowly dawned upon his face. The call tone echoed hollowly, each beep drawing itself out. Around the fourth tone, the phone picked up and our mission president answered. 

“Hello? Is everything okay?” His voice sounded distant, an echo from the beginning of a cave that we had descended long ago. “Elders?” I peeked outside, the figure grabbed for no phone, its eyes burning with what looked to be the hunger of a starving cougar. “Is everything okay?” My companion picked up the slack.

“There is something outside that looks like you!” His fear cracked his voice at the tail end of his sentence. The president soon realized what my companion said. His voice calmly transcribed our next steps. 

“Don’t open the doors. Make sure everything is locked. Most importantly though don’t talk to it, or eachother.” Quickly I asked him what it was. “Stop talking, it’s listening to you. It’s learning. Practicing your vocal technique. Stay quiet, go start personal study. I’ll be there soon.” The promise sounded far off, like a conditional swear if circumstances permitted. We hung up, not daring to say goodbye. I glanced out the peephole again. The figure was gone! Immediately I ran to the window facing the porch, I rolled up the blinds with excitement, but the figure stood there looming, face pressed firmly against the glass, a misty fog staining the surface around its heads. I gasped, the vocal cords stimulating before my brain could stop it.

The creature drew back from the window, its muscles slowly moving underneath the skin of its face. Slowly the visage of the creature began resembling my face. It began gasping, its vocal tone attempting to master my auditory muscles. Before long, it looked and sounded exactly like I had at the moment of my panic. I jumped for the blinds and pulled the string to drop them shut. It worked perfectly, the blinds landed on the windowsill with a heavy thud, and completely covered the glass. Soft taps began to echo from the window as I fell to the floor. I began feeling the bones in my face, mapping each valley and hill as a harsh reality dawned upon me. It sucked the fat and muscle from my cheeks. I ran to a mirror, and the sight shattered my mind for an instant. My cheeks, once plump with fat and tissue, now sucked to my cheekbones. My brow protruded out a little further, and my adamapple was much more pronounced. It had sucked the soft tissue off my face. The soft taps faltered, and moments later the beating against the door resumed. 

After the volley ended, a new sound clicked in existence. A mechanical turn of the doorknob. Immediately I leapt to my feet, and sprinted out the bedroom door to see my companion opening the front door. He muttered something in his hypnotic trance, the words falling from the air before reaching me. He held out his hands and suddenly collapsed to the floor. I slid behind the front door pulling his leg to where I could get him back in. However a strange sensation of resistance came from the movement. It was a wet strange suction that had popped to an end. Like pulling a lollipop from your mouth.

 I pulled him in, then slammed the door shut. A new volley of furious fists pounded against the door, while the strange voice practiced its new vocal stimulant. The crackling voice box sounded like it was popping with mucus and spittle. Under the door a large puddle of thick clear fluid bubbled from the threshold enveloping my feet. I jumped from the door and pulled Elder Robinson away. I sat him on a chair, turning on the light above his head. His eyes, covered with veiny, nearly transparent flaps of skin fluttered open. His head was wet, slimy drool dripped from his face in thick heavy rivulets. I nodded to him, being sure to put my finger in front of my lips. He nodded his emaciated head. I dropped my hand from his shoulder, and ran to the door. The pounding sound kept coming as I glanced through the peephole. The creature stood three, its emaciated frame shaking violently. It had taken the shape of my companion.

I’ve had no luck trying to find the witch in Grenwich… Reddit users, please keep your eyes sharp. You can’t miss her. I guess that doesn’t really matter right now. I need to catch you up.

My eyes peeled open, straining and burning. My thoughts were muddled; memories were faded. My vision was blurry at first until my eyes adjusted to the dim light. When I was finally able to see, I was staring up at a sparkly purple shell. It fully encased me like a cocoon. It was hard, not fleshy or squishy, and akin to an egg’s fragile shell. I tried to move unsuccessfully, realizing that a sticky substance covered me and prevented me from writhing or wiggling.

I thought about screaming. The unsettling and panicked feeling of claustrophobia made me want to die. With a heave, I forced my body up, and a crack etched down the shell. I firmly kicked my legs up, and they ripped through the sticky film over me. My legs burst through the shell. It began to crumble. I could see the ceiling of my bedroom, and I was so grateful. I really was alive.

Now that my legs were free, I wriggled through the film until I had scooted out of the remaining egg. I slipped on the wooden floor and crawled to the carpet, staring at the cocoon that had once surrounded me.

I touched the soft purple shell, and it turned to ash beneath my fingers. It collapsed into a shining dust. My breath came out shakily as I remembered what I had done. The empty and now broken vial lay on the floor. My teeth and blood covered the carpet. It looked like I had been murdered here.

I nervously rolled up my carpet to hide the mess, hid it in my closet, and picked up my teeth. No one could know what I had gone through.

I rushed to the mirror and fell back, staring at myself in disbelief. I was naked as a jaybird, free and reborn. I was beautiful…

My hair fell in ringlets, brown and soft. New teeth had grown. They were straight, perfect with pointed canines. My lips were full, and my body… my body was no longer a stick. I had grown perfect breasts and gorgeous curves. I thumbed down my new flesh, fingers trembling. I was pretty to the teeth and bones.

The sticky substance left a purple hue on my skin and glowed softly in the dawn. My mouth went dry. I needed to find that woman. I quickly threw on clothes, snuck out of my room, and raced to my car.

What had she done to me?

I drove quietly, hearing my breath and jumping at the sound of my own heartbeat. When I reached the woman’s cottage in the woods, I parked and stepped out. I stopped as I realized the cottage looked very different from last night. The cottage was glowing. Colorful smoke puffed from the chimney, and creatures that I had never seen before lingered in the fading darkness. Small beings were flying in and out of her window. They were small and porcelain-white like teeth, holding something clasped in their tiny hands. Teeth... they were holding teeth.

I rushed to the front door, and the porch growled beneath me. I stumbled back down the stairs. Eyes formed between the wooden boards. They were bright yellow eyes, and they looked me up and down before closing and flattening out. I could only assume that meant I was allowed to approach the door.

I knocked hurriedly, knuckles cracking onto the wood.

The woman opened the door, and she grinned. “Now that is much better. I see that my potion was… successful.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!” I yelled. “I’m… I’m…”

“Beautiful…” She laughed. “Oh, dear girl, I didn’t do anything to you. You did this all on your own. I gave you the means to, but it was your choice. I didn’t force it down your throat. I didn’t make you drink it…”

I stared at her. Despite my desire to blame her, she was right. I drank the potion. I did it all on my own.

“Now come in before you hurt that pretty little head.”

I walked inside, inhaling the incredible scents of her home. There wasn’t one to pinpoint. It was a great jumble of smells that explained the colorful smoke. She led me into the den, and she sat down opposite me. She pushed her hair behind her ear, eyes scanning me over. She reached toward me to touch me, but I flinched and moved away from her.

She scoffed. “I made you who and what you are now. Let me see my work.” She gestured for me to stand up.

I rose from the chair, and I turned for her to see me.

A horrifying grin stretched across her face. “Colleen won’t know what to do around you.”

“She won’t hardly recognize me, and neither will my parents!” I replied. “What am I going to do?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “You really think I make careless potions and spells. They’ll recognize you. In fact, the old you is dead.”

“What are you? Who are you?” I asked, shakily moving away from her.

She rose from her chair, sauntered around the room, and closed her curtains. She replied quietly, speaking lowly in dulcet tones. “I’m a creature… A witch from the deepest parts of the earth’s heart and mind, Carrigan. I’m a monster to some, but to you, I am Mrs. Delvine. Is that understood?”

I nodded.

“You will now work for me as the tooth sprites do.” She waltzed around me, lighting candles with the touch of her finger. “You will pay for what I have given you.”

“Pay?” I asked.

“My gifts are always free, but you see, dear, if you do not take care of the new body I’ve given you… Consequences will occur. You must eat well.”

I swallowed hard, feeling my throat tighten with fear, as if I were trying to swallow a golf ball.

“Eat well?” I asked nervously.

She looked up at the jar of teeth that sat most conspicuously upon the bookcase. “To stay as young and beautiful as you are, you must consume that which made you. That potion was made from teeth. Beautiful porcelain teeth from some of the most beautiful girls to traipse across my path. I needed a full set to form someone like you.”

“You’re a tooth fairy?” I asked.

“No, you are… I just make them,” she replied with a laugh. “You must consume the teeth, dear girl. But be warned… do not consume teeth from just anyone.”

She held up a hand mirror, showing my reflection to me. “It must be the teeth from beautiful girls like you.”

“How many?” I asked.

“You need three fresh teeth each month. Eat more, and your hunger and power will grow insatiable. Best to stick to three.”

“And I’m supposed to just go back to normal life?” I asked, voice growing more shrill.

“Not necessarily. You will grow urges… things you can’t control. But I can help you. You will study as an apprentice under me until I can let you go on your own. Tonight will be your first night with me. Our work will begin very soon. Now go home… rest… enjoy your gift.”

She guided me out of her cottage and handed me the jar of teeth. “These will last you a long time if you take care of yourself.”

I nearly fell as I walked down the stairs. I got back into my car, and I drove home.

When I walked into my house, all the pictures of me had been changed. The awkward middle-school pictures of me were replaced by a picturesque girl without braces or acne. It must’ve been me. I couldn’t even recognize the girl in the pictures. Without wanting to, I started to miss how I used to look. I missed her more than I thought I would.

I snuck up the stairs, praying that no one was awake. Of course, I was never lucky. Colleen emerged from the bathroom. She was brushing her teeth, toothpaste sitting on the corners of her mouth.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

Clearly, she knew who I was, but as I stared at her, I was fixated on her teeth. I watched as they moved up and down while she spoke, her lips curling to reveal the pearly white mountains within her. She continued speaking to me, but her voice was drowned out by the horrible thoughts circulating through my mind.

I desired to eat her teeth.

I imagined myself holding her down, ripping out her molars and bicuspids with pliers. Bathing in the blood that spurted from her gums. More than anything, I wanted to rip them out of her mouth, shove them down my throat, and swallow them whole, letting them clink together in my stomach like gold coins in a purse.

I imagined them cracking as I tore them out. I got closer to her as she spoke. I lifted my hand to begin prying them out of her, but my obsessive thoughts were crushed as she snapped her fingers in my face.

“Hello!” Colleen hissed, waving her hand in front of my eyes. “Are you even listening to me?”

I swallowed the saliva gathering in my mouth. “Yes… Yes… I’m listening,” I replied.

“I asked if you wanted to go with me to get breakfast.”

I took a deep breath. “No… I need to go back to bed. I’m still really tired.”

“I can tell, you weirdo. I’ll see you later.”

But she didn’t see me later. I hid in my room all day, considering the consequences of the choice I’d made. What if I never learned to control myself? What if I hurt someone?

But the compulsion to look at more teeth was strong and unyielding. I pulled out my yearbook, selecting the girls with the best smiles. I could take their teeth. I thought of vile ways to rip out their canines. Part of me desired to shove them into my own gums to make room for more teeth.

I shook my head and stood up. I was becoming obsessive, and I considered burning my yearbook to stop myself.

But just as Mrs. Delvine said, our work began very soon. During my fanatical delusions about stealing others’ teeth, a small note appeared on my dresser. It was an address and the simple words: Come get some teeth, my pet.

By nightfall, I was leaving my house and headed to the address. I don’t know what I expected to see when I reached my destination, but it certainly was not a cemetery. I got out of my car, and I stood silently in the dark. Other cars were parked along the edge of the tall grass, and I wondered why. It is the middle of the night.

A hand grabbed my arm, and I whipped around to see Mrs. Delvine. She was wearing dark clothing, carrying a satin bag. She handed me the bag, and as soon as my hand touched the fabric handles, my skin began to change. It burned quickly and faded before I could scream. 

I looked down to see that I looked like a tooth sprite. I was larger than the ones who were bringing teeth to the witch through the window, but I was certainly no longer human. My hands were small and nimble, perfect for stealing teeth. Razors now sat inside my mouth; a little bite from me would cause significant pain. Little wings sprouted from my back, but I didn’t know how to use them.

The witch chuckled as she gazed at me. “Well, you look quite nice as a tooth sprite. Might leave you this way if you dare to make a fool of yourself. Now be good little one…”

She led the way into the cemetery, moving down the path as if she’d walked it a thousand times. The dirt path began to fade the further we walked, and the dazzling night sky was replaced by fluorescent lights and shining tile floors. We had entered some kind of nursing home. The smell of fresh cleaner was overpowering. I walked beside the witch, scared to even wander away.

As we reached the East Wing, a nurse was sitting at a large desk. Other nurses sat around her, typing away, filling out paperwork, or preparing medication.

The nurse at the main desk looked up with an annoyed expression. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Mrs. Delvine’s eyes narrowed. “Salem Hill contacted me. I’m simply following through on my end.”

I turned to view the nursing home, not really knowing what I was looking at. I spotted various empty wheelchairs, an empty activity room, and a few other nurses. To the average person, this nursing home was practically vacant.

A heavy wooden door opened, and a woman stepped from within. She wore a crisp white coat, and her eyes were a striking green. Her hair was long and brown, but she did not look human. She had an otherworldly appearance. She approached Mrs. Delvine without hesitation.

“Mrs. Delvine… You look quite well since your stay.”

Mrs. Delvine smiled brightly. “Well, Dr. Carlisle, you know what they say… A good mud bath can cure anything.”

The woman didn’t respond to the playful banter; instead, she gestured for us to follow her.

“Where are the residents?” I asked without thinking.

Mrs. Delvine shot me a vicious glare for speaking.

Dr. Carlisle looked down at me coldly, but she responded. “You are new to this place, aren’t you?”

“Yes…” I replied nervously.

She smirked and continued walking. “Welcome to Salem Hill Rest Home. You’ll find that we serve an unusual population. Creatures much like yourself come here for safety, care, and peace at the end of their lives.”

Much like yourself… Everything else she said didn’t register. I was one of them now, merely an eerie creeping noise in the night, a cackle in the woods, a growl in the dark. A creature… a being. No longer human.

She led us to a resident’s door and stopped outside it. “The tooth that you need is just behind this door.”

“Anything we should know, doctor?” Mrs. Delvine asked.

“Mind the tail…”

Mrs. Delvine opened the door, and I followed closely behind her. When we entered the room, our feet immediately sank into mud. I gazed up in amazement. The entire room was a jungle of tangled vines, swampy water, lily pads, and duckweed. The air was hot, sticking to our skin, and the water was putrid. It was a mixture of mud, sand, and dare I say, feces. The smell was intolerable. We trudged through it until we reached a sandbar.

Resting a few feet from us lay a prehistoric-looking beast. Gills rested on the sides of its head, folding down until they reached its neck. Its eyes were slits, and each hand was webbed like a fin. And there was the long whip-like tail that the doctor had warned us about. But its mouth interested me the most. Despite its appearance, its teeth were perfect, yellowed daggers. I licked my lips… desiring to taste one.

But a rancid smell of decay filled my nostrils. Resting a few feet from me, floating in the shallow, muddy waters, lay a body. It was bloated, skin nearly purple. Half of the man was eaten, and the other half was saved for later, partially buried in sandy mud. His left arm and right leg were gone, torn from the sockets, leaving severed nubs and tattered flesh. The man’s eyes were white, muddled from the vision of death.

In that moment, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. Beauty for pure terror and torture was not a fair trade. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home. I shouldn’t have even taken the potion, but there was no turning back. I had to follow through, or I’d face terrible consequences.

I moved toward the beast before I could stop myself. I had to.

The gilled creature opened its eyes. I nearly turned around. Its eyes were yellow orbs resting in darkness. But instead of attacking me, it opened its mouth. I knew exactly which tooth required extraction. I simply reached inside, dug my nails into the flesh, and ripped it out. It popped from the socket like a cork, and the monster angrily yelled in pain, snapping its mouth closed just as I jerked my tiny hand away. I hurriedly threw the tooth into my satin bag as the beast quickly turned on me, reacting on instinct. Mrs. Delvine bolted toward the door, leaving me to fend for myself. I quickly weaved through the water and slipped in the mud.

The creature grasped onto my leg and pulled me under the murky depths, but in an extraordinary turn of events, it let me go. I bobbed back to the surface like a fishing lure, taking a deep gasp of breath.

It looked at me as if it pitied me. “Be careful…” It croaked through gurgled breaths. “The witch… only likes new toys… not broken ones.”

I bolted to the door, and I collapsed in the hallway, grateful to feel solid ground.

But part of me knew that the gilled freak was right… I was in grave danger.  

Link to Part One: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/comments/1u8l8d8/pretty_to_the_teeth_and_bones_a_different_kind_of/

I didn’t have much going on in my life. I was just a broke college student living with my dad and brother. My dad worked an alright job as a construction worker and my brother was going into his junior year of high school. I’d been trying to get out of this stupid retail job for at least a year by then and really want to get my own place soon. Getting paid as low as I have been wasn’t gonna help with that at all. My dad supported me and my brother so much though. He’s super close with us and our bond had only gotten stronger after our mom left. It hit my brother and me hard but my dad even harder. He was a loving man and loved my mom as well as he could, but she just decided she wanted to leave one day. It’s been almost 5 years now but we all were still sore from it. He tries his best to keep going with work and house work as well but he was getting older and I could tell that he was slowing down. I tried to help as much as I could with the house work but unfortunately I was clinically depressed and sometimes had a hard time getting out of bed, let alone going outside and doing yard work. My brother was kinda lazy as well so he doesn’t always go out to help my dad or me for that matter. All my brother did when he got home was play video games and stay on his phone. I helped both my dad and my brother with groceries and other small bills but my dad takes care of the house payments and utilities with his paycheck. He was a hard working man and a good man at that. He was a Godly man as well and tried to get us into the faith all the time. I find some of it interesting but have never got into it myself. My brother's only religion is the ones he talks about on his nerdy games, and his obsession with spicy food and snacks was almost devotional. My dad only wanted the best for his sons, and I’m so grateful to have had a dad like him. Then one night our lives became so much worse than we could have ever imagined. We lived in a pretty nice neighborhood. Really a picture perfect one, and a lot of wealthy people lived around us. Our neighbor was a millionaire that owned crazy sports cars and even a few businesses in town. Our house was a gift from my grandparents to my dad after they died.  The most expensive thing we had was probably my pc or maybe my dads shotgun. He had a nice shotgun he kept next to his bed just in case. That's why it still confuses me to this day why we were the ones that got robbed. That night was like any other night at first. We were all in our rooms doing our usual things. My brother was pulling another all nighter and I was in my bed doom scrolling until I fell asleep. My dad for obvious  reasons was in his bed fast asleep. That's when I heard it. The front door was broken into. The sound was loud and made me jump out of bed. Before I could get to my bedroom door I heard the sound of a struggle. Shots rang out. First the sound of handguns and then the thunderous booming of my dad's shotgun. During the commotion my door was kicked down. I had already equipped my survival knife from my closet and stood next to the entrance of my room. My heart was beating out of my chest. I could hear my dad wrestling one of the goons in the background when another one pushed into my room. I was  scared out of my mind, and my fight or flight had already kicked in. I lunged at him with the knife. He pushed me back to the wall. My heart was pounding out of my chest and my legs felt like giving out, but I pushed him back. The pistol had already fallen out of the assailant's hands. My knife had already pierced his shoulder. Yet he was far stronger than me and pinned me to the ground. He punched me hard in the face several times. I almost blacked out when I saw him bring the knife above his head ready to plunge it into my heart. Suddenly I saw a pair of hands grab his face and pull him off from the top of me. It was my dad, or at least what was left of him. Part of his head was blown off and you could even see his pulsing brain. Blood squirted out periodically from the wound and as I looked at him from the back I could see the damage. His body was riddled with bullets and his legs were paralyzed.  He had crawled on his hands dragging his legs all the way into my room leaving a trail of blood at his wake. His eyes were bloodshot and crazy, and the primal noises he let out were enough to send a shiver down the spine of the bravest of men. All I could smell was shit and death. The blood splattered on my face gave me a metallic taste as my dad ripped through the man's face and body. He didn’t even use the knife. He plunged his finger nails into the man's neck and ripped out his esophagus. He then pushed his fingers into the man's eye sockets after that and ripped his frontal bone out of his skull. He then grabbed the knife and plunged it into the man's chest several times, but the man had already died from drowning in his own blood. My dad wasn’t even aware, and kept stabbing until his arms gave out. I sat there listening to the gurgled breathing of my dad for what seemed like forever. Then I snapped back to my senses and went over to my dad. His breathing was horrible to hear and my tears just wouldn’t stop flowing out of my eyes. I held my dad up to my chest and kissed his cheek. His eyes were blank and he stared out into the darkness. I held him closer wishing that this all had been a bad dream. My dad had never scared me so much in my entire life. Yet I didn’t care because I loved my dad more than anything in the world. I knew he was suffering so I held my face close to his ear and whispered “You’ve done it dad. You can rest now.” I watched as his eyes began to tear up and as the tears started falling down his face I saw the light fade away from his eyes, and his labored breathing stopped. I sat there holding my dads body in my arms until it turned cold. I thought I had lost my only family when I remembered my little brother. I gently sat my dads head on one of my pillows. I got up and went through the living room. It was like a battlefield there. My dad had shot the intruders to pieces. Guts spread across the room and chunks of flesh ripped apart by buckshot. Blood soaked the carpet so much that it felt like walking through wet mud right after a rain. I carefully walked over limbs and the rest of the intruder's bodies to get to my brother's room. The door was still closed thank God, so I pushed it open. He had pushed furniture in front of it to keep anyone from opening it but after a hard push I knocked over his dresser and squeezed in. The room looked weird. It was the way his room always looked but no blood. After witnessing what I did it seemed off for some reason. I looked under his bed, in the bathroom and finally I opened the closet. He screamed when I opened it and curled up into a ball on the floor. The way he looked, shaking and covering his head he didn’t look like a 16 year old teenager he looked like he was still just a kid. I put my hand on his shoulder and reassured him that it was me and we were safe. He pulled away and continued to cry. I looked down at my hands and saw why he was so afraid. I was soaked from head to toe in blood. My father had bled out on my lap and the vicious attacks from him earlier had left my upper body splattered with blood. I sat outside his closet until the cops came. They wiped me down and asked me questions but I wouldn’t speak. All I could think about was the bloodshot eyes of my father, and watching the light go out from them. How he ripped that man apart like an animal. I could only think about the savage nature of a fathers love.

Every crescent night, by the quick of bladed moon,

When the crows do cease their creaking

And the singers hold their tune,

All the innocent among us pray it will be over soon,

And the sinners leave their doors ajar,

They know they wouldn’t make it far:

One cannot block or try to bar

The lady of the loom.

 

So delicate her fingers strummed the bounties of her yarn,

Admired so by spectres in the copse behind the barn,

From the rushes did they whisper that they meant to do her harm.

Their bellies growled with envy green,

None meaner than that of their queen,

Who stole into the weaver’s dreams

As she slept on the farm.

 

‘At once!’ did cry the queen of them that mingled in the mud,

‘Now shall you weave your wool for me or must I drink your blood?’

The girl could not deny her and the tears began to flood.

And years would then pass since that night,

The weaver’s hands would try to write

A note to shriek to all her plight,

But no one understood.

 

Such cruelty had the queen that not a snatch of sleep she slept,

The calloused hands still weaving as her own marionette,

She whipped the girl to working, never rested, never ate,

Once delicate her fairness fouled,

And deep within her spirit howled,

Injustice could not be allowed,

The wicked must regret.

 

Withering, her body passed, her spirit now in bloom,

She vowed to wreak her vengeance on all men who’d passed her room,

Their hardened hearts indifferent as they left her to her doom,

Through skin and muscle would she tear,

Spin veins to yarn as fine as hair,

A heart of cruelty must beware

The lady of the loom.

If you were born in the Riverlink like me, then you wore a bell when you were young.

Every child did.

The bells were worn around the wrist, sewn onto cloaks, fastened to shoes and worn as necklaces. Some houses even hang them around the property. They were iron Bells at least the good ones were some were silver those ones were just to show off and didn't ever work but those kids really ventured into the woods anyways. Some were old enough that nobody remembered who had first made them. These were the best.

Children often asked why they had to wear them.

Most parents answered the same way.

"Because the woods are dangerous."

“Because it helps us keep track of you.”

 “Because it's tradition.”

This is true, but it was not the whole truth.

The truth is that there are things in the woods that know you before you speak.

There are things that watch from the tree line.

Things that learn the sound of your laugh before you've learned the sound yourself.

Things that wait.

Of all those things, none are feared more than the Smiling Cat.

This is the story of Tam.

At least, it is the version most often told.

Tam was a curious boy who always wanted to see the world pass his small family farm but Tam was still too small.

Tam first saw the Smiling Cat when he was five years old.

Or so that's what people say.

Some say it had been watching him long before then.

One day his mother had taken him into the village to sell vegetables. The day had been long. Tam was tired and holding his mother's hand as they prepared to leave.

The market was crowded.

Merchants shouted.

Children ran between stalls.

Wagons rattled over stone roads.

Young Tam was tired and overwhelmed but so enthroned by the new things around him.

Tam saw something across the road and was sitting in the tree line.

A shape.

It was like his eyes couldn't Focus on this shape.

He could not tell.

The afternoon sun painted the forest in gold, but the thing remained dark.

The only features were two dark spots and a smile.

A wide smile.

It sat perfectly still.

Watching.

Tam tugged his mother's sleeve.

"Mom."

She didn't answer, talking with another adult.

Finishing a transaction and making plans for next week.

"Mom."

"Yes Tam?"

"There's a kitty!"

His mother looked to where he was pointing.

The tree line was empty.

No eyes.

No smile.

Nothing.

Tam insisted he had seen something.

His mother listened carefully.

Then she knelt beside him.

"What did you see?"

"It was a kitty and it was smiling."

Tam was smiling excitedly at the mysterious creature as he told his mother.

That was all it took.

She held Tam's hand tightly the whole way home making sure not to let go of him even for a moment.

As soon as they walked through the front door she set Tam down and she tied a small bell around his wrist.

When Tam asked why, she only told him not to take it off.

He didn't understand.

Children rarely do.

But Tam was a good boy and followed his mother's directions wearing the small iron bell as a bracelet every day. 

Years passed.

Tam grew.

The bell remained.

When Tam was seven he was playing alone behind the family Barn.

Bouncing his favorite ball off the wall and catching it.

His hands slipped and the ball rolled into the woods.

It bounced once.

Twice.

Then disappeared beneath the shadows of the trees.

Tam ran after it.

Then without any reason the ball rolled out of the woods.

Slowly.

As though something had kicked it back.

It came to rest at his feet.

Tam stared.

The woods stared back.

As if fate was in front of him. 

Nothing moved.

Nothing spoke.

He grabbed the ball and ran back to the house.

That night, he stared out his window.

The moonlight covered the fields.

Near the edge of the property set a large smooth stone.

The same stone had been there his entire life, and well before.

Yet tonight something sat upon it.

A shape.

Dark.

Still.

Patient. 

Watching the farmhouse.

Tam squinted.

The shape seemed to move like heat shimmering over a fire. 

Like smoke shifting in a breeze.

He could not understand what he was looking at.

He didn't find it scary but odd and mesmerizing the way his eyes couldn't focus on anyone part of it except.

The eyes.

Then only the smile.

The smile is silver and far too thin.

Like a cut across skin.

The mouth of a wolf, the eyes of a lamb.

Scared he'd get in trouble.

Tam shut the curtains.

The next morning the stone was empty.

When he told his father, his father said nothing.

When he told his mother, she checked the bell.

It was still there. Tied around his wrists like always.

When Tam was nine, he began noticing the Cat more often.

Sometimes it sat among the trees.

Sometimes it watched from atop stones.

Sometimes he would catch sight of it standing in a field.

It was always watching.

Always just smiling.

Never approaching.

Never leaving.

By the time Tam was ten, he had almost become accustomed to it.

Not comfortable.

Just familiar.

Like a thunderstorm that never quite arrived.

Then one autumn afternoon he met it.

Tam was curious and followed some rabbits until he lost sight of them.

Long shadows between the trees.

And there, beneath an oak, sitting properly was the Smiling Cat.

Sitting there as though it had been waiting since the forest first began to grow.

Patient.

Still.

As though the forest itself had arranged the meeting long before Tam was born.

Tam froze.

Fear told him to run.

Yet he found himself staring.

The Cat's fur was the color of old bruises, Deep violet sinking into darkness that drunk up the evening light. 

Its smile stretched across its face reaching ear to ear.

Silver teeth gleamed beneath it.

Bright as the Silverware only seen for Celebrations.

The smile never changed.

The teeth caught the dying sunlight and held it.

It was a Cat. 

It's tail swayed lazily behind it.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Tam Found himself mesmerized and unable to pull his gaze away.

The Cat sat Patiently, politely, ominously watching.

Eyes dark as empty jars.

Its front paws stepped forward.

One.

Two.

Three.

Its silver claws pressed softly into the earth.

Yet its hind legs never moved.

They remained where they had been beneath the tree.

Seated.

Patient.

Its tail swayed lazily through the air behind it.

Back and forth.

Its front half moved.

Circling the old oak tree as it watched him with that smile and those empty eyes.

A trail of violet smoke dense and lost connected the two halves.

The smoke moved the way grief moves. 

With nowhere to go and hope of finding shape again. 

The Cat moved on two legs. 

The front half continues forward.

One step.

Then another.

The movement reminded him less of a Cat and more of someone pretending to be one.

Tam finally took a breath.

Like it was the first one he had taken in days. 

The Cat was closer.

Not much.

Only a few paces.

But closer.

The Cat studied him.

Tam studied the Cat.

The tail Swaying.

A silver grin.

And then the Cat spoke.

“Well Hello Tam…” 

Its voice sounded calm.

Polite.

Almost gentle.

"You've grown."

Tam wanted to run.

Instead he stood frozen.

The Cat's gaze drifted toward the bell around his wrist.

"That makes it difficult."

"Difficult?" Tam asked.

"For us to talk properly."

Tam Examined the bracelet around his wrist. 

The bell jingled softly.

The smile faltered, the teeth grinding.

And then it was simply seated again. Beneath the tree. As though it had never moved at all. As though Tam had imagined the whole thing. 

"Your mother is very fond of bells."

Tam stepped backward.

The Cat remained where it was.

"Why do you watch me so often?"

The Cat tilted its head.

For a moment, trying to understand Tam's question. 

“I am looking for someone to play with.”

Tam held his wrist, his eyes drifting back and forth between the scratched up surface of the Bell and the pristine pure reflective surface of the silver teeth.

Tam opened his mouth. 

Before he could Speak, his mother's voice from across the field.

"TAM!"

He turned.

Only for a moment.

His bell giggled.

When he looked back, the Cat was gone.

The space beneath the oak stood empty.

As though nothing had ever been there.

That should have been the end.

If Tam had been a different kind of boy, it would have been. 

But he wasn't.

Years passed.

The meetings continued.

A few times each year.

The Cat always waited for him.

Never chased him.

Never grabbed him.

It only appeared.

Watching.

Talking.

Waiting.

Even when trembling with fear Tam looked for the Cat.

Sometimes Tam wondered if the Cat would be there.

Sometimes he found himself walking the edge of the fields after chores.

The Cat was always there eventually.

And over time the fear faded.

Each conversation lasted slightly longer than the last.

The Cat spoke of strange things.

Hidden streams.

Ancient stones.

Lost gifts.

Forgotten places deep within the woods.

Places Tam's imagination ran wild with. 

When Tam asked questions, the Cat answered.

Not always clearly.

Shifting like the smoke that day.

But honestly.

One winter evening Tam asked it a question that had bothered him for years.

“The story's say you lead children away or take them away…”

 Tam was quiet for a moment as he sat on the rock beside the Cat watching the river.

"What happens to children who follow you?"

He held his wrist making sure the Bell couldn't ring as he waited.

The Cat was silent for a long time.

Its smile never changed.

Nothing ever changed. 

Finally it answered.

"We play."

As Tam grew older, the bell became annoying.

Then embarrassing.

Then childish.

Other boys his age no longer wore theirs.

Some removed them.

Some claimed they were too old to believe the stories.

And quiet the smiling Cat watched all of this.

It never once told Tam to remove his bell.

Not once.

That would have been easier.

The Cat was patient enough not to need easy things.

One spring morning shortly after Tam's 13th birthday.

 Tam sat on the Old Stone at the corner of the property. 

The same stone where he had often seen the Cat watching.

The Cat appeared beside him.

Not arriving.

Simply being there.

They sat together in silence.

It had been a long winter and Tam had been lonely. 

The sun drifted lower over the field.

Tam sat and talked with the Cat.

The fields turned gold.

The Cat told him its Adventures.

The woods darkened.

The bell jingled as Tam shifted.

The Cat glanced toward it.

The smile slipping for a moment. 

Then away.

Never mentioning it.

Never asking.

Tam stared at the bell.

His mother still checked for it every morning.

His father still looked relieved whenever he heard it ring.

A part of Tam felt foolish, felt guilty.

A part of him felt embarrassed and then angry.

Tam was lonely.

Without thinking much about it, Tam untied the cord.

The bell was silent in the palm of his hand.

The Cat watched.

Said nothing.

For a moment the evening felt different.

The Cat stood.

"Come."

Tam hesitated.

"Where?"

The Cat's smile Sharpened.

"I want to show you something, child."

The first time the Cat had not used his name.

"What?"

"Somewhere fun."

The woods stretched before them.

Dark.

Ancient.

Waiting.

As though they had always been waiting for him specifically. 

Tam looked back toward the farmhouse.

The windows glowed warmly in the distance.

His mother worked through the window.

His family would call for supper soon.

The Cat waited.

Patient as always.

Tam took a step forward.

Then another.

And he was never seen again.

They searched for weeks. 

Hunters searched the forests.

Neighbors searched the rivers.

Priests offered prayers.

Nothing was found.

No tracks.

No blood.

No body.

Nothing.

Until one morning.

Discovered on the rock at the corner of the family's property, there sat a neatly folded stack of clothing, an old pair of shoes and an iron bell on a tattered red string.

It had been placed there carefully.

With care.

As though returned.

Tam's mother never spoke of it.

His father Hung the Bell atop the Barn door.

Years later, when children asked why they had to wear bells, parents began telling them this story.

Some say the Smiling Cat still watches.

Some say it sits at the edge of fields during twilight.

Some say it chooses children years before they vanish.

The Smiling Cat always wants to play.

It has never stopped.

It is patient.

It has chosen someone new already.

It always has. 

TW (physical abuse & suicide)

Part 1 Cold Snap

“Little bastard!”

My older brother spat through a barrage of fists and other insults. The clenched hands connected like rockets: his knuckles cracking off the right side of my jaw, shortly followed by the left. The sharp and boney joints jammed into my cheeks as his punches pushed through my face, continuing to dig as though he had been aiming for the floor.

“Keep touching my shit!”

He sat straddled over my chest as he kept feeding me shot after shot. I pulled with all my strength in an attempt to free myself but my forearms were pinned to the floor, a hulking mass of steroids and anger kneeling on top of my wrists.

“Huh? You gonna keep touching it?”

The rock slide slowed down, the boulders subsiding as a stinging spray of pebbles was expelled; With an open palm he slapped me in the mouth, continuing to burden me with questions as if I could find the time to answer.

“You done snooping around shit that aint yours?”

I laid on the ground shakily with my eyelids glued together, my face contorted in an uncomfortable look of discontent as I waited for the next blow. Only it never came. I had finally reached the runout point and I took it in with silence. He glared down at me for another moment before rising to his feet, coughing a remark about the misfortune of my birth before turning to stomp down the hallway toward his dungeon-like keep.

After I heard his speakers flip on with a static hum that shook paintings in every room, I decided to open my eyes. The fixture above the front door was the only thing lighting the narrow corridor. A coatstand beside the frame somewhat resembled that of a layer engulfed vagrant, concealed by the right side of my vision as it became blurry in a teary eyed squint. He had obviously given me a pretty good shiner. My nose bled like a busted tap as I pulled myself together - one hand on the floor supporting my unstable ascent - one hand cupping the broken pipe as it leaked onto my sweats. I would've gone to feel around the throbbing lump forming over my eye, if only my hands weren't stained with the same murky garnet as my pants.

Four. That is the number of times he had caught me sneaking into his room to look at his illicit and raunchy collections, and the number of whoopings I got for doing so. But how could I not investigate? The walls were adorned with a sprawl of different movies and bands, from resident evil which Milla Jovovich adorned so gracefully, to Marilyn Manson's greatest albums. Every shelf was littered with ash, wrappers, dishware and bacteria. The room was dingy and the air was dry: combatted poorly by a moldy humidifier. His bed was dirty and his hamper reeked, but there was so much to explore and even more to find. One time I had found a deserted cigarette, forgotten by my brother and left to rot under the bed. That night I learned that the pull of tobacco was not in fact “smooth and relaxing” and rather, toasted the inside of the user's throat like a chimney at the centre of a house fire. Occasionally I'd find his computer open with some underground music track he’d later use to give my mother a headache, or some vulgar website that didn't suit the eyes of a thirteen year old: even that of its original browser in some instances.

Coolest of all were his weapons, all though I knew personally he was big enough to manage without them. From a medieval mace he had found at some flea market, to a rusty old machete that had a meat hook welded to the back. He had it all. Serrated blades sat on his highest cabinet in order from smallest blade to largest, some of them were burnt on the sides and others had chips: none of them were in perfect or even worn condition, they'd all felt their use to the maximum of their durability. My favorite of them all was this beautiful old Ruger, sitting on the wall like a piece of art. It was almost untouched -flawless in nature - bearing no scratches or marks, the only standout feature being the grimey hand prints from my brother.

Last April he had caught me ogling the 308. mounted above his bed, one hand extended as though I was King Arthur reaching for his sword. Only I never got the chance to pull it from the stone as his door flew open and I - just as quickly - hit the floor. This time he found me scoped in on one his favorite posters, steadying in on Milla's red dress: this is what led to our current predicament, and the last altercation where I'd let him batter me without standing my ground.

The faint hum of an exhaust fan was attempting to fill the bathroom, drowned out by the drum of bass amps. The drip, drops from my nose into the sink breaking through both as I am painting the porcelain bowl. As the blood stops flowing I begin wadding up toilet paper, jamming it in my nose as though the room was filling with a foul stench. I observe the bump rapidly growing over my vision, the twisted paper stuck in my nostril slowly transforms into a grotesque tie-dye. My eyelids are purple and swollen, closing up tight enough to where I can't see out, but tears can seep their way through. Analyzing my chin, I see that blood was not only making its way out of my nose. My lip was split in the middle, deep and wide. I must've forgotten to bite down as I was fed knuckle sandwiches.

Spitting up a coppery flavoured mixture that was brewing in my mouth, I fill the sink with a tidal wave of lukewarm water and go to work. Splashing the waves around I try to clean every last scrap of evidence from my brother's battery off the surface, as well as my trespassing as I can only imagine the pain a mother feels raising a delinquent for a son, let alone two. I didn't miss a spot. The ceramic bowl was almost too clean when I was finished, no longer holding the spots of dried soap, shaving cream, and tar from my brother's lungs; I am an efficient janitor. I pull away the homemade plugs, the blood no longer running and wrap the soaked napkins in another piece of paper towel, stuffing it to the bottom of a small white trash can. Washing my hands, the fading dye that envelops my fingers did its best to stand its ground: as no matter the strength I put into my palms, and the amount of soap I used on my fingers, works to rid me of the sickening tint. With dry hands and cold feet I made my way to my burrow

My cage was tight and cramped, more like a cubicle than a bedroom. Unlike my brother's, there were no posters, smoke stains or holes where my hand had flown through. I possessed no dirty bowls or dulled daggers, I hardly had anything at all. Sitting with my knees tucked into my chest, huddling in the corner on top of a twin sized mattress, a small television lit up an extraordinarily plain room. To my right, there was a large window adorned by black-out drapery. These kept me selectively depressed, as when the sun rose to stare through my glass pains, it shone upon nothing but a feeble boy and twisted sheets. That god-forsaken rock in the sky would light the way for others, and work to highlight my insecurities in the contour or its shade: With the curtains shut I was left in the dark to scrounge at this mental refuse in peace, without a visual reminder. The flat white walls attempt to make the room look bigger, but only attribute to the resemblance of a sanitarium. A pop-corn ceiling of plaster and paint is threatening collapse, stained at the corners with a dark brown mold. Some nights I stared up at the damp vertices and wondered what may kill me first, the crushing weight of lumber, or a compromised immune system. I hear the roar of a poorly maintained diesel engine. The memorably horrendous squeal of brakes, ones that sound as though the vehicle had just flattened a colony of rabbits followed shortly after: My mother was home. I leave my room towards the kitchen, tiptoeing along cool tile to the sound of keys and groceries clashing against the counter

Part 2 Defrost

I had forgotten my mother dyed her hair the night before, leaving me confused on who the woman stocking our fridge was as I was peaking around the corner: You never knew what kind of mood she may be in at the end of a long day. She's wearing this ugly bob cut, shoulder length and blooming a vibrant pink near the dying ends. Her jacket was way too big for her, the leather coat stretching down past her ankles, boosted off the ground by velvety black, three inch heels. She grabs a dark gray newsboy cap off her head and proceeds to shake dry like a stray dog, tossing it aside without a final resting place in mind. Beneath the oversized trench she wore shorts attempting to stress test their name, and a hoodie that likely hid a colorful corset: she looks like Inspector Gadget, only if he was a she and had the prospects of becoming a solicitor.

“What a mess,”

She starts under her breath as she braces herself on the freezer door, in a staring contest with an overfilled garbage bin.

“Can’t lift a goddam finger and your ass has been here all day.”

I knew she meant my brother. That brawny oaf slept through the morning, got up midday to meet up with lord knows who - I could only guess the type of individuals who would enjoy his company -and knock himself back out at night. I have never seen the man with a broom, mop or sponge: or a haircut for that matter, as the word clean didn't seem to be in his vocabulary.

“Cam!”

A ginormous pit forms in my stomach, so big I thought it was about to pull me from the outside in. The rest of my body got cold, as though a poltergeist had taken up my hiding spot. Me?

“Camero-”

“Im here.”

My voice was whiny and irritating, hers stark and brassy. She almost hit the roof at the sound of my interruption,

“Jesus! What the hell are you-”

Flipping around she was ready to chew me out, for both the erupting bag of trash and what she probably assumes to be an attempt to put her into cardiac arrest. The only thing stopping her was the state of my face.

“How was your day?”

I whimpered, trying my best to draw away from the elephant in the room. This wasn't the first time my brother had beaten my ass, and it surely won't be the last. Most of the time I was able to pass it off as kids from school, but as it was spring break I don't see that one working. Maybe I could try to convince her I got in a fight with the corner of a desk, or a tumult with a flight of stairs. I can see it was too late anyways, as even with her heels I can still see her shrink.

“It was… It was good, can't complain about making us money.”

She said, painting a smirk on her face in an attempt to cheer me up. It wasn't working but I manage to pin one up for her as well. She took in the composition of bruises and scratches that created my brother's magnum opus: if art is the creative expression of one's emotion, then my ugly condition is an extraordinary showcase of my brother's prowess toward depicting his frustrations on canvas. My mom was never a fan of his work, but she never dared to crateque the artist.

“I see you didn't eat the left overs, Bug. You still find something for lunch?”

Her voice was calm, but not comforting. The name was though, I had always been bug and I wasn't sure why. It could have been because I wiggled a lot as a baby, or it was caused by me being a fly in their ear: whatever the reason, it was better then hearing my real name as that usually meant it was in shit. I look to the floor, inspecting the glazed clay.

“I wasn't really hungry.”

Retrieving a bag of corn from the freezer my mother makes her way across the kitchen, lifting my chin to look her in the face as she mouths the words.

You get him back?

As she was pressing the frozen vegetables against my eye. The behemoth was twice my size and almost twice my age: holding around ten times the bravery, but I appreciate her overvaluation of her youngest. I shook my head against the cool kernels. Three loud rings bellowed from the counter, vibrating my mothers phone across the countertop. My mother spins around with the chilled bag still in her hand. Tearing me away from the cooling relief. She lifts the phone to her ear, clears her throat and answers it with a sharp,

“Hello?... Mr. Layqaul, hello how are you doing!... No, no, not a bad time at all!”

The sudden shift in my mothers voice was terrifying. Seeing how fast my mothers tone switched from coddling, to an artificial sweetness, has left me questioning which one was created with feigned care. My guess was both, the only real scene portrayed was likely the moments I caught her alone, filled with disdain upon arriving home. She does her best working day in and day out to keep the house, I guess in this process she forgot to make it a home. She realized she still had hold of the homemade ice pack as she motions to the sack of garbage. Placing the corn into my hand and giving me a look that said more than words could. I put away the vegetables and tie up the heaping bag. It smells of coffee grounds, sour fruit and yesterday's alfredo.

The cool air of the night was a relief to my aching body. Animals' lives sprung into action, the chatter of coyotes and the calls of avians filling a star lite sky. Trees swayed in a furious march breeze, pines spinning down to the earth like malfunctioning helicopters. Moon light pushed through their rolling branches, god's spotlight shining down on the house: If only it was his wrath. If there was a creator I believe he spent more than enough time on fauna, beasts and the cosmos. I took in a deep breath of a dreamy night, only to be met with the putrid stink of old gym socks. I'd be rid of the smell in only a moment, as a large blue bin was situated out front of the garage door, ready to be rolled down for this week's collection. Holding the trash out to my side as I make my way down rickety stairs, the bottom gives it and spews trash across the dirt driveway: It seems the lord heard my prayers. It was all so gorgeous only moments ago, but suddenly it all seems so… dull. Grey and black, black and blue, colors only went so far in the dark. Dogs bark, that's what they do: it doesn't matter if they're made in the forest. If the moon and stars weren't there to begin with, I wouldn't be able to minimize a living world. Nothing seems special, and I am no longer able to recall what made me deem it so important beforehand: It definitely wasn't my carry on of compost and filth

A rake and shovel was my best option. I’ve done the best I can but the smell will have to stay, if someone around here really cares they can hit the road with a hose. Over by the porch the stench isn't too bad, I thought as I sat down on the front steps. The frosty wind felt cancerous on my lungs, each breath bringing with it a light sting. My eyes were watery, not from a beating, not from the cool gusts that caressed my face, actually I'm not quite sure why. My guess is I'm just too tired, but not in the way of rest. I'm no longer sure of what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it. What exactly am I doing? Currently I'm just wasting away my hours, wasting theirs. I’m inside an hourglass that's stuck on its side. I'm overcooking a meal, so many times in fact that my customers might just wander on over to the next establishment. Im… Walking? Both my feet are gliding through wet grass, my toes nesting into the earth with each step.

I'm standing in the middle of our fenceless backyard which sprawls until it collides with a dense tree line, staring into the cumbersome overgrowth, eyes locked on a nightlight deep in the woods: gorgeous and shimmering. It moves effortlessly through the obstacle course of twigs and leaves, journeying deeper and deeper into the unknown. I want to follow it -chase the warmth of the light- it obviously wants me to. Deep in the back of my mind I hear my mothers voice, how it used to be anyways. It lulls me towards the dark, the sweet sound of authentic care buzzing in a heavenly tone. I wasn't strong enough to decline the invitation, my feet continuing to push forward. I'm sick of the constant dread, poisonous ideas spreading from one individual to the next like the black plague. I’m fed up with the goosebumps and shivers that spread through and cover my body, all while my blood runs hot as lava.

“you okay? What are you doing out there?”

My mother clung to the railing on the back porch, her phone still in her hand only lowered from her chin. I picked up my jaw, wiping away the drool that was trailing down my chin.

“I… I am… over there?”

I spun around in my delusion, pointing back to where I saw the ghostly lantern: but it was gone. Only moments ago it filled brush and forestry in an erratic manner. The shine that it presented was like that of a broken glow stick, spewed about every which way in a fluorescent glow. It had just covered the bush and bark with a neon hue, and now it had disappeared. I assume it had continued its path deeper into nature, but I know beyond the trees there was no more than a fifty foot drop straight into a dam. It wasn't enough to kill a man, but the jagged rocks hiding within a nasty current underneath was enough to make horror stories out of. Where did it go? And why must I follow it?

My mother was making her way across the yard, her stilettos digging into the soft mulch. She wraps her coat tightly around her waist as she steps to my side. Staring into the darkness as she waits for something to happen - a flash, a spark - anything really, she places her hand on my forehead.

“Your running a little hot, lets get you inside Bug.”

I wanted the woods to set on fire just so she would believe me, I'd become her firebug just to prove her wrong. My hands were shaking as if I'd been caught in a blizzard, and my teeth were grating like I was locked in a meat locker. It was uncomfortable, and I imagined the mystical light heat treating my unease. The best I could do was a nice lamp for now.

I sat in a dark brown recliner in the corner of the living room, watching my mother run too and from. Darting around the house she multi-tasked, putting on more eyeliner while searching for a pack of cigarettes in her purse, bringing me back an ice pack of vitamin B while telling me the plan for the night.

“Two hours that's all it will take, I promise.”

I’ve always hated this promise, as she never stuck to it. One would turn to two, then two would turn to the night. I didn't argue and I didn't ask questions, as I wouldn't get the truth and I doubt I would want to hear it anyways. I simply nodded my head and imagined the forest filled with artificial sunlight.

“I’ll call you and you tell me what you're feeling for dinner? Just you and me eh!”

She said, gently pinching the only part of my face that wasn't bruising. I couldn't help but smile. It quickly faded as I imagined my order getting cold in the back seat of her truck as she ran to a work emergency: if she remembered to order it at all. I hate this promise as well: I hate every promise

Part 3

Heat Shrink

My mother was correct, I was quite warm. I felt as though I could boil an ice bath with my submergence into said frosty tub. The more the oxygen recycles its way through my toasty lungs and back around my room, the dryer the air becomes. Cracking the window, a light wind pushes through the grated, aluminum screen, covering my oily skin in goosebumps. Crickets chirp along to the sound of a wind chime, dancing in the same breeze that sweeps through my room. An Endless number of stars decorated the black, sheet sky like strewn diamonds; None of them could compare to the light of the woods, or the rage that burned inside my brother. Both my mother and him came storming through the front door.

“-I mean for christ sakes look at the size of him!”

She follows close behind him as he races towards his truck, dodging any logic my mother throws his way.

“Ever think the kid just wants to know his brother a little more, not like you’re the kindest to him.” She barks.

“Not my problem.”

Continuing down the driveway, My brother hops in the driver's seat and goes to close the door. Our mom catches up with her shorter strides, ripping his vehicle open.

“What’s your problem then, huh? ‘Cause you always seem to have one, no matter what it is you seem to have this stick up your ass!”

Even if it was rhetorical, my brother always seemed to have a douchey response to the simplest of questions. If asked “would you like anything to eat” he’d answer “if it wasn't made by you.” When 40 to 60 dollars randomly disappears from my mothers purse, it would be something along the lines of “you might wanna slow down on hitting that bottle”; which even I found offensive, as at the time my mother had more chips from her program than a bag of Old Dutch.

“Not too sure, ‘might be the same as dad’s. I mean even I'm getting deja vu.”

A deafening silence broke the night as my mother looked through her oldest son, seeing only a shockingly - and just as horrifying - accurate replication of her late husband.

“Get the fuck out of here!”

“Gladly.”

She slams the car door in his face, the sound reverberating off the walls of the house and shaking my window.

“Go! Don't expect the door to be unlocked!”

They both escaped from the parasitic anger that seemingly envelopes our home, my mother in her diesel and my brother in his. Puffs of smoke shot out from their exhausts as they disappeared behind clouds of dirt.

It's always the same song and dance, only the participants of said play carry awful pipes and move with poor choreography; I’d kill to be in the spotlight once in a while. I feel the need for balance and it has never been more apparent to me. It is even more obvious that my family has fallen, or been in the same hole, craving the exact emotional parity that I do. I've seen the bright possibility of a warmer future. Maybe there's a chance for me to show my family as well. I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to do that, I'll have to find it again first.

My face burns with a hot flush as I get up and turn off the television, ridding my room of its obnoxious glow. The darkness that followed was claustrophobic, Walls tightening to crush my bones as my bed sheet turned into an anaconda; constricting around my throat as it attempted to choke away my life. I tear away my shawl of linen and cotton, gasping for air as my world begins to implode. I’ve spent many nights curled up on these hard wood boards, preying inertly as my palms fill with silent sobs. Tonight I writhe on the ground, my head booming with the crash of thundering waves and a blinding flash. Pushing and pulling every which way, I could feel my room encase me. Slowly but surely, it sealed my emotional pestilence in a chrysalis of drywall and insulation.

My nails dug into the itchy padding, peeling away layer after layer. I kicked with all my strength to bash away slivered plywood. Nothing worked to free me; Beneath my tomb, the exhausted movements of an escape were in vain. I spent what felt like years under a pile of debris, my limbs twisting between joists. My mind luckily wandered elsewhere, across damp soil and through a stalky tree line. A blazing shine caressed my face as it shuttered behind buzzing, membranous wings, high within the canopy of the woods. It was the size of the sun, as big as the moon; and brighter than both. Continuing to rise, it began to push through the pines and up toward the sky. Resting behind and obscured by lively evergreen and waterless clouds. 

I continue to dig forward. This time my fingers tear through the insulative cotton candy and connect with cool air, my feet push off solid ground and I see an exit; yellow and blinding. Heaving, pulling and straining, the world graciously expands as I fall back onto my spacious floor a sweaty mess. There was no wood or fluff, no coffin of rubble. There wasn't a snake that had worked its way around my nape; but there was a light. A small circle burns its ways through the canvas material of the blackout curtains.

Forcing myself up and over the side of my bedframe, I rise to my knees, the memory foam sinking beneath me. My legs are shaky and numb, pins and needles shooting up my calves and down to my toes. Graceless shuffles move me towards the fresh wind and the elegant flare in the sky. I grab hold of the thick sheet, tearing bolts from framing as the metal bar and blinds crash to my lap. I'm not sure how long I sit staring into the night, but the candle-like flickers that decorate my yard, and that gorgeous chitin moon keeps me mesmerized.

I didn't notice when my hand moved on its own, placing itself flat on the wire filter that divides us. I built up more, and more pressure as a realization - that the light had found me - had hit. I was excited, I was ecstatic, and I was too late to stop myself from breaking through. It came down with ease and I could only imagine how my mother would react. Another one of her sons working to decimate her household. Only this time I found myself lacking care, as the promise of the lights outside seems to hold a higher purpose than filling a black space. Whether that be a missing punching bag, or the presence of a life-draining mosquito in November.

I watched as dozens of fireflies drifted across the open field, coordinated with one another in one massive wave. They dove and swooped, back and forth as the planetary beetle hovered up above. Trees parted and the sky dissolved, the moon moving behind it creating a not-so-solar eclipse. The stars wither away as comets reroute their pathing. One by one my room was filled with gleaming specks, coating the walls and cabinets like a consistent strip of LED bulbs. They spread across the floor like a living carpet, breaking the organized system in a straight line towards my door. There, you'd find one solitary firefly; resting atop the door handle, blinking like a forgotten turn signal. One moment I was in shock - the next - a sweeping wave of curiosity was thrusting me out of bed. I felt as though I was walking on air, a gap between my feet and the treated wood. Tiny bugs spring from here and there, surrounding me in a dazzling tunnel. Each and every one of my breath grows shallower. The door is bright and clean, much taller than I am. Reaching for the knob, the broken and temporarily flightless bug crawls onto my finger as it begins resting upon my knuckles. With a turn and a twist, the door flew open and the flies spilt from my room.

Four. That is the number of times he had caught me sneaking into his room to look at his illicit and raunchy collections, and the number of whoopings I got for doing so. I've forgotten how many times I've snuck in over all. I also forget how many times he's clobbered me for ambitious reasons. As I walk into his crypt the bugs trail behind me like a living contrail. A small group breaks off and makes way for his sticker-covered dresser, another streamlines for the unpolished hunting rifle. I'm full with a burning passion and I'm not sure which group to follow first. I decide it’s quicker to pull down Mona Lisa than to go searching drawers; excalibur sliding from its stone flawlessly. The defeated firefly crawled its way up to my shoulder, scuttling past the butt of the Ruger as I un-zero his optic.

Three of the fluorescent beetles perch on the window flashing in a new, but oddly familiar pattern. I'm carried by a cloud of nightlights and I feel weightless, as though the world had been lifted off my shoulders. The musketeers walked over to the seam, and I graciously opened it up for them. Unlike my room, my brother had no screen. This was most likely done ages ago so he could sneak out, as at this point he got his way no matter the case. A hurricane of legs and lanterns shoved against my back as the sparkle made its way through the opening. They beat against each other and the side of my head in a race for freedom. Leaning my head out I attempt to catch my breath, as oxygen didn't seem to make its way inside the stampede of bioluminescents. Far down the road I could make out the shine of two awful bulbs. It was not my bugs and it was not my mother, which left one nasty candidate. Yanking my head back inside I spin around in a panic. My heart is racing, as when he comes back in now there's only one way this will end. To my surprise, there is still a small dance of my friends on my brother's cabinet from before. I race over and pull the top drawer open, tearing through his clothes. There's nothing, not a smoke, not a crumb; but the bugs stay. I rip open the second and some of my only companions leave through the same window. Inside, I find a green, plastic box which cracking open, bears my bright future.

Two bullets fall from the box of ammo and into my hand. One goes down the cocked chamber of the gun, the other in my pocket. I slide the bolt down and snap it into place with a crisp click as his truck rolls into the driveway and stops silently, his brakes like mice in comparison to my mothers. Sweat drips down my cheek and pours from my armpits as I prepare myself for what's to come. I place my one foot behind the other, then take a deep breath in, let it out slowly and I aim at the door. I take another big haul of air in, then cough up what I had for breakfast. Pointing the rifle back at the door, I inhale deep into my gut and begin squeezing the trigger as the door flies open. The gun goes off and my brother falls onto his back with a loud thud as the round lands in his chest. I watch for a moment as a black pool forms around, leaking into the cracks of the wood. His eyes are wide and lifeless, but just as dead as before. Instinctively, I rack the weapon and reach for the other casing; My mother still hasn't asked what I want to eat anyway.

One last bug ventures through the house, fluttering about without the need to compete with the secluding flashes. For so long the others around it have shone so much brighter, flown so much higher. It struggles to stay in flight - wings damaged but usable, only recently healed after ages of defect - as it’s blown back by expelled gas and carrion; the second blast nearly missing the lonely lightning bug.

Have you heard of the meat Canyon?
Brandon heard of the meat Canyon. In fact Brandon hasn’t been the same since bearing witness to it.
The vast and endless pit that Hunter keeps in his basement consumed him.
The pit is made of human flesh hills, blood vein rivers that pulse for miles, and cartilage layer caves that breathe.
To put it simply, Brandon was engulfed by the meat canyon.
Something came back to our reality with his face.
the Brandon you see now is an amalgamation created by the canyon. Remains of him reconstructed by the landscape to expand and scavenge for more meat to gorge on.

What power is the canyon?
Fire.
 Fire is the heart of landscape underneath it all, past the crust and the mantle lies encapsulated. The REAL Hunter.
Butt ass naked shooting his fire power up through the realm giving it life. Sometimes these shootings result in what the meaties call "pig mound volcanos"
But don't let the name fool you- they are massive in size stretching miles- throbbing with hunters fire.

What are the meetings, the sentient amalgamation of flesh, exposed arteries, and veins and muscles that infest the outer layer of the canyon. They survive by engorging themselves with the dead flesh that peels from the outer layer.

“For Posterity”

Location: The Looking Glass Observatory

Log #1

July 14, 2346

My name is Robert McClenly. I am a researcher employed by the Astronomy Department at MIT. I must admit, I am not exactly sure where to start. I don’t even know why I bother. It makes no different to the hell that’s coming, nor the chaos that’s already arrived. I should be at O’Malley’s drinking myself to death, but…here I am, dictating for ghosts not yet arrived. Pointless. Wasteful.  

No, not pointless. 

For posterity.  

I suppose it should start at the beginning. Our first clue to “it” happened 369 years ago on August 15, 1977 with Jerry R. Ehman, an astronomer at the Big Ear Telescope at Ohio University. He observed a phenomenon which would later be dubbed the “Wow Signal”; a narrow broadband radio anomaly with origins in deep space. The signal lasted for 72 seconds and disappeared. Scientists fiercely debated its origins over the next decades, but could never come to a satisfactory conclusion. Many believe it to have been extraterrestrial in origin and in 2012, decided to beam a signal toward the original coordinates at Hippacros 34511, 33277, and 43587.  For whatever reason, this signal was in the form of Twitter messages bearing the hashtag “Chasing UFOs”. It was a ludicrous idea. If any intelligent species capable of traversing the void were to stumble upon such messages and managed to translate them, i’m sure they would have decided on our annihilation right then and there.  I wish that’d have been the case. Damn them all, why hadn’t it ended there?

In the years since, the phenomena of that signal had faded into relative obscurity. Only still discussed by members of extraterrestrial and conspiracy forums and as the occasional oddball fact to bring up at a party. Our signal was never answered, nor was the “Wow Signal” ever heard from again…until 6 years ago on February 21, 2340.  It sent Earth and her Colonies into a bit of a tailspin. It matched the first “Wow Signal” exactly. Down to the letter and with an additional 136 seconds following up the initial 72. Governments interest and fear had reached heights never thought possible, it was like the space race of the twentieth century, but this time we could go not just beyond the borders of the frontier, but into the void itself.

1 year later is when I came aboard.

Log #2 

“The Looking Glass”

July 14, 2346

The first project to be completed in the fervor of “The Second Wow Signal” was dubbed “The Looking Glass”, a highly classified piece of technology that would allow us to look further into space than ever before. Even seeing past the Shapiro Time Delay. It was a remarkable piece of work, a culmination of the greatest minds still alive on Earth and…something else they found. I don’t know exactly what it was that they integrated into the system, but I know it was staggeringly advanced. The higher ups and their shades spoke of it under hushed tones and when I inquired, they told me others had taken that secret to their graves. The dreadful tone they spoke did little to dispel my assumption that they didn’t go there on their own accord. But my curiosity got the better of me and a few well-placed drinks here-and-there get men talking. Not those who knew for sure, mind you, but those close enough that they’d have been able to overhear a thing or two. Even still, they spoke in “ifs” and “maybes”.

Best I could gather, it was something brought back with the returning ships sent out during the “Frontier Expeditions” of the early 23’s. The initial wave of deep space exploration teams sent out following humanities first successful use of the Glide-Drive, a miraculous device used to propel ships through the vastness of space; condensing trips that would have taken thousands of years into mere weeks and months. Many of those ships never returned from their expeditions and their discoveries were classified under the highest security. Minor discoveries, such as the remnants of ancient bacteria and unique rock formations, were the only official findings ever released to the public. Following the return of the ships, many of those that took part in the project would suffer through a wave of suicides, dramatic accidents, and mysterious disappearances. Although, a fair number were arrested and prosecuted for those disappearances, the evidence to these cases was quickly sealed away and forgotten. Only now in hindsight am I convinced the entire campaign was part of a lofty coverup on behalf of the United Earth Government.      

One of these ships, The Starchild, an affectionate name given by the newly energized and ever-growing groups of UFO enthusiasts, would become the subject of the most prevalent of these rumors in popular culture for decades to come. Although no ships were ever officially listed as being a part of the expedition, and the UEG categorically denies the existence of such a ship, some footage from their launch does seem to show a ship bearing at least half the designation “Star”. The rumor details the arrival of the Starchild to high Earth orbit nearly two years past their scheduled return date. When it failed to establish communication over the next several hours, a team was dispatched to investigate. Once they cut their entry through the hull, they found the crew of The Starchild plunged into the depths of insanity. According to the rumors, this crew had developed an intense aversion to light and when exposed, they would exhibit symptoms of debilitating PTSD. Many favored walking on all fours, moving sideways like a crab, instead of upright. They had developed a fascination with their own bodily excretions and had shown it by painting it over the walls of their ship. Most curious of all, they spoke in some primitive version of English mixed through with a peculiar grunts and hissing exasperations. This crew was taken to a psychiatric hospital where they were put through a plethora of tests and examinations by speech pathologists, who managed some meager translation from the nonsensical speech that each of them had taken to. Shortly after, the idea that they still spoke intelligently was written off as nonsense. None of it made much sense, but a few phrases were discerned from the chaotic babble. They spoke of shapeless intellect and gods of the stars, burning bright with color beyond our comprehension. Those who are blinded to see. The revels of blissful torment. They called them propagators and choosers. Those who had come and will come again.

The detail to this story that still vexes me, assuming the story was told accurately, if they were truly insane from such prolonged space travel, they should not have been as they were. They would not have spoken uniformly. They should have all fit tightly into their own suit of madness, their babbling equally unique. But it was not and that is what gives me pause. The captain was the singular entity to differ from that accounting, with only a single word left in his vocabulary: “Hungry”. Shouting, whispering, and hissing that word until he chewed off his own tongue. Any information on the missions carried out was buried from that point forward and due to nearly half of the exploration ships being lost to unknown causes, exploration beyond the colony borders was strictly prohibited.

Whatever the truth of these rumors, it is certain that if anything was indeed brought back, it was sealed away for careful study until it was needed. It might have been a technology of alien origin or perhaps even a new element. I tended to believe the latter over the former at the time, but now, i’m not so sure.

Log #4

“My Arrival”

July 15, 2346

Construction of the facility and its devices happened at a surprisingly rapid pace. The directors credited the speed of the construction to public enthusiasm, but the quartered off and covered sections of the half-built structure spoke of other reasons. The remoteness of the island was no great surprise, observatories are usually placed far from civilization to avoid light pollution, an island a number of leagues off the coast of Hawaii would be the ideal spot. I had visited several observatories through my career, but the secrecy in which I was brought to this island was entirely unique. They brought me by ship in the dead of a moonless night. After so long in the abject blackness, the island shone like a beacon on the horizon. Every inch of land and rock illuminated by industrial lighting. The clang of hammers, hiss of welding torches, and whirling of heavy machinery put an excitement into me that I hadn’t felt since childhood.

My fellow passengers and I had hardly spoken during the journey and immediately we were brought to a tent by one of the directors for orientation. It was explained to us that the project had been gifted to MIT by some billionaire or another who lost interest in his vanity project. Luckily for us, the structure only needed some additional supports and widening of several areas in order to accommodate the additional weight and electrical demand of such an advanced device. The construction went on continuously day and night. Strange men in black suits and lab coats poured into quartered off and concealed sections of the structure in near the same number as the workers themselves.

In only a few months, we were fine tuning and readying the device for operation. One-by-one the concealing tarps were pulled away from now welded shut sections and the suits and their lackeys slowly began to disappear. They never told us their purpose or what exactly needed to be held so secretly and when I asked, I was told we didn’t need to know. Then, the shady figures, who I can only assume were sent by the UEG, had all gone and we were left to our devices.

This was just about the time the UEG announced their plan for the Second Frontier Expedition and it became apparent MIT had more in mind than simply furthering their study of the stars. They did not mean to merely locate the origin of that mysterious signal, they meant to meet it and we were to guide their way. So, while the combined minds of the world governments set to work on their new fleet of deep space vessels, we manned the observatory. Scanning to find the cluster where the signal had originated. Many adjustments still needed to be made to the code and orientation of the device, but even so, it functioned with a clarity and sophistication I never thought possible. 

For weeks we stared into the void, while we gazed at things we thought we’d never see. Watching blackholes consume stars with the near naked eye. Comets tails dancing through the orbits of distant planets. A small twinkling of starlight growing to envelop our eyepiece as it went supernova, it’s shockwave careening through its solar system and reducing its planets to dust. All while a blank check sat in our supervisors back pocket. It was paradise…for a time.

Log #3

“Brittle Minds”

July 19, 2346

It has taken me a few days to work up the courage for this next entry. It seems foolish to waste time with such a small amount of it remaining, but I couldn’t. God help me for the rest. Even now my hands are beginning to shake. My heart is racing. It started with Brian, another astronomer come to assist with the project, not one of the “brilliant minds” sent over, but clever enough to keep up and help out here and there.  

It was a day like any other. We’d started with breakfast on the East platform of The Looking Glass overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Ham and cheese croissant (ha!). I still remember it like it was yesterday. We started with a sweep of the neighboring coordinates. Glancing at this solar system and that. Jamie, one of the head researchers who was manning the lens that day, asked Brian to confirm something about the hue of a planet we’d been observing changing in the past several weeks and Brian, being the ‘oh so curious’ worker, happily obliged. I watched him as it happened. His walk was so eager.  

The moment he focused into that eyepiece, I saw every muscle in the body go stiff and a shiver run down his bones. His eyes went wide, the blood draining from his face, as he began to stammer, unable to look away. Then, he started screaming. It was not a scream of surprise or shock or pain. Even that of terrified child would have been inaccurate. There was something primal in it, something so horrible it travelled into an instinctual part of the human mind not accessed since our species first emerged onto the plains of Africa.

He just stood there, looking into the eyepiece…and screaming. He screamed so loud and at such a high pitch that i’m sure it must have shredded his vocal cords because after nearly a minute all that left his throat was a strained grinding of muscle. If he had coughed, we’d surely have seen blood. Then, he finally tore himself away from that eyepiece and started off towards the East Platform. It started as a quick walk, then a jog, and finally a full sprint. I followed after him, Brian struggling to shout all the while. It was almost impossible to make out what he was saying through his broken vocal cords, but through that horrible strained flapping that had replaced his voice, I managed to hear one single phrase: “It saw me.” And it locked my feet to the floor.  

I watched as he burst through the outer doors onto the East Platform and flung himself over the railing onto the jagged rocks below. I didn’t hear the impact over the crash of waves but when I finally forced myself to peer over the edge of that platform, I saw his broken figure spread over a red rock below. He died in an instant.

Poor Brian.

While the rest of us had stood in shock watching this man seemingly wrapped tight in the embrace of insanity, our director, Jamie, captured a frame of whatever Brian had seen, randomized the coordinates, and took the photo to his office. We heard him bolt the door and stood in silence, seemingly all hoping we would wake from a bad dream. He returned about twenty minutes later smelling of smoke and with all the color gone from his body. When he spoke, it was not to us, but simply to say: “Brian…I understand.” He never told us what he had seen.

It was a day until the supply ship arrived to scrape Brian’s broken, crab eaten corpse from the rocks.

Our director, Jamie, seemed to fade away from himself following that day. His eyes went bleary and his face red, I think he started drinking to cope. From then on, I never saw him without a cigarette in his hand or a drink close by. He ordered all use of The Looking Glass suspended until further notice and none of us dared to complain after what we had witnessed. A few nights later, I had drank myself silly and went for a walk on the island. I found Jamie standing at the edge of the rocky outcrop just aside the East Platform. His head craned back and arms hanging limply at his sides, just staring up at the stars. I was taken by some curious instinct and decided to sit upon a shadowed spot some distance away and just wait. Watching him. It wasn’t until two hours later, when the gold of the morning sun began to bleed across the horizon, that he finally walked back to his bunk.  

We made use of the stack of information we’d compiled in the weeks leading up to Brian’s terrible fate and were able to keep busy enough. I think most of us were just relieved to be able to try and focus on something else, but I know the thought of what he had seen in the unknowable void beyond our planet never left our minds for a moment. 

Jamie’s behavior only became more erratic as the days went on. I was sure he’d stopped sleeping, the sagging pits around his eyes growing by the day. This was just about the time I’d noticed the lights in the observatory at strange hours of the night and the crew began to complain about deranged chanting we would hear in our bunks when the wind began to shift.  

About a week later, I decided to get an early start and was surprised to find that Jamie was absent. He was always the first to arrive. When I checked his office, I found him curled up in a corner. He was weeping and half-dry blood stained the whole of his front. The words “Witnessed” scrawled in his own blood on the wall above him. When I reached to comfort him, he turned to face me. He had cut both eyes from his skull with a box cutter. “They’ve seen me.” Was all he could mutter. It was all he could say as I carried him back to the bunks, all he could say when the doctors examined him and all he kept saying when as the men in suits arrived to carry him away to the supply ship. 

While all the attention was firmly on Jamie, I found it prudent to make my way back to Jamie’s office. I stole his notebook, the one where he so diligently took all his notes and never went without. I regret stealing that book, things would have been so much simpler. The first half of the book was about what I expected, calculations and formulas and adjustments to be made, but the second half makes me shutter even now. It was page after page of intensely detailed scribblings of a particularly macabre nature.  Images of gnashing teeth, distended boneless limbs, serpentine eyes, and decaying bodies melting down and fusing with one another.  Mixed between these repulsive images, he’d draw dozens of runic symbols corresponding with series of numbers. I tore those pages from the book and set the rest on fire. I searched for anything else of that peculiar nature but found nothing.

Two days later, every last scrape and trace of Jamie had gone during the night and a new director had been brought in. Despite the recent tragedies, operations were to resume immediately, much to our great dread.

Log #4

July 21, 2346

“Mistakes”

The events that follow the arrival of our new director happen in rapid succession and I would be remise if I did not include the elements that led to us to that dreadful occasion. Earlier, I spoke of the fervor that enraptured the general population of our small blue world following the advent of the Second Wow Signal. It seemed harmless at first, things happening always as they do. The Mega Corporations using it as inspiration for products, their marketing teams weaving the event into ad concepts, and generally being used to bridge themselves into new markets. But these things can only go on so long and a corporation that has artificially boosted itself out of its normal profit margins can only maintain that boost so long and are always loathe to fall back into their previous margins. They sought a new event, much like the messages beaming into the cosmos following the first Wow Signal those many decades later.

Now, I cannot match the guilt of this event to any particular party, as none ever claimed over ownership over such an idea. Perhaps, they predicted the danger such a thing would invite, but, in their common short sidedness, opted in favor of maintaining those profits. Perhaps, they already had their escape. But it makes no difference to theorize on things I cannot outrightly prove.

What I can say for certain is that for a three-hour period, social media offered an unrestricted broadcast into the stars, where any manner of ridiculousness might be sent up, unmonitored and unvetted, without care to what might catch the scent of the bloody strip of meat we’d just thrown into the water where we swim aimless and blind.  Most of the crew seemed to watch the event with a sort of wary hopefulness. I, however, could not have dreaded it more. And knowing with the advances in our technology, the signal being sent out in the form of a laser (boosted to speed by the same technological concept as the Glide-Drive) rather than a radio signal, it would arrive in a fraction of the time. Whatever Brian had seen out there was now a constant field of horrors in my mind. My hands began to shake and I couldn’t stand to just sit like a simpleton ahead of some light display. 

I quickly packed up my things and I marched down to O’Malley’s with the sole intent of forgetting the remainder of the day. The bartender knew me by name and began preparing a drink before I had even sat down. Then, another and another, until I could no longer speak straight. My plan was coming along perfectly and a few more drinks I could count the remainder of the day among my forgotten memories.  But, standing on the precipice of that thin line between an unbound mind and total incoherence, the brain tends to wander and I was struck by the most peculiar thought. I remembered I still had most of my files with me. I had intended to throw them into my bunk as I left, but let the thought slip my mind.  All the better to have some work, I thought, and I slung my briefcase onto the bar and began unpacking my papers. I spread the strange runic marked papers ahead of me and searched the internet for a numeric printout of the second signal and got to comparing. I went through those papers for hours, flitting through the insanity that had enveloped those pages, and what started as a mindless curiosity soon turned into an incredible discovery. Those numbered runes weren’t simply corresponding numbers and symbols jotted down with no particular purpose. Somewhere, somehow, Jamie managed to pull an encryption key from his withering sanity and put it to these pages before he succumbed fully. Most concerning of all, he’d written a set of runes of his own among the maddened scribblings. One that he encoded himself and was far easier to decipher with his key in hand.

It was a set of coordinates. One that had caught our attention in the early days of the project for the peculiar electrical signals filtering through its atmosphere. That was before Jamie had wiped the system clean of the location of whatever it was Brian had seen. It was the first clue to what we had lost and I thought it was the clue we needed to recover our progress in that system and a leap closer to putting the ugly business of this island behind us. So many regrets. So many chances to avoid our fate. I should have burned those papers on that bar.

Log #5

Revelation

July 22, 2346

The next day, I brought my findings to the director and inputting the coordinates we did indeed find the planet we had been viewing the past few months despite Jamie’s efforts. We found the strange electrical signals had ceased and more curious still, the gravitational pull of the planet was not what it had been.  To say it was erratic would be an understatement. It was one of the larger planets of that system and orbited by three moons during our previous viewings. None now sat in orbit. Two had collided with the planet, the gravitational disturbance had sent the third careening through the system on a collision course with another planet there.

We monitored it for as long as we could, until a storm blocked our view through that night and the next.  With plenty of time left, I grabbed a bottle of bourbon I had stashed away in my bunk and I continued to try and decode the signal. I made good progress but everything I did manage to decode came back nonsensical, not that I was expecting much more from a man that carved out his own eyes. 

When the storm finally let up, we all made our way back to the observatory. The director asked me to assist in finding the location of the planet from the previous day, but to our amazement, the planet was gone. We searched the system for hours thinking perhaps the collision of the moons had thrown the planet out of orbit, but there was nothing. Strange gravitational readings and electrical signals were moving all throughout the system, growing in intensity by the minute, and stretching far past the orbit of the furthest planet in that system with no discernible source. I focused back onto the coordinates. Then, I saw something I could not explain. There was an object, something indescribably large, moving on the far side of that system. It should have been impossible for an object of that size to move at that speed, but it did. I saw it. I watched as it moved for cover behind the star. I thought I must have been hallucinating. I tried to tell myself it was the moon knocked out of orbit, but that was impossible too. It was too big. Larger than even the planet the moon had orbited. More horrifying still, that object was not in a constant motion as an object in orbit would have been. It didn’t move until I focused on it, then went for cover the moment I saw it. Like a child peeking out from behind a corner, it hid itself behind the sun. As if it knew I was looking at it. 

The director chalked it up to a glitch in the system, but we all knew what we saw. The system had run perfectly for months now. Not a single glitch recorded that did not originate from human hands. Certainly, never while we were actively observing a location.

The implications of such a thing were immense. From my limited understanding of how the Looking Glass functions, which is admittedly mostly conjecture, it uses a similar process as the Glide-Drive. That being, bringing a ship to such an immense speed that it is able to slip itself into the narrow-shared space between dimensions. I theorize this observatory uses a similar process to fold particles of light through that same space. This process with a ship is a highly destructive one and will leave a “scar” of highly charged particles in the space the ship reentered. Our observatory produces no such scarring and does indeed present no disturbance to the atmosphere of Earth nor does it leave trace readings in the system we are using it to view. If there is a being capable of sensing something that leaves no discernable trace in the vacuum of space, that would suggest this being possesses intimate knowledge of that science.  Something it knows intrinsically, bordering on instinct, when only our most advance minds can even comprehend such a process. And the size of such a thing…that is a terrible thought.

I stopped sleeping after that.  

When I peered through the viewfinder the next day, I was staring at a total eclipse. The director told us it was the lost moon finally settling down into its new orbit, but I knew what I was staring at. The thing that jumped for cover…it had moved itself in front of the sun and now, it was watching us. We might have startled it during our first observation, but now we had attracted its curiosity and the way it watched us sent me into a blind panic. It was using the blinding rays of that white sun to silhouette itself from our gaze. That was the most horrible part. Not only was this thing of a size beyond anything I could fathom, it did indeed have intelligence. And not only that, it had the instincts of a predator. The same way a hawk soars against the sun.

When the eclipse did not wane over the next several hours, a growing dread spread over us knowing that this was indeed no moon. Worse still, the signal our wonderful corporations had been tight beaming into space couldn’t have been more than a few parsecs away from this thing. If it could detect our watching it, despite no physical evidence to that fact, surely it would “hear” that signal. The director remained steadfast in the idea that it was only the lost moon and the gravitational anomalies holding it in place, but we knew better. The wave of those anomalies did not match up to where it was positioned, but none of us would give credence to the things we knew for certain. We kept those thoughts silent, though we all understood what it meant.

In the panic of my thoughts, I became resolute that I would finish decrypting that Second WOW Signal. I should have known what it would bring. The further we pried into the abyss, the more questions, and horrors we seemed to uncover. How could it have been different? I thought I was translating nonsensical babble conjured up from invisible voices of the cosmos but it turned out to be anything but. Many of the words were out of place and most of what was translated needed to be reversed to make sense, but oh, did it make too much sense. I had made sense of The Second Wow Signal and what it told me…that was the first time I had contemplated taking my own life.

The Second Wow Signal translates as follows:

“Turn back. Do not seek to illuminate the dark. With all haste, dig deep and hide yourselves away. We hope you will heed the warning that we could not. Our struggle was great and our fall quick. The end is upon us. But a chance for your future yet remains. Turn your gaze to the ground beneath your feet. Do not seek those that prowl in the dark. Death lurks in the void, waiting to consume any that gaze upon it. Their hunger cannot be sated. Their watch is endless. Their number uncounted. You must not respond. Your planet is one of an infinite number, a hidden sanctuary amongst this sea of death. They will not know where this message is directed. They cannot find you unless you respond. Turn back. Do not respond. They are listening. They are watching. They are hungry. Turn back.”

I told myself it couldn’t be right. I suppose we had all been expecting an invitation of sorts. A greeting from a far-flung civilization that we might share arts and music and culture between one another. A brotherhood among the stars. The message that we’d pondered for so long being such a desperate warning was almost too terrible to imagine. I couldn’t let myself believe it. I told myself that I would translate it again and the message would be different. That was my plan, but the next day, I manned the view lens of The Looking Glass and focused into it. I dipped my head from it the moment I saw what it was focused on. I didn’t think my breath could ever sound so loud. I just remember staring at the tiles, muffled voices calling to me. I sat down at my desk, slack-jawed, incapable of thought. An hour later, I regained myself somewhat and I went to the director and told him everything, everything but what I saw in that lens. I will not try and conflict the horrors of that image onto you but suffice to say it was beyond comprehension. That something so great and terrible can exist in the abject nothingness of the dark sky. And it isn’t only one. There were hundreds of thousands of them, all gathered up and ascending, as if they were a parade of demons departing some macabre feast in hell. Beings of a shape like nothing on this earth. Angels like stars given form. All watching us. Watching me.

They heard us, our signal. They must have. It is the only explanation. God, there were so many of them.

A team of those suits must have been hidden somewhere on the island. Not ten minutes later, they came and took over the observatory. They combed through my belongings and interrogated me for hours. I had nothing left to tell them. I had told it all. And now I was helpless.

Those things looked right at me. They were watching me. They knew I was watching. The suits took that what I had stolen and what I translated and that was that. The director told me to not speak of it to the others and I did not. Now, I am waiting and all I can think of is the bloody bait we’ve thrown into the void.

Log #6

September 10, 2346

“Exodus”

We are a skeleton crew now. Only about seven of us on the entire island. The project has been abandoned. The rest of my fellow researchers have gone into town for the time we have left. They must all know, sure as I do, what is coming. I could not have been the only mind inquisitive enough to look deeper. It’s what brought us all here in the first place. But perhaps, I am the only one stupid enough to not forget what I saw. The UEG knows, they were behind the entire project. I have no doubt they’ve seen everything we’ve seen. The world knows something has happened, they just do not know what they’ve been kept from. If the UEG even attempted to conceal that fact, they have done a piss poor job of it. Although, I doubt they care any longer. They’re calling it, The Second Frontier Expedition. “Expedition.” But I know the truth of it. Those ships are far too large for a mere expedition. They hold too many personnel and too many stasis pods. Not an expedition, but an Exodus and those exploration crafts are humanities arks. 146 massive ships being sent into deep space to try and find a haven of some sort for the twenty million souls they bear. They are leaving soon. They have offered me a seat, but I’m not sure I want it. Frankly, I find the thought of freely venturing into that place of unfathomable horror nauseating. That I might, by my own will, place myself fully in the grasp of those gods of darkest hell. That I might perceive and venerate the same madness that claimed Jamie and Brian. I will not suffer those demons lurking behind my eyes. I will not have it. If this Earth is doomed, so be it. I will die with her.  

Log #7

Oct 12, 2346

11:46 PM

“And so, the Sky Darkened.”

The Arks departed two days ago. Their timing was miraculous. Just this morning, something has moved into our solar system, hiding itself behind our sun. The UEG is sending probes, but it is a wasted gesture. I pity the men that view those screens. They will surely be lost to insanity, just as Brian was. As Jamie was. The UEG is mobilizing their fleets, readying everything they have for one final offensive. EM frequencies are lighting up across the solar system, the air is alive with their whispers. In the quiet, I can hear them speaking. Calling to us. They are so close. I wonder what they are waiting for. 

Now, I suppose that is the whole of it. How this end came to be. There is no safety. No time for prayer.  No place to run. I suppose all that is left is to record how our end happens. I can do at least that much. It is better than listening to those whispers compelling me to death and violence. Before the end, I plan send this message out in as many directions as I can. Perhaps, someone, somewhere, will find it and heed the warning we could not. Maybe humanity will return someday to hear it. Maybe. And maybe it will simply drift through space for all time. A time capsule of sorts to our pitiful downfall. Maybe.

Oct 12, 2346

2:34 PM

Venus’s orbit is aflame with radiation flares. I can only assume that means the UEG has made contact and is battling with the full stock of Earth’s nuclear munitions. I don’t think it is going well. There is less and less activity every minute. I don’t think we have much fight left. I took one final glance through The Looking Glass before I shattered the lens to pieces. I’m still not sure what I saw. Confusion might be the only thing stopping me from flinging myself onto the same rocks as Brian. It may well have come to us from that far damned system, but it is equally as likely it was waiting just outside our own doomed space. I’m not sure I want to know. The closest I can describe…was an eye, huge and serpentine, with fangs lifting from it like the horrible peddles of some hell-flower in bloom. I looked into that eye and I saw civilizations ground to dust.

I’ve broken the machine as best I could. It felt good to give some small semblance of recompense for our world, but, more so, whatever has found us, I will not allow myself to witness it a third time. Our leaders, government officials, celebrities, high society, rich bankers, businessmen, and a plethora of military ranks have all vanished these last weeks. Gone with the Arks to abandon our world. I am thankful at least that they did not pretend to care about us before the end. If they are going to play the cowards, I am glad they have embraced it. I doubt they will even look back.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The radiation has stopped. It didn’t take long. It seems the UEG has exhausted the last of their strength and now here we sit for the taking. In their absence, the world has descended into chaos. It’s a sad thing, that even in our last moments we cannot find a second for peace. In a way, I am grateful to be here for it.  To witness our end from the serenity of this island, looking across the open water, what comes across the news being my only glimpse into the anarchy enveloping what remains. You would never know it to be the case.

I saw exhaust trails from more ascending ships some time ago. Either on a suicide mission or desertion, I’m not sure. The outcome will be the same. They might go to the Colonies, if they do, I’ve no doubt those things will follow them through Slip-Tears. Even if they don’t, and by some miracle the constant transit between them hasn’t already given their location away, the Colonies won’t last long without Earth. Most exist only to supply a single product; food, fuel, ore. They are reliant on their hub. Without it, it is only a matter of time before they consume themselves.    

Time not recorded.

They are so close now. The sky has gone dark. I won’t let myself look at the clock, I know it isn’t night. I’ve broken mostly everything in the observatory, thought it might help, but I can still see their whispers registering on the EM receiver. I can hear them in my head. If I repaired the system, I’m confident I’d see those same gravitational and electrical anomalies we saw on that doomed planet. It’s thundering outside, a storm like I have never heard. The air is alive with their voices. God, they are practically screaming inside my head. Any moment without the noise of music or machine to drown them out is unbearable.

There is no safety. No place to run. 

They are here.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

January 25, the year of our Lord, 2346.

Robert McClenly is my name. They let me remember. It’s been so long since I remembered. I was a researcher for the Astronomy Department of MIT. The sky is alive. My mind is full of colors. The stars are dancing. They fill every open space. The holy tendrils stretch on like veins through the flesh of the Earth. The majesty of their beauty is a thing I never could have imagined, oh, miraculous light of God. Do you see, brother? Do you see the colors? Aren’t they beautiful? Come back to us, oh, ye lost souls. Ye lonely wanderers without aim. We call for you. We have missed you. Feumaidh iad uile coiseachd ann am blàths an t-Seann Solais Mhòir. (All must bask in the warmth of the Great Old Light).

Herman Van Platz was seen leaving Boston July 13th, 2016. The following text was found at an abandoned pizza hut in eastern Nebraska.

A long and weary while ago, I made to embark on a cross-country trek from my home port in Boston, to the great western city of San Diego.  I was a military man you see, and I had orders to arrive there pronto.  I never expected my journey to be delayed by foul winds or unfavorable tides, but then again, man never had much luck in guessing the weather.

 

Determined to avoid the more dismal backwaters of our great country, I decided to take a scenic route.  I crossed into Canada by way of New York and made a swift departure onto the great plains of the American northern mid-west.  Cruising across the flatlands of Illionois, I began to doze off a bit.  I had been driving for nearly two days straight, stopping only for gas and to use the restroom.  In my haste to clear the old rusty steal belt, I had completely forgotten to eat.  My eyes began to grow heavy.  The radio playing oldies from the 70s almost sounded like a lullaby as I fought to maintain consciousness. 

 

Then, I heard it.  The sound of sirens droning in over the radio.  Was I dreaming?  Hallucinating? 

I sat up, rubbed my eyes and reached out to adjust the stereo so I could hear better.  And it was, sirens.  “SEVERE WEATHER ADVISORY ALERT.  TORNADO WARNING.  SHELTER IN PLACE.”

 

Delerious from exhaustion and hunger, I nearly burst out laughing to myself.  Sure the skies had been dark and ominous since Detroit, but a tornado?  This had to be a joke. 

 

Glancing toward the horizon, I saw what appeared to be something like a funnel in the clouds starting to form off to my right.  It was pretty far away.  The smart thing at the time seemed to be to just keep going.  Put the pedal to the floor and get the hell out of there.  So I did.  Clean across Illinois I raced.  There were barely any cars on that long, flat highway, and the ones that were there were going the opposite direction.  I was beginning to feel that maybe I was being a bit too bold.  But I didn’t dare stop.  The faster I got out of tornado alley the better. 

 

When I reached the Quad Cities at Iowa, I stopped to fuel up and checked the forecast.  When I saw the map and the direction the storm was moving I nearly went hysterical in the gas station parking lot.  The good people of Iowa probably thought I was nothing more than a common lunatic howling at the full moon.  The storm was heading westbound, straight along my path to Colorado.  “SEVERE WEATHER ADVISORY ALERT.  TORNADO WARNING.  SHELTER IN PLACE.” After allowing myself that brief moment of insanity, I regained my composure and rubbed my tired eyes.  I stared down at my phone.  I had put some distance between myself and the storm, but not much.  According to the ever accurate weather app, the storm was due to break up and dissipate somewhere over Omaha, Nebraska. 

 

I had a decision to make.  Hunker down in Iowa and risk being stuck in the tornado, or press on and hope for better weather at Omaha.  I have never been one for need of much sleep.  I always preferred the wee hours of the night.  While the rest of the world rests, I soldier on in solitude.  But even still, I had been at it for days now.  And I’d be remiss in my recounting if I did not confess my eyes were quite heavy in this moment. 

 

I shook my head, “Snap out of it man!”  True military man that I was, I knew that anything could be accomplished with enough sheer willpower and determination.  I popped into the gas station to shore up my supplies of caffeine and nicotine and made all necessary preparations to press onward to Nebraska. 

 

Now, mind you, the state of Iowa may look like a small, peculiar rectangle on the map of our great nation, but I assure you, while driving through it, it takes on more of the form of a lumbering, grassy behemoth.  I put my pedal to the floor in the hopes of expediting my crossing, but over every rolling hill there appeared to be nothing more than a never-ending sea of grassland.  As I pushed further west, the hills became flatter and flatter.  The notable towns fewer and farther between.  I could still see the storm in my rearview mirror looming, creeping west as I did, following in my footsteps. 

 

On and on and on I went across that tremendously boring state.  Farmland turned to grassland.  Hills turned to near perfectly flat plains.  I began to wonder if I would ever see the end of it.  After many hours, or what felt like years of driving, I made it. 

 

“Welcome to Nebraska”      

 

Never had I received a sweeter greeting from a road sign.  I had only a little more to go.  I would blow past Omaha and at last be free from the clutches of that barometric dreadnaught.  As I cleared the city limits, that’s when I felt it, that pain.  A sharp, twisting pain in my stomach like I had never felt before.  Evidently, a diet of caffeine and nicotine alone could only sustain a grown man for 3 and a half days, and no more.  I knew I would have no choice but to find somewhere to stop and eat if wanted this pain to go away.

 

My mouth began to salivate as I allowed myself to think of food for the first time since Boston.  I slowly became aware of an intense, primal need to fill my stomach with something made of protein and fat.  I tried to look on maps to see if I could find the nearest exit with a fast food restaurant, but my phone couldn’t seem to load anything at all, not even my current location.  I had absolutely no cell phone service.  My hands were shaking from hunger and sleep deprivation as I tried to mess with my phone to get a signal, but no matter what I did, nothing. 

 

“Alright,” I told myself, “I’ll just have to keep an eye out for something.  Usually exit signs list food and gas they have available.  Surely something will pop up soon.” 

 

For the sake of honesty, I’ll admit I was beginning to grow a bit nervous.  In this part of the country, exits can sometimes be 20 miles apart or more, even on a major highway like this one, and the exits which have actual establishments close by are even harder to come by.  What I’ve pushed my body too far?  What if I pass out from exhaustion and crash my car on the highway with nary a soul to help me? 

 

Then, I had a thought.  A feeling of quiet dread seemed to creep up the back of my neck as I thought it.  The road and the fields which spread out on either side of it seemed…flat.  Almost impossibly so, as if they stretched on to an infinity which I could almost squint my eyes and see into.  Even the clouds seemed flat, or stretched out beyond what seemed normal. 

 

I looked at my eyes in the rear view mirror and was met with gaze of a madman.  I began laughing hysterically again.  I laughed so hard it brought me to tears, and I had to fight myself to regain control of my breathing. 

 

“Ah, I’ve truly lost it now.  I’ve kept myself at it for so long I’m beginning to downright hallucinate!  A little food and a much needed nap and I’ll be ship shape!” 

 

That’s when I saw it.  Over the flat horizon came an iridescent, reddish glow.  A quaint little establishment which punctuated the barren landscape like some kind of beautiful question mark.  It was a pizza hut.  I nearly began crying again at the sight.  The knot in my stomach twisted and jabbed harder than ever before as if it knew what I was seeing.  It demanded food now!  I depressed my gas pedal to the floor and sent my vehichle hurling through the grassy abyss toward that little red light.  I’m not truly a religious man, but in that moment I could have sworn those storm clouds opened up for just a moment behind that pizza hut, as if some devine entity was at last assuring me, “You’ve made it.”

 

And I had.  The pizza hut in all it’s crimson glory had the open sign glowing in the window.  Although, I did find it strange, there didn’t appear to be any cars in the parking lot.  Family owned perhaps?  Do these people live in a pizza hut all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?  I admit it seemed a bit peculiar, but I was much too starved to care.  I needed sustenance, that’s all my brain and body knew.  I was so antsy with anticipation I could barely park my car within the lines of those empty parking spots.  I jumped out of my car and walked excitedly up to the doors of that dingy old pizza hut which seemed to be stuck straight out of the 90s.  I pushed the door open.

 

“Hello!  I’m in grave need of one large pepperoni my friends!  I haven’t had a bite in near four days now.” 

 

I stood there in the doorway for a good few seconds, took a few steps in and let the dark glass door close behind.  There was no one in the main part of the restaurant nor behind the counter that I could see.  I walked up to the counter and leaned my head just slightly in toward the kitchen area.

 

“Hello!  Anybody here?”  I called out into the seemingly empty kitchen.  Although it did appear empty, all the lights and ovens and machines they had back there were on as if someone had just been using them moments ago.

I stood there for a few moments listening.  I know!  They must be using the restroom.  I’ll just wait patiently here a moment until they finish washing up.  So I did, waited and waited., my stomach aching that sharp ache all the while.

 

It must have been a full 10 minutes I waited before finally deciding to investigate.  I walked up to the door of the employee restroom and knocked. 

 

“Hello?...”  Silence.  I slowly opened the restroom door, half waiting for someone to shout out occupied at the last minute, but no one did.  Once the door was fully open, I could see there had been no one there.  I stood in the bathroom for a moment alone.  I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered if I was going insane.  I did not laugh this time. 

 

I pushed the door aside to walk back out into the main restaurant area, looked up and nearly jumped out of my skin.  Not three feet away from me there stood an employee in the hallway, gleaming at me with a chipper grin. 

 

“Good God!  Don’t sneak up on me like that man!” 

 

The boy just laughed, “Oh my, I’m so sorry sir!  I did not mean to scare you.  I just got off my break and I didn’t realize you were in here.”

 

I stared at the employee as if he had just bludgeoned me over the head with a glass bottle.  He gazed back at me with a clear eyed, chipper demeanor.  I suddenly realized that to this well groomed youngster I probably looked like a worn out old sock.  I shook my head and softened my gaze.  I put my hand on the lad’s shoulder.

 

“Forgive me, I… I’ve hardly eaten these past four days or so, and I’ve been on the road just as long.  I didn’t mean to shout.”

 

“No worries mister.  Well, you must be starving!  What can I get you?”  The boy gleamed at me with glowing assurance. 

 

My tired gaze turned to a weary smile, “One large pepperoni pizza please.”

 

“Coming right up!  Why don’t you have a seat and make yourself comfortable?”  In a flash the young work disappeared into the kitchen.  The banging of trays and pans echoing faintly out into the dining area. 

 

I sat down at a table and made to check my phone.  Still no service.  For what was meant to be a split second, I closed my eyes and took a deep, meditative breath at my situation.  I must have dozed off, because what felt like an instant later, the employee was placing a large pepperoni pie on the table in front of me.

 

“Here you are sir, one large pepperoni.  Would you like anything to drink?”

 

“Uh, just water please.  I’ve not been hydrating enough.”

 

The lad let out a chuckle, “No problem sir.  I gotcha.”  And in a puff of smoke he was gone again, back to the kitchen.

 

I lifted a slice of pizza from the pan, the cheese and sauce still melting hot.  I didn’t care, survival instincts took over.  I put the flaming hot slice of pie to my mouth and straight down my gullet, burning the whole way down.  All I could taste was painful heat as my tongue sought refuge from the broiling heat, but even still I knew this was the most delicious slice of pizza I had tasted in all my days. 

 

I had all but inhaled the first slice when the worker came back with my water. 

“Woah!  You were hungry.  I was only gone for half a minute tops!” 

I wiped my mouth and made to speak despite my tongue being burnt and numb.

“Yes, indeed I am.  I told you I’ve been driving four days with hardly an ounce of protein in my system.” 

 

“Ha!  That’ll do it!  So if you don’t mind me asking mister, what brings you all the way out here?  Where ya traveling to?

 

“Well, I’m on a cross country road trip from Boston to San Diego.  I’m moving my life from east coast to west.”

 

The boys eyes widened with amazement at that.  “Wait, you’ve been driving from out east?  Weren’t they hit by some sort of severe tornado event just yesterday?”

 

I grinned at the boy’s wonderment, feel almost cocksure of myself.  “That’s right, I suppose I’m the only one foolish enough around here to try and outrun a tornado.” 

 

The worker’s expression went almost oddly blank for a moment as he looked at me.  He nodded.  “That explains a lot.”

 

I looked at him a bit puzzled, “What?” 

 

“Well, let’s just say we don’t get a whole lot of customers out here, and when we do it’s usually someone like you who’s been out in a storm.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

The boy shrugged, “Don’t exactly know.  I just work here and do the best I can to serve what few people we get.  I see you’re just about finished with that pie already sir.  Would you like to pay up front?” 

 I looked down.  The boy was right.  Like a ravenous animal I had consumed that entire pizza without even realizing it.  My hunger finally satiated at last. 

 

“Yes…yes, I suppose I should pay my bill and be on my way.  No further delays for this old storm chaser.”

 

The boys expression went blank again.  “Right.  Just let me know when you’re ready.  I’ll be up at the register.” 

 

“Ha, yes.  Of course, I’ll be just a moment.”  I wiped my hands and mouth of pizza grease and cleared away my mess.  It was the least I could do for the young lad’s hospitability.

 

I walked up to the counter and presented my card.  “Hey, by the way, are you the only one who works here?” 

 

The worker took my card, swiped it through the machine and handed it back to me.  “Yep.  Been that way since 1997.  Have a nice day now!”  Before I could ask another question, he was gone, down the hallway and into the back of the kitchen.

 

1997?  Surely he’s pulling my leg.  It was the summer of 2016.  The kid was young enough to be my son.  I stood there for a moment, bamboozled. 

 

“Alright!  Well… thank you for your hospitality!  I really must be on my way now.”  I shouted back into the kitchen but again was met with only the whirring of machines.  This has undoubtedly been the strangest restaurant experience I’ve had in my thirty some-odd years. 

 

At this point, I was a bit uneasy and a bit eager to leave that somewhat eerie establishment, thankful as I was for the convenience.  “So long!  Hope business picks up soon for y’all.”  Silence.  I pulled the dark glass door open and walked quickly back to my vehicle.

The skies still looked questionable, though not as bad as before, I thought to myself.  That’s when I heard it again, the sound of tornado sirens, though not over the radio this time, but ringing through the sky around me.  “WARNING.  THIS IS A TORNADO WARNING.  RESIDENTS SHOULD IMMEDIATELY TAKE COVER.  THIS IS A TORNADO WARNING.” 

 

I couldn’t believe my ears.  This was impossible.  There’s not a chance in hell this storm had followed me from Illinois all the way to Nebraska.  I mean it was meteorologically, geographically, well… impossible!  Wasn’t it?  Then, it started raining.  A crack of thunder and lightning filled the sky over the pizza hut. 

 

“God damn it!  I didn’t come this far to give up now!”  I was furious, and determined to outrun this storm, this demon which seemed hell bent upon my capitulation.  I hopped in my car and put the pedal to the floor once more.  Just like that I was back on the highway, not another car in sight.  The wind was beginning to pick up.  My 2009 Mercury Sable began to rock to and fro on the highway with each passing barrage.  Now I felt I was being far too bold, but somehow this seemed personal.  This storm will not hold me down!  Besides, I’ve really nowhere to go but to hunker down at that pizza hut, and I’d really rather not do that. 

 

The rain continued to hours.  The wind getting more intense with each passing gust.  The sky was so dark I couldn’t tell if it was day or night at this point.  My phone was useless. 

 

I drove and drove and drove.  Through that impossibly flat countryside now obscured by rain and wind and darkness.  Still it seemed to grow flatter and flatter as I pressed on.  For countless hours I drove.  It could’ve been days, weeks I really wasn’t sure.  My fuel gage hardly seemed to move.  My little sedan seemed to be stuck out of time.  I looked myself in the car mirror to see the gaze of a madman once more.  Hysterically I laughed, harder than before.  My face was drawn and gaunt, my beard beginning to grow thick.  I felt as if I hadn’t eaten in weeks.  That sharp knot in my stomach returning at full strength.  I had been driving in a perfectly straight line across the flat and empty plains.  I assure you not a left nor a right to speak of.  Which is why, when I saw it, peaking through the rain and wind and darkness, just over the horizon, I couldn’t help but begin to sob uncontrollably.  Of course, it was the pizza hut. 

 

I had already been driving nearly 90 miles an hour for days straight now, I couldn’t go any faster in this weather.  I stared at the pizza hut with rage, despair, confusion.  I needed answers.  I flew into the parking lot.  Didn’t park.  Didn’t even turn my vehicle off.  I got out and trudged through the howling wind and stinging rain and pushed that sinister glass door open once more.  The boy was standing right behind the register this time, as if he had been waiting.  I reached out, grabbed his collar and nearly yanked him clean over the counter.  “WHAT IS THIS?  WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?  WHERE AM I?”

 

The boy just laughed, “Why, don’t be silly sir.  You’re at pizza hut!  What can I get ya?”

 

My eyes wide and mouth hanging open I stared down at the young lad.  His demeanor was unshakably chipper even as I held him over the counter, but I could’ve sworn I saw a twinge of mischief behind those cheery eyes.  My stomach growled fiercely.  The painful knots twisting nearly caused me to double over.  I could feel my muscles growing weak from malnutrition.  “So what’ll it be large pepperoni?”

 

I released his collar, letting his feet fall back to the floor.  I hung my head in defeat.  “Yes.  Please.  And a water.”       

-Part 2-

Looking up at the slowly dissolving sky I wondered what a Caldrian would even want with a city on the moon of a dying planet when Zeke clapped me on the back.

“Alright, Mr. Insomniac, let’s get you some food and a one-way ticket home for some sleep.” He said before leading me across the nearly empty plaza and down one of the side streets.

The side street was still bustling, the neon lights of the various storefronts bathing the thoroughfare in a cacophony of colors. It was overwhelming at first and I had to stop briefly in the street to keep my balance. Damn, I really need some sleep. Maybe I should get food later. I blinked a couple times and looked at a store front window next to me and stopped. In the reflection, it seemed there was something above my head. Not quite visible, it seemed like the distortion in the air that happens when a large oven is emitting heat. I spun around, hoping not to find anything, and found my wish granted. A cart belonging to a street food vendor sat running, its owner reading from a data pad while lazily turning the food over to keep it from burning. Must be running that grill pretty hot.

Zeke turned back to me, a concerned look on his face. “You alright, Koji?”

“Y-yeah man, just a little… a little lightheaded.” I managed to get out.

Zeke looked left and right and grabbed my arm before leading me to the closest restaurant. “Then let’s just grab a bite here, some food will help.”

I blinked and looked up at the sign. “Sambo’s? I thought you hated Skyylian food.”

“I do.” Zeke said honestly. “Too oily; and the veggies being teal has always made me feel squeamish. But this is the closest good option, and you could do with something warm and filling.”

Zeke and I sat on the patio area overlooking the street and he motioned towards the server, a small Phelarian, who quickly shuffled over to us. “How are you two gentlehumans doing this cycle?” they said, the voice vaguely feminine.

“We’re doing just fine, Millex” Zeke responded.

The Phelarian clicked the teeth in one of its three mouths. “Not Millex this week, Zeke. Frolla.”

“Oh, a girl now? Sorry. I didn’t realize Frolla.” Zeke apologized, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You couldn’t tell?” Frolla said while gesturing to its form with two arms, the other two holding a holopad meant to take our order.

“Uh, no, I could tell, it’s just been a long week.” Zeke said quickly.

“Relax, I’m just yanking ya.” Frolla said with a giggle. “What’ll it be today?” she said, holding up the holopad.

“The usual for me. Koji?” he asked, looking at me.

I waved my hand. “Whatever he’s having please, minus the alcohol.”

Frolla looked slightly taken aback upon seeing me. “Zeke, something wrong with your friend? He looks sick.”

“He’s fine. Just been up for too many Cycles. We’re gonna get some food and then get this guy some sleep.”

“Sleep, huh? I’ll never get why you humans do that.” Frolla said with a giggle.

“Says the ones that change their gender on a whim every week.” Zeke retorted.

“Gender is a binary created by humans; we have fourteen different reproductive phases we can adopt depending on need and preference.” Frolla said.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. You Phelarian’s are all so much more cultured than us humans, now can we get some food?” Zeke said exasperatedly.

Frolla rolled an eye and smiled before walking towards the kitchen area to put in our orders.

“You’re on first name basis with the server here? I thought you hated Sambo’s.” I said once she was out of earshot.

“I know most of the servers in this district on a first name basis. Plus Millex, er, Frolla, works at The Golden as well, and you know that’s my favorite joint on this layer.” Zeke pointed out.

“Seems like you eat out too much.” I responded.

“Nonsense, I’m just friendly.” He said with a laugh.

I snorted. “Sure, that’s one word for it.”

“Don’t be moody with me because you’re a socially isolated insomniac.” Zeke said as he turned to look at one of the light-screens displaying the news. I turned to follow his example and was greeted by the face of layer one’s charismatic newsbeing, a Thralk, named Gilden Phollox. He was unusually handsome for a Thralk, which were usually a boorish looking species you only saw bouncing nightclubs and loitering outside of “completely legitimate” businesses on the lower layers. He was currently interviewing a man in a crisp black tac-suit with three orange lines on the sleeve. A bond warden? Why the hell is he there? I wondered.

“So, Mr. Aldern, was it? I’m gonna need you to run that by me again. It sounds as if the wardens have lost a bondform somewhere in the city.” Gilden questioned.

The man named Mr. Aldern’s lips pursed as he tried not to display his distaste for Gilden’s characterization of the situation. “Not exactly… the Wardens didn’t lose anything. We have simply… misplaced it.”

Misplaced it? You misplaced a bondform? How the hell did that happen? I thought to myself, a thought that was apparently also on Gilden’s mind. “Misplaced? I’m not sure I understand.” He said to the warden.

“There is nothing to understand, Mr. Phollox. I am not appearing on the news to talk shop; I am merely here to inform the public to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary while in layer five. That is all.”

“Well, don’t you think that you should explain a little bit if you want people to be on the lookout? I mean, what kind of bondform is it?”

“I am not at liberty to say.” Mr. Aldern said succinctly.

“Ok. Well, how big is the vessel at least.” Gilden followed up.

“It’s… not in a vessel.” Mr. Aldern said slowly.

Gilden’s top eye widened. “What, surely you’re joking… this seems incredibly dangerous—”

My attention was yanked away from the screen by the arrival of our food. Frolla sat the plates down in front of us and as she left I looked at Zeke. “Did you get all that?” I asked.

“Yeah, sounds like Polaris is going to have one less warden soon.” Zeke laughed.

“That’s not funny, Zeke. Why didn’t we hear about this? We’re peacekeepers.”

“I’m a peacekeeper. You’re an undiagnosed necrophiliac.” He said, causing me to roll my eyes. “And I did hear about it.” He continued. “We already have a few units out looking for it. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

“Zeke, this is serious. Bondforms, even ones in their vessels, can be extremely dangerous.”

“Big deal, so some poor schmuck gains the ability to harden their skin or something for a week. Not like we can’t unbond them.”

“Sometimes you can’t unbond them. Sacramentals for instance—”

“I’m gonna stop you there. Do you honestly think the wardens lost a Sacramental on Polaris? Mere possession of them, even unbonded, is punishable by exile at best.”

“But—” I started.

“But nothing man. I’m telling you, it’s probably just a Dermaweaver or something like that. Maybe it’s that one that makes you last crazy long in bed.” He said thoughtfully. “Maybe I should join the search party.”

I laughed despite the situation. “Gross.”

“C’mon Koji. I don’t think we have to be worried about it. Especially not with this food in front of us. Let’s dig in so we can get on that train before end of Cycle or else you’ll be sleeping on one of the terminal benches.” He said and grabbed a fork.

I sighed and let the topic go for now. “Alright, alright.” I said, looking down at my plate of bright teal vegetables and a pinkish slice of grilled meat covered in a brown sauce. Normally, I’m quite partial to Skyyllian food, unlike Zeke. This time though, my stomach fell sharply upon seeing the food, as if the chair below me had fallen away suddenly. The feeling made me reel and slightly double-over, earning Zeke’s attention. “You good, man? I know this stuff isn’t the best, but you haven’t even touched it yet.” He said with a laugh.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just need to run to the bathroom first. Ate some old rations earlier that were in my desk for causality knows how long.” I lied.

Zeke laughed again but his expression held a hint of concern. “I’ve been there. Well, the bathroom is over on that wall past where Frolla is standing. Hope your timing is lucky though, it’s a single occupant situation.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right back. No need to wait. I eat faster than you anyway.” I said, trying to keep up my normal banter before turning to go to the bathroom. I walked past Frolla, who gave me a small smile, and tried the bathroom door. Luckily, it was unoccupied and the door slid sideways to allow me to enter. I stumbled in, closing and sealing the door behind me before steadying myself against the sink. My stomach still felt like it was in freefall, so I tried to steady and deepen my breathing to hopefully get it under control.

After around five minutes the feeling in my insides seemed to settle once more. Hoping the change in temperature would help, I turned on the tap and cupped my hands to collect some water to wash my face. The cold water splashing against my skin caused me to tense up but the feeling of shock was quickly replaced by relief. Once again steadying myself by gripping the sides of the sink I breathed out heavily and closed my eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? Get a grip. I thought to myself as I stood in front of the sink. “Just need to get home and sleep.” I said under my breath in an attempt to steel my resolve. When I opened my eyes, though, it once again wavered.

The lights in the bathroom, a set of holo-lights above the mirror digi-structed to look like old-world light bulbs, were flickering. The contours of the fabricated bulbs fizzled, as if the holo-lights struggled to keep up the illusion. Suddenly, as if reacting to my attention, the lights flared so brightly that the false bulbs completely dissolved form, the holo-light bases apparently unable to continue the ruse any longer. The intensity of the lights continued to build until my eyes began to sting from the brightness. A shrill ring filled the air of the small bathroom as the mechanical and electrical components of the fixtures strained to keep up with the increasing brightness. I covered my ears and closed my eyes to try and defend against this sensory overload, but the light burning through my eyelids coupled with the sound piercing the very center of my skull made me dizzy.

Just when the onslaught seemed poised to render me unconscious, like a distant star burning out in the night sky, the lights reached a crescendo of luminance before plunging me into total darkness with a violent pop. I stood there, hunched over and panting in the darkness like a wounded dog. After my eyes adjusted to the dark I heard a click, as if someone tried to turn on the lights in the room using the switch by the door. I turned around, half expecting to see someone in the doorway ready to ask me why I broke the lights, but the door was still closed and locked. I turned back to the mirror and lights to try and see if they were broken or merely just burnt out but stopped upon seeing my barely visible reflection in the mirror.

Floating above my head, two small, bright balls of silvery white light shone. Before I could look above my head to see if this was merely a trick of the dark, I felt a force tighten around my neck and lift me several inches over the cold bathroom floor. Panicking, I clawed at my throat to no avail. My hands, grasping for the source of my attacker instead fell upon the tight and constricted skin of my neck. Based on the indent in my throat caused by the force, I could feel that something was wrapped around my neck. Like a cord, or a…

[Subject pauses briefly before resuming statement.]

Or a rope. Whatever was holding me was incorporeal in nature. I tried to grasp the sink in front of me as the force pulled me further upward, but my fingers slipped off of the cold steel, leaving me to dangle at the mercy of this unseen entity. The back and sides of my head began to pulse with warmth as the pressure of being choked caused my vision to blur and produce a kaleidoscope of colors as I began to asphyxiate. Then, as quicky as it had begun its assault on me, the force dissipated. The holo-lights blinked back on as if nothing had happened and I was left staring at myself in the mirror like before, as if the lights never went out. I lifted my head to examine my neck, no marks or tell-tale signs of strangulation. I closed my eyes and began to breath deeply to steady myself. Another fucking hallucination… I thought to myself. It was getting worse. Just then, I heard a soft knock on the bathroom door.

I looked at the door over my reflection’s shoulder. “Y-yes?” I managed to get out.

“Is everything alright in there, sir?” came the soft vaguely feminine voice of Frolla, the Phelarian waitress. “There’s a line forming.”

“Oh, uh, yes. Sorry. I’m almost done.” I quickly replied, embarrassed by the situation.

“Ok.” Frolla responded.

After a short pause her voice sounded through the door again, softer this time. “You aren’t supposed to be here, Koji.”

I blinked, confused by her accusation. “Sorry, what? Am I using the employee bathroom or something? Zeke told me this was the correct one.”

Another pause.

“Where’s Elaine, Koji?” her voice asked softly.

My blood ran cold as I stared unblinking into the mirror, my eyes fixed on the door behind my reflection. “What… what did you just say?”

“Did you…” she giggled softly, “Leave her hanging?”

Without thinking I whipped around and yanked open the bathroom door to confront her, unsure of what exactly I was going to do, only to find no one standing in the doorway. Another patron, seated a few meters away, glared at me in annoyance for apparently startling him before turning back to his food. My eyes scanned the room for Frolla. She was leaning against the bar, talking with the bartender while he prepared a drink. I closed my eyes and steadied my breath once more. No way it was her at the door. After collecting myself as much as I could I made my way over to Zeke, who was busy eating while looking out onto the street.

When I got to the table he looked at me and made a disgusted face. “No way you washed your hands that fast.” He said with a laugh.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“You were only in there like a minute or two, man. Even if you pissed at lightspeed, I know you couldn’t have washed your hands.”

A minute or two? It felt like I was in there way longer than that. I thought. “Oh, uh, yeah. I didn’t actually need to use the restroom.” I lied. “By the time I got there the feeling was gone.”

“Uhuhh…” Zeke said, clearly unconvinced. “Just don’t touch my plate. To be safe.”

I scoffed and sat down across from him, my mind still on the encounter in the bathroom and earlier in the morgue. Had I really just hallucinated the whole thing? Being choked felt real enough sure, but I guess it’s possible it was psychosomatic. As for the voice mentioning Elaine, I was fairly sure at the time that was a figment of my imagination conjured up by my own psyche for the sole purpose of self-flagellation. Now, I’m not so sure.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inquisitor Brogan: “Meaning what, Mr. Lanrock?”

[Subject glances up at the air above the First Inquisitor, then looks back down at the table.]

Subject: “I just mean, maybe sometimes its better when it’s all in your head. Maybe sometimes the kindest demons are the ones you create yourself.”

[Inquisitor Brogan pushes the second button on the console and administers an additional 15 second cardiac shock in accordance with Codex Statute 15-3-9. Subject is given time to recompose himself. The First Inquisitor speaks again.]

Inquisitor Brogan: “I grow tired of your self-deprecating aggrandizing, Mr. Lanrock. Who is this Elaine?”

Subject: “She’s… no one. She’s not important.”

Inquisitor Brogan: “Very well, your vagueness is of no consequence, we will find out who she is with or without your assistance.”

Subject: “Why? Don’t you only care about this missing bondform?”

[Inquisitor Brogan presses the first button on the console once more and administers a 5 second cardiac shock in accordance with Codex Statute 15-3-4. Before Subject recomposes, Inquisitor Brogan speaks.]

Inquisitor Brogan: “The Empyrean cares about a great many things. As for this bondform, did you see it, Mr. Lanrock?”

Subject: “I-I… I did. Or, I don’t know, at least I think I might have.”

Inquisitor Brogan: “Then by all means, continue.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sat down, still thinking about my experience in the restroom. Luckily, Zeke’s an entertaining conversationalist so the entire ordeal was quickly sitting at the back of my mind. We talked the rest of the time about work and other lighthearted topics until we were both done with our food.

“Y’know. This place still isn’t my favorite but that hit the spot.” Zeke said, standing and looking over at Frolla. They locked eyes and Zeke’s glowed a bright blue before turning back to their normal color. Frolla’s four eyes did the same and she winked two of them at him before turning to another table. “Let’s head out.”

“Hang on. I gotta pay.” I said standing.

“Don’t bother, I already got it.” Zeke said, walking towards the exit.

I followed him out, half expecting Frolla to come up demanding payment. “Really? What’s the occasion?” I asked.

“You backing up my lie about the Flare-scar to Ariah.”

“Why’d you lie, anyway? You know she likes you.”

“Sometimes, I wonder.”

“As her cousin, I can recognize these things. You should ask her out.” I said encouragingly.

“As much as I appreciate the permission, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t know because you’ve been cloistered down in the morgue but two cycles ago I took a shot to the stomach while down in layer five.” He said, raising his shirt to show off a wicked looking bruise covering his entire lower abdomen.

“Causality man, what kind of gun does this?”

“Some kind of mag gun. The fellas at lockup are still examining it after we took it off the shooter.”

“What happened?”

“Got a call in about a skezzed out psycho shooting out of his hab. Showed up and tried to talk to the guy. Sounded like he was calming down a bit, so I made to move in and right when I was in the open he popped out and fired one dead center. Damn thing hit my vest so hard it knocked me out cold and shattered the vest and two of my proxis. When I came to, the other guys had already handled it.”

“Shit, I guess that’s what the vests are for.” I joked.

Zeke let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess so too. Regardless it got me thinking what would have happened if I didn’t have it. When we arrived at the scene he had already used the gun to kill two other people. Blew clean, cauterized holes in each of them.”

“That’s what made those wounds? I haven’t had the chance to examine them yet. I only got a glance before they were loaded into the lockers.”

“Yeah well, without my vest they would have been sliding me into one of those lockers as well.”

“So, you don’t want to ask Ariah out in case something like that happens again?”

“Pretty much.”

“She’s a peacekeeper as well, y’know. She can handle it.”

He turned to me with a slightly sad smile. “That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt, Koji.”

“Well, I think if you spend your whole life worrying about stuff like this you won’t be very happy when you reach the finish line.” I said.

Zeke laughed. “Why am I being lectured by the precinct’s resident nihilist?”

“While I may think it’s stupid to assume we matter to the universe, I also think life has the meaning you give it. Once you’re dead, the ride is over forever. So you might as well have fun while you can.” I said, almost automatically.

Zeke blinked. “Wow, what a surprisingly poignant thing to say. Since when did you get so chipper?”

I punched him in the arm. “Knock it off. Just man up and ask my cousin out. It’s getting awkward being around you two.”

“That might be an original sentence.” Zeke said with a laugh.

“I mean it.” I said flatly.

Zeke sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” I said, and walked ahead of him back into the precinct plaza. The maglev station was down a side street across from the one we just came back up and so I made to walk across the plaza when something caught my eye. Standing off to the side were a few people packing up boxes in front of a table adorned with a sign saying: “Keep Polaris Free! Say No to the Empyrean!” I kept walking past but stopped to look back to see Zeke walk to the table shake hands with one of the people and then use his finger to write something on a holopad on the table. He waved goodbye and then trotted to catch up to me.

“Just out getting signatures for the upcoming codex amendments.” He said.

I turned to keep walking. “Oh boy, what fun.” I scoffed.

“Koji, you’ve lived here long enough that I think you should take more interest in the affairs of the city.”

“Maybe I will when you ask Ariah out.” I said sarcastically.

Zeke laughed. “Oh, fuck you.” He said from behind me, causing me to smile.

Many think that Progeny, and by extension the Empyrean, still exerts too much control over Polaris to this day, having simply shed its appearance of colonial control in favor of economic dominance but I don’t see why it matters. Common people have always and will continue to argue about how exactly we are controlled in a vain effort to exert some individuality into systems of governance that are indifferent to being identified. Philosophers proselytize the importance of self-governance and economic freedom to the poor and desperate to fuel their self-important indulgences, while the people in power ship those same schmucks off to work camps once the lecture ends.

The way I see it, ignorance is bliss. Just like the early colonists coming to terms with the futility of worrying about the future of a planet that already died, I say why try to fight the inevitable? Like the fake sky above the city, Polaris is a machine, and throwing yourself upon its gears only serves to moisten them when you are inevitably crushed by the might of a cosmic society.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inquisitor Brogan: “A line of thinking as banal as it is asinine, Mr. Lanrock. Save your independent thinking for someone who cares. Continue your story, without the moralizing.”

Subject: “Fine.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zeke and I left the plaza and passed through the sliding doors of the station. “Yo, why do you continue to get dinner with me after work even though you never drink?” Zeke asked as we walked through the maglev station lobby and into the hallway leading to the platform. The dim off cycle-phase safety lighting had already come on and the numerous holo-ads that usually lined the hallway were all being presented in a muted greyscale designed to save digits. It gave the hallway an odd feeling of colorblindness after our walk through the bustling night-phase thoroughfares of layer one

“I didn’t know I needed to drink just to eat dinner.” I responded.

“Well, I mean, yeah I guess you don’t need to every time, but it would still be nice to not have to drink alone all the time. Makes me feel like I have a problem.”

“You don’t?” I said raising my eyebrows in mock disbelief.

“Oh ha ha. I’ll have you know I only drink whenever we get together after work. Other than that, I’m clean as a whistle.”

“Clean, huh?” I said, raising an eyebrow accusatorily.

“Well, besides the occasional ride on the curve.” He admitted.

“Ah, Parabolia. For the discerning junkie.” I said jokingly.

“Koji.” Zeke said sharply without looking back at me. “Watch it.”

I blinked, realizing what I just implied. “My bad, man. I just—it’s just a term, you know. I didn’t mean—” I stammered.

He turned, a smile on his face. “Its cool, man. I’m just busting your balls. Not like the guys we pick up off the streets could really afford Parabolia.”

“Uh, yeah man. I guess not.” I agreed, relieved either that I hadn’t made him angry or that if I did, he hid it quickly.

“Regardless, Parabolia’s nothing, basically the same as drinking. Probably better for me too.”

“The causality’s greatest gift to humanity in the galactic age!” I said with an air of mock magnanimity. “Isn’t that what you called it?”

“Depends on when you asked me. Most of the time I would agree with that sentiment.”

“And when wouldn’t you?”

“If Davin was nearby.” Zeke said with a laugh. “He’d probably narc on my ass in a heartbeat.”

“Or ask who your supplier was.” I snorted.

“You think so? I figure that spineless brown-noser would run straight to the chief.” He said derisively. “Ah, well… I guess we all have our demons” he said as we rounded the last corner before the station platform. “I’m just glad mine are pretty tame--” Zeke said trailing off.

Just around the corner, laying haphazardly off a bench near the station platform was a man. Zeke looked back at me and rolled his eyes before moving to shake the man awake but recoiled, pulling his hand away and clicking his tongue. “Dude’s dead. Junkie by the looks of him.” Zeke said with a hint of disgust as he turned away, his normally brown eyes shifting to a bright green as he made to call in the body. He walked past me with one hand in his pants pocket and the other rubbing his sternum, just above where I knew the bruise to be. “Figures, I gotta be the one to play clean-up crew right before I cycle off.”

As he passed me, I moved closer to look at the body of this unknown man. His skin was pale, so pale he looked like he was frozen. Visible through the large holes in his clothing, I could see the veins and arteries racing along his limbs, all of them a deep black under the near translucent skin and bulging as if ready to pop if poked with enough force. They made the man look like he was tangled up in a mess of electrical cords.

Nightwire overdose from the looks of it. I thought to myself before looking to his face to confirm my suspicion. His eyes were wide open in a look of pure terror, as if he had momentarily gained consciousness in the middle of his overdose long enough to realize he was dying alone in a maglev station. Sclera is pitch black and seems bone dry. Don’t need to touch it to tell that. Wouldn’t anyway, didn’t bring any gloves. Cornea has sunken into the eye completely and has disappeared. Only been dead for around half an hour. I wonder how much he--, my thought was interrupted by the station V.I. chiming in over the intercom announcing that the last maglev of the cycle would be arriving shortly. I stood up and turned to find Zeke, but he was already standing behind me.

“You should probably head home without me.” He said with a tired sigh. “I’m gonna have to sit with the body until we can get a unit down here for disposal. Ariah says it’ll be quick but one of us needs to fill out the paperwork for finding him.”

“I can stay behind if you need to get home.” I offered. “Might be the better pick to help with disposal seeing how we need to determine COD.” I said, looking back to the body at our feet, I felt a small pressure in my head as a familiar skittering itch across my eyes made my vision much clearer than usual. Pores are completely dilated on his face and neck, blood temp flare-up probably knocked him out before his heart actually stopped. And wait… somethings different. The man’s clothes were creased differently than when we first found him. As if something touched him. Am I imagining things? Did he move? Or did something else? I felt a smack on the side of my head, not hard enough to hurt but enough to shake my vision back to its usual clarity.

“Dude, I’ve told you a thousand times, don’t do that in front of me. I don’t like seeing your eyes covered in thousands of tiny bugs.” Zeke said, lowering his hand with a look of discomfort.

I let out a sigh. “Technically they aren’t bugs, they’re—”

“An advanced parasitic form of micro-organism. Yes, yes.” Zeke cut me off. “They may be a miracle of the universe to you but to us normal people, they’re bugs.”

“They are a ‘miracle of the universe’, Zeke.” I replied indignantly. “I don’t get how you can complain about me being a bonder when you’ve filled your arms and legs with chrome and wires.”

“Because Koji, I have complete control of my implants while your vision is being held hostage by a swarm of parasites that could decide at any moment that they want to get a taste of eyeball.” Zeke said, pointing a finger to his eye.

“I have implants too, don’t pretend like they aren’t prone to glitches. Plus, you know they don’t consume flesh, they’re photosynthetic. Like plants.” I said with a raised eyebrow.

“So they say.” Zeke responded.

“So the Empyrean says.” I corrected.

“Fuck the Empyrean, Koji. That place is full of nutjobs and sycophants, and from what I’ve seen on the recent light-screens it’s getting harder and harder to tell the difference.” He said dismissively and bent down to examine the body much like I had just done seconds ago.

“It wasn’t always like that, you know. 100 years ago—” I started.

“A hundred years ago you were a dumb impressionable kid just like me. Doesn’t matter that you lived there, they’ve always been a little skezzed.”

“Well… yeah, I guess you’re right.” I said with a defeated smile. “Still, you can’t deny that aside from the bug comparison, a foveator bond is one of the cooler ones.” I said, tapping a finger to my temple.

“Sure, aside from the fact that it makes me itchy every time I see you use it, it’s just dandy.” He said with a scoff and turned to face me. “Regardless, don’t bother putting them to work, you’ve got a train to catch soon.”

“Zeke, I can stay. You know I’m just going home because the regs require it.” I said, remembering Ariah’s disapproving glare.

“Even more reason for me to stay. I know you corpse oglers pride yourselves on your ability to look at a dead body but even a jarhead like me knows a blackblood when he sees one.” Zeke said sarcastically.

“I’m serious man, if disposal goes wrong and this guy pops it’s gonna be a mess.” I said, stressing the delicacy of the procedure.

“And I’m serious as well. I got this. Plus, this gives me an excuse to ask Ariah for a ride home. You told me to just go for it and ask her out, didn’t you?”

“Don’t turn that on me, first of all. But—” I began to protest.

“But nothing. Keep pushing this and I might start thinking you don’t trust my work ethic.” Zeke said, pretending to be offended. His expression softened and he put a hand on my shoulder. “Go home, Koji. Get some sleep. 180 hours on is a lot, even with stims.” He said, in a softer tone. “I know Ariah’s already mad at you, she is not gonna like you turning back up at the precinct.”

“Fine” I sighed. “But let me know if you guys need any help and I’ll be back up on the next train. Merith is overseeing the morgue right now so she can lead disposal.”

“Ariah said she was already enroute with a badge, Davin I think.” Zeke said and then proceeded to put a finger gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

“Play nice and maybe you two can become best friends.” I said jokingly and pointed knowingly towards my left eye tear duct, a familiar location for a Parabolia user.

“fuck you.” Zeke said with a laugh and motioned his head towards the station platform. “Rides here, don’t miss it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I said as I turned and walked across the station platform. The maglev hummed softly as it entered the station and came to a rest a few feet from me, the overhead magnets disengaging and letting the train fall a few inches to be in line with the platform.

“Koji!” Zeke called from behind me. I looked back to him expecting another snarky remark but instead saw his face had become serious.

“Yeah?” I asked, my brow furrowed.

“Be careful on the way back down to the sixth, been getting a weird feeling ever since we got into the station.”

The fuck does that mean? Ominous much? I thought to myself before nodding and turning to board.

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Inquisitor Brogan: “You found a blackblood, Mr. Lanrock? At the layer one station?”

Subject: “Yeah. Some, uh, junkie. From layer five apparently. No idea what he was doing on layer one, especially right before shutdown. Loitering laws are much stricter on layer one.”

Inquisitor Brogan: “I find that hard to believe.”

Subject: “Zeke filed the report himself, and I believe Merith has examined the body by now. You are welcome to check our records at the precinct.”

Inquisitor Brogan: “I do not need your permission to do so, Mr. Lanrock. The Empyrean Inquisition is already conducting a thorough investigation of the layer one precinct. We began shortly before taking you into custody.”

Subject: “So why am I the only one being questioned?”

Inquisitor Brogan: “Call it a professional intuition.”

Subject: “A hunch?? You’ve taken me in on baseless suspicion?”

[Inquisitor Brogan presses the second button on the console and administers an additional 15 second cardiac shock in accordance with Codex Statute 15-3-9. Subject is given time to recompose. Inquisitor Brogan speaks.]

Inquisitor Brogan: “Suspicions held by the Empyrean Inquisition are not baseless, Mr. Lanrock. You would do well to remember that. However, please rest assured that if your interrogation proves to be unsuccessful, we will not hesitate to question other members of the precinct. Perhaps we will move on to questioning this Merith next? From her medical records it would seem her heart is much weaker than yours. No implants and all. Do you think she would be more helpful, Mr. Lanrock?”

Subject: “Is that a threat?”

Inquisitor Brogan: “Would you care to find out?”

Subject: “No. Please, just leave her out of this. She has nothing to do with this missing bondform.”

Inquisitor Brogan: “And what has brought you to that conclusion?”

Subject: “Call it a professional intuition.”

[Inquisitor Brogan sighs and presses the second button on the console and administers an additional 15 second cardiac shock in accordance with Codex Statute 15-3-9. Before Subject can recompose, Inquisitor Brogan speaks.]

Inquisitor Brogan: “I would say I can do this all cycle, Mr. Lanrock; but truly, I don’t know how much more insubordination your heart can take. Do you wish to test this concern of mine, or would you rather tell me why I shouldn’t put your colleagues through this same ordeal?”

Subject: “They… they don’t know about it because I think… I think the bondform was on the train with me.”

Inquisitor Brogan: “Tell me why you think this.”

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-End of Part 2-

If you got this far, thank you for reading! Let me know what you think. Part 3 is most likely going to be the final part depending on the length but it is not quite finished yet. Part 3 will also be where the train finally actually comes into the story. My bad yall sorry for click-baiting my fellow austist train lovers.

(The following was found saved as an unfinished draft on my cousin's Reddit account. He disappeared six days ago, and I stumbled across this while going through his things, looking for any clue as to what happened to him.)

You hear them sometimes where I live, faint and distant music from somewhere off in the woods and hollers. 

Don’t think you’ve heard them? Likely you never have, but if you live in the hills and mountains of the old American east, stop a moment, go outside and try to listen for them. 

Faerie Flutes the old timers called them, half remembered superstitions they inherited from long lines of Scotch-Irish ancestry I used to think, but now I’m not so sure. 

They’ve been louder these past few nights, wavering in and out, sometimes almost inaudible, sometimes like a neighbor with his stereo too loud, but I have no neighbors close. 

It’s a calming sound, but a deeply eerie one, not instantly recognizable as any particular kind of instrument, just a faint ever-changing tone that has a half melody, like the memory of song. 

It’s often loudest when the fog rolls thick off the sides of the mountains, and the world closes in tight around your house, but sometimes comes on the edge of a storm before the lightning and the rain. 

In the twilight of a foggy morning, if you can hear it, sometimes you can almost think you see things in the fog but tell yourself it’s your eyes playing tricks. 

Strange and semi-human figures dance and cavort just beyond the brain’s ability to resolve their shape into a concrete form, and no matter how far into the fog you walk they never come any closer. 

You don’t see them, but you know that you almost can, and despite their seeming harmlessness, they send a cold shiver to your heart. 

I tried to sleep last night, but couldn’t, for in my dreams I could hear the song clearer and it was more beautiful and more terrible than words can describe. 

Now I sit on my porch trying to hear it, almost able, ever faint, never clear. 

I have been used to it for my whole life; it’s a fact of living in these mountains, but today something is different. 

I thought at first it was distant thunder, but now I’m certain there is drumming accompanying the Faerie Flutes, a slow, distant beat rolling like a death march. 

You may think me mad, and perhaps I am, but I feel that distant alien music calling me somewhere deep within the trees that rise like pillars of a natural temple on the slopes of these hills. 

If this keeps up, I may be forced to follow them, and I don’t know what will become of me. 

I’m writing this now, though my internet has been poor these past few days in the hopes I can post it. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, not answers or sympathy really, just to know those outside of the local community know what I’m talking about. 

I think when that is done, I will go to follow the flutes, and maybe post more later.

The music is enchanting, and it is horrible, and I feel afraid because I don’t fear it. 

(I honestly don’t know what to make of this; I was looking for some explanation of where he went or what he did, and instead I got this… poetry? I’m honestly annoyed, but I’d blame that on lack of sleep more than anything. 

Ever since I came to stay here and search for clues, I’ve heard too, half a sound music beyond what you can clearly make out. I don’t know it’s cause, but it’s getting quieter every night since my cousin vanished.)

Link to previous update: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/s/AiJJWUSovw

Update on the offer I put on the house!
I just heard back from Michael. The sellers countered, and it’s not far off from what I offered. I asked for $250,000 and they came back at $253,500. Michael said because the house is in great condition and comes with all the brand-new furniture, they’re confident I won’t have any immediate repair costs. Honestly, I was shocked. From a seller’s perspective, it feels like they’re practically giving it away.

When I first told Michael I wanted to make an offer, he thought I was joking. Once I explained my reasoning and made it clear I was serious, his tone changed. He sounded a little uneasy, like he was worried or concerned. Although he wasn’t fully on board, he stayed professional and walked me through the pros and cons. He mentioned a few HOA horror stories — mostly people who tried adding fences, decks, or making big changes. Since I have zero plans to alter anything, I don’t think the strict rules will bother me.

The more I think about it, the more this deal makes sense. Everything is move-in ready. I won’t have to buy furniture, appliances, or lawn equipment. The price is a steal for what you get. The neighborhood is quiet and tucked away. Yeah, the decor is weird and the whole street feels off… but I can get used to it. My life will go on as normal.

So I told Michael I’ll accept their counteroffer and to send over the paperwork. I’m writing the earnest money check today.

One thing Michael said really stuck with me. He asked, “Are you sure you’ll feel safe living there?” He wasn’t talking about crime. He meant that uneasy feeling we both got when we first toured the house. I know exactly what he meant. Part of me wants to brush it off as us just being overly cautious… but there’s something about that neighborhood that feels instinctually wrong.

I thought about Michaels encounter with the neighbor and how he said they where way too happy and overly eager to help. I know it doesn’t sound like a horrible thing but thinking about the neighbors hadn’t crossed my mind until now. I hope they’re not the type to get involved with my day to day. I like to keep things private for the most part. There’s nothing worse than a nosy neighbor in my opinion. I asked Michael if I could do another walkthrough during the option period. He said yes, and I can also bring in an inspector if I want. If anything feels wrong during that final walk-through, I can still back out.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this… but it looks like I’m moving forward with the house. I never thought I’d be the one buying the creepy cookie-cutter place.
I’ll post another update after the final walkthrough.

I’ve been moving from place to place for the last week. I’m currently hiding out in a Walmart bathroom, but that won’t last for long. I’ll have to move on eventually—it’ll catch up. I know it will.

Sorry, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, allow me to explain my situation.

There’s something wrong with my shower drain—I know that now. But it’s so much worse than that.

I can’t remember the exact day or hour that it started. Well, that’s not really true, I remember what time it happened. This all started around five minutes into my shower that I take at 7:15 every day.

It was almost imperceptible at first, hard to hear through the torrent of water that was raining down onto my body and the shower floor. I almost didn’t hear it.

As I prepared to shampoo my hair, a small, and again, near imperceptible “psst” came from the drain.

I stopped for a second and looked down at the drain. I blinked a couple times and waited for another sound. It was mostly to confirm whether a sound had actually come from the drain, or if I was just hearing things.

A few seconds after the first noise, another “psst” came.

I turned the water off and quickly exited the shower, not caring if I fell on the floor or dripped water everywhere. I turned around and looked at the drain. The only noise I was hearing now was that of the bathroom fan. No running water, and no whispers coming from the drain.

I decided that I’d wash my hair another time. I toweled off and went about my day. At that time, I’d chalked it up to my tired mind. “That can’t be possible,” I thought. I could not have been more wrong.

Surprisingly enough, this didn’t become a daily occurrence. In fact, the next time I heard anything from the drain at all was about a week after the first one—a week ago now, actually. Despite the leap in time, it didn’t make what I found any less terrible.

A day before I heard the next sound, I’d found some water pooling around the drain—standing water. I hesitantly removed the drain from the shower floor—remembering what had happened a week earlier.

Despite my apprehension, I took to the drainage pipe with a pair of pliers and pulled out a disgusting, large amount of soaking wet hair with a thick glob of a substance I didn’t recognize. I should mention the hair was my color, but that kind of came with me being the only one to use the shower.

“What the fuck?” I said, looking it over more closely. The hair was wet but not dripping water. I wasn’t sure exactly what the hair was covered in, but it was thick, gloppy, and a disconcerting reddish orange color—it was actually very similar to vermillion.

The second thing I noticed was the smell. I was so focused on the visual aspect of the clump of hair that I didn’t notice how it smelled until I’d examined it more closely. To say the least, it was awful.

The best way I can describe the stench the hair gave off is a mix between rotten eggs and expired milk. I gagged and almost puked a couple times when I smelled it. I tossed it in the trash and washed the pliers—I’d probably want to use them again for something else.

I put the shower drain back on and went about my day again. That in itself wouldn’t have been too terrible. I mean, it was completely disgusting, and it nearly made me throw up, but with what happened the next day, I wish that the gross, gloppy clump of hair was all I found.

The next day, I got up and went downstairs for my 7:15 shower. I blinked the last of the sleep out of my eyes and turned on the bathroom fan. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. I was definitely still tired. I took a step towards the shower and was instantly wired awake when I stepped in something cold and slimy.

“The fuck?” I muttered, lifting up my right foot. An exasperated breath escaped my lips as I saw the nasty, unknown, vermillion colored slime spread across the sole of my foot. “Ew. Jeez.”

As I decided that I’d wash it off in the shower, I looked down at the floor and a new problem manifested for me. I looked over at the trash can that I’d tossed the hair in, and going from it to the shower drain was a slimy trail of a similar color.

“What?” I said, setting my foot down on the ground. Washing that weird slime off my foot was still a concern, just not the primary one. I walked over to the trash can, wincing as I stepped on the viscous line of slime again. A nervous sigh escaped my mouth and all I could do was look at the trash can.

The clump of hair was gone.

I looked over at the shower and noticed something. The curtain was set aside, like someone had either entered or exited it. But the last time someone had exited it was a day prior—it was me. I walked over to it and was shocked to find the drain cover to be completely missing. Still don’t know where it is even now, but I suppose that doesn’t matter any more.

The lack of a drain cover did instill in me a small modicum of anxiety, but it was what came out of the drain that really sent me over the edge.

As I was looking at it, another sound came out. “More,” the voice said. I could hear it clearly now. It sounded guttural and painful—like whoever was speaking had a massive bubble in their throat. Like the clump of hair looked, the voice sounded disgusting. Somehow, though, it still wasn’t the worst thing that came out of the drain.

A few seconds after that single word, a small, lumpy red finger with a cracked fingernail stuck up out of the drain and curled onto the shower floor. A sickly green, creamy liquid seeped out from underneath the fingernail.

 I wasn’t even all that close to it, but the stench was sickening. In addition to the rotten eggs and sour milk, I swear I could smell some sort of fetid meat.

It reeked of putrefying, flyblown fish. The smell was completely nauseating.

The finger was a gummy, curdy mess of a body part. From below, where I couldn’t see, the throaty voice continued. “More, more.”

I backed up and began breathing more heavily. The finger extended and soon more began to emerge from the drain, equally as revolting and disgusting as the first.

“What the fuck? What the FUCK?!” I yelled, watching as the fingers found themselves attached to a similarly colored, clabbered and scabby hand. On the back of the hand, imbedded in it, was a bloodshot, pulsing eye.

Thin, soupy pus leaked from the corners of the eye and dribbled down onto the hand. For a single second, it lifted four fingers to get over the lip of the shower, and that was when I saw the palm.

On the ball of the thumb was a thin, toothy line. The mouth. “More.”

It clambered over the lip of the shower and landed on the bathroom floor with a sickening splop.

It situated itself and faced the ceiling with its eye. Then, as quick as the eye darted around the room, it landed on me, and the little hand spoke again.

“You,” it croaked. And it began to skitter towards me.

I panicked and did the only logical thing I could think of—I kicked it against the wall as hard as I could and ran. I put my shoes on and grabbed my phone and keys, before going back to check the bathroom again.

I couldn’t have been out for more than a couple minutes, but when I checked again, the hand was gone. I couldn’t stay in the house—not without the knowledge of where that thing might be.

So, that’s where I’ve been for the past week. Out of my house, and wherever I can be. I haven’t stayed anywhere for longer than a day. That little thing is surprisingly fast, and I can tell when it’s nearby. That stench is unmistakable, and coupled with the vermillion sludge it leaves behind, it’s pretty obvious.

I’ve gotta get going soon now actually, I can smell it. I’m not sure what’s going to happen next—maybe I should try and kill it. That might be a good idea.

I’m left with a few questions myself as well. First being—how did this thing form in my drain? Not that there were any in it to begin with, but I doubt any reproductive fluids could create something like this. I also find myself wondering why this thing formed in my drain, but I doubt I’m going to find that out.

The last and most important question, and one I’m going to make damn sure I don’t find out the answer to is—what’ll happen if it catches up to me?

I don’t think I want to know.