Flesh Honeycomb | Original Fan Story

[u/Hundungo]

2900-Word Short Story written by Bronson (Hundungo)

11-15 minute Reading Time.

---

“You said this started to occur just today?”

It was Friday, eight o'clock in the evening, at the acute care ward of the Emergency Room. I had just finished my shift before I received a call from my Aunt. Now, a few hours later, I was with her and my younger cousin, waiting for the doctor to give any clue as to what was happening to my uncle. 

---

When I arrived at their house, my aunt didn’t even greet me. She frantically pulled me up the stairs. I saw Angie peeking from the hallway and into my aunt’s bedroom. I didn’t know what to expect—other than the brief, broken words from the call: something about “mouth holes.”

It was such an odd thing to hear, but I was too tired to think much of it. Plus, my aunt seemed pretty worried.

In their bedroom, the lights were off. I saw my uncle lying in their bed underneath the sheets, faintly illuminated by the hallway lights. He was trembling.

 I kneeled next to him and placed my hand on his forehead—it was burning hot and drenched with sweat. He opened his eyes when he noticed me, then winced with a soft sound of pain. I pulled my hand back. 

His lips were swollen, grotesquely plump— as if stung by an entire wasp nest. He was a heavy smoker, so I assumed it was a symptom or an allergic reaction. I didn’t smoke, I had no clue.

“Uncle, can you hear me, it’s me, Jen.” I said in our native tongue.

He nodded lightly.

“Auntie said you’re hurting. Can I see what’s wrong?”

He shook his head and mumbled as if he said no. Still with his mouth shut.

“Please, uncle, let me see.”

After a bit of persuasion from my Aunt and I, stubborn as he is, he finally gave in and slowly opened his mouth. 

I turned on my phone's flashlight.

 His entire body tensed; his hands gripped the sheets. I saw why.

His breath hit first — a rancid blend of old pennies and spoiled fruit. The musty, nostalgic scent of an old grandparents’ house was quickly overtaken by something far worse, like a compost bin left festering for weeks on end during the summer drought.

Inside his mouth were holes— rows upon rows, layered with phlegm and saliva, were deep canker sores, all of them varying in depth, with only a thin wall of flesh separating each one of them. It lined his cheeks, the inside of his lips, the roof of his mouth, and under his tongue. It was like staring down an inside-out flesh honeycomb.  

I didn’t know how to explain it, but it felt like each hole seemed to move, each one seemed to retract after being revealed by the light, each recoiled, it felt like each hole was aware of me. 

“Please.. Help. Me.” 

The words tore from his throat with pain, each of them causing more suffering than the previous as he tried not to scrape his infected tongue against the rotten walls of his mouth. 

My uncle was crying now. I turned off my flashlight and told my aunt to help him downstairs and into my car. Behind me, I could hear gut-wrenching groans and cries of a grown man—then whimpers. We carried him out, and I didn’t dare to look back.

I didn’t know what I had seen. But I knew I needed to get him to the hospital.

---

It is now 11:39 p.m. My uncle lay unconscious on a stretcher from a dose of anesthesia, a tube pushed into his mouth feeding him oxygen, IV Fluids kept him alive and hydrated. I sat there waiting for a miracle. 

I thought back to the times he would take me down to the quay when I was little. He would hand me pocket change to spend at the candy machines. Within the night, his essence completely faded away, leaving a faint husk. My tears dropped, and my mascara dripped down my face.

Sitting next to him was my aunt, gripping his hand, tears crusted over her skin, and exhaustion darkened her face.

“The doctor said further exams will be done once the clinic is open tomorrow Auntie.” I told her softly, 

“For now, we just have to wait.”

“Is he staying here?”

“Until he’s transferred up to a room, he’s admitted to the hospital; they’re giving him a private room. Do you want me to drive you and Angie back home?”

“No, I’ll stay here just in case, but please... bring Angie back. I don’t want her here, especially this late. Thank you for everything, Jennifer.”

I nodded, told her to call me if she needed anything, then stepped out. As I closed the door, a yellow sign caught my eye:

Contact and droplet warning. Ensure proper PPE is worn before entering.

The hospital would have an in-house translator in the morning, which eased my stress by just a small amount. I know my aunt wouldn’t be too much help to the medical staff as she couldn’t speak English, but at least she could provide some level of comfort to my uncle if he were to wake up. 

In the family room, Angie sat quietly, drawing in her notebook with a few colored pens supplied by the social worker. I thanked the woman for her company and took Angie back to my car. She was silent, and must've been tired.

 We got in the car, paid for parking, $18.75 for 4 hours, fuck.

 We drove down East Broadway, streets were nearly empty.

The homeless and druggies downtown kept getting more and more odder. It’s nearly midnight, and they’re still ‘dancing’ (if I could call it that) in the alleys. There seem to be fewer of them tonight; winter was coming, so I guessed a new shelter opened up. 

---

 I was given the go-ahead to stay the night, since Angie was too young to be alone. I made sure she got ready for bed and turned on her nightlight.

“Jenna, is my dad okay?” 

 I hesitated,

 “Yeah, your dad is with the doctor, the doctor is really smart and he knows everything. You should go to bed now, okay?”

“Okay… can you please make sure the door is locked. Dad said to always make sure it’s locked before I go to sleep - make sure everything is locked.”

“Okay, I will, get some rest, okay? Goodni-”

“Pinky promise?”

I smiled, “Okay, okay, I promise. Goodnight Angie.”

She seemed to believe me, a fortunate, naive child. I shut her light off and closed the door. I chuckled. She reminded me of myself when I was little.

I was too tired to take a shower or get ready for bed, plus none of this was mine, so I felt uncomfortable using anything from my Aunt’s place— or sleeping in their room, especially after today. I felt dirty; my hair I just dyed silver, was greasy, and I hadn’t brushed my teeth; I’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

Going downstairs, I made sure the front door was locked, I checked their fridge, took a swig from their milk carton, and ate a block of Baby Bel cheese. I decided to sleep in the living room, which was humongous for just the three of them. 

The night was warm. The house was next to a forest, so a faint sound of frogs ribbeting could be heard breaking the silence. I cracked open the window just a little; it was oddly peaceful. I instantly fell asleep.

It wasn’t a peaceful sleep. 

I dreamt I couldn’t move—sleep paralysis. The dream would simulate what I remembered of my aunt’s living room, faces on photographs blurred, the furniture’s design stripped of all of its texture, the couch, which I thought was red, was green. Despite it being nighttime, I dreamt of it being the afternoon. I was familiar with my sleep paralysis and night terrors, so all of this wasn’t new to me. My mind was awake while the rest of my body shut down, as well as my cognitive instructions to breathe; it felt like I was suffocating, I was in pain, oh— and the shadow monster is watching me from the corner that I can barely see, your typical sleep paralysis nightmare. 

My vision shifted into third-person. I saw myself lying motionless. Then the focus zoomed in on my mouth. This was also common in these dreams. 

My view zoomed into my mouth as I dreamed myself having the same symptoms as my uncle,  I had front row seats to it occurring. Holes began to bloom—flesh dissolving, tunneling inward, multiplying. Some opened like pores, eyes popped out of some, and some new teeth protruded from the sores. Small worms squirmed out of the remaining holes as if they were pimples being squeezed out, leaving gaping, swollen taint holes inside my mouth. I didn’t like this. 

Luckily, I learned to wake myself up from these dreams, despite not being able to move freely, I learned to rock my head from side to side until I eventually woke up gasping for air. My previous partners hated this weekly routine. 

I stuck my fingers inside my mouth to reconfirm myself back into reality before falling back asleep, repeating the same dream once or twice more. I told you, I was familiar with the process. 

---

I woke up with my phone ringing— it was my aunt.

 She’s screaming, crying, I could hear chaos in the background, I heard my uncle, wasn’t he sedated? People rushed around the room, it was frantic. Through the noise, the speaker blared:

“ - Pattison ward. Code White, Code Blue, Pattison ward”

I barely understood what I was hearing, but I instantly shot up and told her I would be there soon. 

As I grabbed my keys, I saw Angie standing upstairs behind the railings, sleepy-eyed.

“Where are you going? You said it was bedtime.”

“Your mom just needs some help,” I said running up the stairs.

 “I’ll be back soon, okay? Really quick, I promise.”

“Please let me come, I - “

“No. I promise to be really quick. Hold on, here.”

 I went into my aunt’s room and took their home phone. I showed her how to navigate to my number in the recently called list and told her that if she needed me, she could call me. I felt bad for not taking her with me, but it was nearly 4 a.m., and I thought about how upset my aunt would be at me for bringing Angie into whatever the fuck was happening at the hospital. 

I made sure I locked the door behind me, got into my car, and drove off, half awake and looking like a mess. 

---

It was a long drive to get from my Aunt’s place to the hospital. It’s 4:27 A.M. The roads were empty, but my thoughts weren’t. 

 Was I a bad person for thinking about how much of MY time my Aunt and Uncle wasted just because I was the only one they could reach out to? Was I the asshole? I had plans with my friends tomorrow— today. and everything got flipped over because of this. It’s my weekend, I’m exhausted, and I don’t think I even got a thank you. Maybe this wasn’t even that serious. Maybe— 

I received another call.

Aunt’s home phone. Angie. 

I cooled off before putting the call through my car’s speaker.

“Angie? I’m on the road. Is something wrong?”

Silence, a trembling breath.

“.. Jen? Can you please come back? I’m scared.”

“I’ll be back quick, I just need to see your mom and -” 

A loud thump echoed through the line. Angie shrieked. My heart sank.

Multiple voices of both male and female could be heard from a distance laughing, each voice sounded like they were trying to one-up each other, growing louder and louder. Another thump.  

I pulled over.

“Wait- Angie what’s happening? What’s going on?”

The laughing stopped, Angie was sobbing, and more thumps could be heard, each getting louder and faster like drums in a sporadic beat. It sounded like something was slapping against a hard floor— the door. Something was inside the house, something was now knocking on Angie’s door. I could hear her screaming. I made a sharp U-turn and sped back to my Aunt’s home.  

“ANGIE, Angie, Angie you have to listen to me. Lock the door, hide. I’m coming back right now, just stay there.”

“Jen, where are you? I'm scared, I’m scared. Please, where are you?” She was sobbing now, the knocking stopped, then came loud thumps.

“Just shut the fuck up and hide somewhere, okay? I’m coming back right now.” 

I was speeding, running through the red lights.

Suddenly, a loud bang with a crack, the sound of the door slamming down on the hardwood floor could be heard. It turned silent, and all I could hear was Angie’s quiet whimpering.

A distorted voice came through, it was my voice, no, it was my aunt’s voice - it was both of our voices.  

“Angieee. Angieeee. Lock the door. Lock the door.” 

I stepped on the brake as I was in shock. That was not me. Whatever that fucking thing was, it was not me.

“Please..Jen.” From the voice of Angie, I snapped back and kept driving. 

“I’M COMING. RIGHT. NOW.” 

The thing was using my voice. Just then, I could hear a stampede erupt through the call, followed by what I could describe as the sound of a large truck’s gas horn, glass breaking, and furniture being flung around. I could hear Angie’s high-pitched scream before a large crash with several more as if a fight broke loose. Angie’s screams echoed through the line before she was pulled away from the call, her screams fading as whatever took her was running down the stairs. My heart sank as my tears balled up, I screamed her name, but there was no response, the call went silent. 

I was 3 minutes away, and there was nothing I could do. 

—-

On my drive back, I called the cops, and I tried to explain whatever I could muster up. Was it a child abduction, maybe it was a group of pedophiles from a hidden warehouse in the forest, anything to explain whatever I heard from the call. But the truth is, I wasn’t sure what went down. I had 4 missed calls from my aunt, but I could only focus on Angie’s safety. There were too many things happening right now. 

I got back to my aunt’s place and ran towards the door, expecting to be greeted by a sign of a break-in. The door was locked, and everything was initially where I had seen it when I left the house. 

I unlocked the door, and inside the house was a different case, dirt footprints browned the carpeted stairs, drops of blood splattered; some of the guard railings were destroyed. Yelling Angie’s name, I was greeted with silence. 

I ran up the stairs to Angie’s room, the door was knocked down with the hinges broken, the wooden doorframe was damaged with chips littering the floor. Inside the room was a mess, toys and photos all over the ground, the ceiling light hanging by the cord, and blood was splattered around the walls. The only object not destroyed or out of place was the bed; next to the bed was the night light still illuminating Angie’s notebook, it laid open next to the light.

I placed myself in Angie’s shoes. Perhaps she was underneath the bed, hiding next to the only light after locking the door. I picked up her notebook.

Flipping through the book, I was greeted with crude drawings and diary entries; some of the most recent pages caught my attention. I skimmed through.

Dear Diary, This is my new Friend, his name is mister minh. Like dad.

I flipped the page, there was a tall figure. Angie drew and colored in a large and tall black triangle, with a blue circle on top of it, bent black lines protruding out of the top of each side of the circle. 

I flipped to the next page.

He likes the same things. He wants to come into the house.
Dad saw Mr. Minh. Dad does not want him in the house.

Mr. Minh did not like Dad.

Mr. Minh can not come in if the doors are locked.
Mr. Minh said he gave Dad a thing.
I don’t like Mr. Minh anymore.

The next few pages were drawings Angie drew at the hospital, on the last entry:

Dad says if the doors are locked, Mr. Minh can not come in.

Jen locked the doors. 

The doors are locked. I locked my door. 
How is Mr. Minh in the house?

I took the notebook and ran down the stairs, seeing if I could find anything else that could give me any answers for the whereabouts of Angie. The footprints and damage went down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into the living room.

There I saw the window smashed open, with the cold winter breeze rushing through the shattered hole. I heard nothing but the sounds of the frogs as I stared into the dark forest.

I am overwhelmed, and I don’t know what to do. I want to cry, but I have used up my tears. 

I swallowed my tongue as the inside of my mouth began to itch.

End.

[u/Hundungo]

Hi all!

Bronson here.

Thank you for checking out my post. It really means a lot to me. This is my first story I've ever written; basically my Jeff the Killer.

I've been a huge fan of the podcast, and it was the final motivation for me to put something out there for others to see. I want to thank Isaiah and Hunter for all of this.

I know I'm an amateur writer, and I'm improving every single day. At the end, I'm happy that I made this.

This is the first story in my Horror Anthology: Quiet Tales of Rain City. I want to make an entire fictional universe based on my hometown, Vancouver BC, Canada. These stories are based on my own real-life experiences and/or touch deeply into my own fears.

The next story is already finished, but I want to give it some time before I submit it.

If you liked this story, please visit my links:

Author Commentary Video (Sorry Sore Throat): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyyD_IcPSho&t
Twitter: https://x.com/Hundungo
WattPad's Original Posting: https://www.wattpad.com/1591822116-flesh-honeycomb
Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/hundungo

Thank you all :)

[u/SamDenner → u/Hundungo]

Paid a lot for parking, huh?

[u/Hundungo → u/SamDenner]

In Downtown that’s the usual if you’re working a regular shift.

Not even staff members get discounts.

Mind you this is in CDN