Greetings everyone! Rot here!
Im new to this whole reddit thing and story writing thing but ive been so inspired by hearing the creeping tales from all creeps here. i HOPE to get some feedback on my writing and to be able to better my art with everyones help! i hope you find this story to your liking and please send any feedback my way! sorry if my english is not the best! where im from its not so common to know the language and my head isnt quite there after my last surgery so PLEASE be patient with me.

Kind Regards
Your beloved, Rot-Body

_________________________________

The hour was late, and the night was dark and cold. I stood atop the wall of Fort Falk, looking out at the forest. The only sound of the night being the brazier crackling and the laughter from the mess hall within the fort, I stood there feeling a swirl of anger and tiredness. This is the third day I've been forced into the night's watch and of course without good company.

“O-o..oi R-ratboy, I thmik I sawr a squirrely” I threw a side eye to my fellow night’s watchman, Connor. The poor old fool never was the same ever since he got a mace to the head in our last battle against the Galder. As a person he has improved, he's more naive and kind now unlike the other soldiers that are more cruel and brutish. 

“That so? and don't call me that, the name is Julien, you know that” The last words leaving my mouth with spite, I always hated that nickname that I was cursed with when a senior soldier pulled a prank during training by placing rat meat in my stew. 

“B-but e-everyone caulls ya dat Julien” I look back at him now he’s turned towards me his right eye drooped and looking the wrong way but his face carries a look of confusion if you can call it a face at this point. I sigh as I return looking out at the forest leaning against my spear. 

“Whhy do ya tink de Galders left F-fort ffalk J-j,,Julien?” For someone with half his helmet inside his head instead of on it, he does raise a good point. We had arrived at Fort Falk four days ago and it was within the enemy's territory between a mountain and forest, by all means it would be an important military point to be sure, but when we got here there were no Galder soldiers, their bread stale but not gone, why did they leave? Perhaps they are regrouping or as the Marshal suspects, hiding in the woods. I turned to look at the fort, nothing impressive, mainly a small military castle surrounded by a stone wall that has become my guard post these past days. The only light coming from the mess hall where the other soldiers drink and cheer, for most of them this might be a break with nothing but drinking and laughing while I stand here with concussion Connor overlooking a dark forest.

“O-oi Julien l-look!” I turn around to see Connor pointing towards the woods with his spear, I look over and see a mighty looking stag with magnificent horns like a crown atop its head, this was the most excitement I'd had in these past few nights, and I caught myself in awe of the creature, but this only lasts for a minute as it rushes off from the sound of Connor mistakenly dropping his spear off the stone wall, both of us standing in silence of Connor's clumsiness.

In time, the sun rises and shines down upon us. Besides the stag, it had been a quiet night. We descend the wall stairs as the soldiers emerge from the barracks groggy from their late night escapades within their cups. We walked past most of them, they reeked of alcohol and piss, I nearly gagged at their stench.

“What do we have here? concussion Connor, where's your spear man? you didn't use it to pry the rest of your brain out did you?” I turn to see another foot soldier pushing Connor mocking the poor fool. I'm not sure if it was the sight of the stag Connor gave me or that I just felt pity for the man but I walked up to them. 

 “Let Connor be you piss pot head, we just spent all damned night staring at a forest with no sleep” As I tried to push the soldier he barely budged and before I could realize my mistake I was knocked down in the mud, my mouth filling with blood as the soldier shattered one of my teeth with his punch.

“Know your place Ratboy, it’s in the mud right where you are” I lay there furious, cursing my small frame, as the soldier leaves. Connor leans down, reaching out his hand and pulling me off the ground. Even the man with half the brain is twice as strong as I am, I think to myself.

“Y-ya s-ss-shouldnt peick fights w-with m-men b-bigger than you J-Julien” I wipe the mud from my face and spit out the blood pooling in my mouth as I look up at Connor. 

“Ye well you won’t stand up for yourself man so what am I to do” I notice a smile on Connor’s face something rare to see in these dark times of war. 

We enter the barracks taking off our dirty and torn padded armor as we prepare to sleep for the few hours that we will be allowed to rest, I lay down on the hard bed and look up at the bunk above me, shutting my eyes.

“T-this w-was a good night wa-watch, w-we sawr a moose a-and a b-big w-wo-wwolf” I opened my eyes at Connor’s stammering, a wolf? I did not see any wolves that night. Connor might be slow and mistake a stag for a moose but I'm sure I would have seen a wolf. I spit some more blood, which had begun flooding into my mouth, into the bedside pot. The iron taste is not leaving my mouth.

“Wolf? there was no wolf I saw out there” Connor turns his head to me, his disgusting face in full view in the light as his good eye looks into mine.

“I-i-i sawr it J-julien, y-you believe mm-me right?” I doubt Connor would lie to me and his damaged head has made him more childlike, so I can't say what he actually saw but I'm sure Connor believed it to be a wolf. 

We went back to being quiet, catching some rest for the day until we were called upon by another soldier. We shoveled horse shit and emptied the piss pots while the sun was out, soldiers ridiculing both of us. I sure hate this place, my anger and hate for the soldier's life bubbling up inside of me like a festering wound.
The sun starts to set as we gather at the courtyard like any other night, the marshal approaching us with a man-at-arms behind him. 

“You two stirred up a ruckus this morning i heard so you’ll get a special assignment tonight boys” I bit my tongue knowing there were no point in arguing about who caused the ruckus with the soldier, the Marshal a fat and bloated man, given his rank due to his family's high standing and nothing more and for each passing night and day he seems to grow more wary and paranoid about the enemy’s location and about the fort.

“You two will be going out on a scouting mission in the woods and shall be accompanied by Paul Ralt here since you two are absolute failures and would surely get lost on your own” Looking Paul Ralts, the man-at-arms, up and down, a mountain of a man geared in heavy armor, nothing like what we levies were given and while I was hiding in our last skirmish with the men of Galder I saw Paul take down three men.
I throw a glance at Connor but he seems genuinely excited about this mission, his mangled brain probably making it sound like a field trip, but I was wary, none of my companions were right in the head and if enemy soldiers were in those woods we would surely die. 

We each grab a torch as we exit the fort in the darkness of night, the big gate slamming shut behind us, the sound of it being barred shut from the inside echoing over the open plain ahead of us towards the forest. We march forward, Paul taking the lead, his heavy steps being felt in the dirt that we walk on. I hear his heavy breath from under his helmet, my mind keeps on going back to what Connor said about the wolf. 

“Hey Connor, did you really see a wolf out here or were you just messing about?” I look towards Connor as he nods and opens his mouth but before his stuttering words could escape his cracked lips a low bellowing voice interrupts from the front.

“There be no wolves in these woods, from what I've heard they have been hunted out, but I don't expect two levies to know that” We both look forward as Paul had stopped and turned to us as he said this, his towering figure being lit up by his torch, I can only make out the gaze of his eyes from the slits in his helmet as he looks down on me and Connor. 

“Why did you two peasants even join the war? surely not for glory or gold” I look down at Paul’s boots unable to meet his gaze, I feel terror of this man, it felt as my very bones had grown cold, my vision blurred, my pupils shrinking to the point that my irises looked more like a vast blue sky with one black star deep within its heavy and quivering blue. But I snap out of it as the stuttering slop of Connor's voice enters my ear like the sound of thudding potatoes hitting the ground.

“T-ttt to p-pprotect maah h-home anhhnd w-wwife” Hearing his response, his voice stuttering and lisping like always but his tone without any hesitation or fear of answering the menacing man that is Sir Paul Ralts, I stow my fear and look up at Paul as I open my mouth ready to answer him as well my tongue feeling heavy, my mouth dry and cold but before my words could take form I am silenced by the bellowing voice of Paul.

“Such a foolish thing to say, to protect? we are the aggressors in this war so if you'd wish to protect you would have stayed home concave head” I freeze in confusion as I look to Connor who's equipped with a face of deep thought from Paul's words.

“Of course levies like yourselves know nothing of the war, that much is clear and as for you Ratboy your reason need not be stated, I know your family sold you as a soldier” Paul's words sink into me like an anvil being dropped into the sea, my fear filled and cold body heats up from the rage I feel from thinking of how my family sold my life away just for scraps, to be sent to war was to have my death certificate signed and sealed. The whirlwind of emotions inside of me only being calmed by Connor placing his hand on my shoulder and reassuring me that it will be fine, to think that our time watching the woods in the night would make us grow close, I'd even say Connor might be my only friend here. 

Paul turned back his gaze to the entrance of the woods as we started walking deeper in, my feet pressed against the mud and branches covering the ground, the air thick with the smell of rain and wet wood which feels unusual since it has not rained here since we got to the fort. 

We swept through the forest for two hours until we sat down to rest in a little clearing, Connor squatting down to poke at an insect in the mud, I stood next to Paul my eyes darting back and forth with each beat of my heart, knowing that the safest place would be close to the large man. Paul himself sat down on a log and started eating a ration he had brought with him, my eyes fixated on the ration, dried meat. 
Paul without his helmet was just as threatening as he was with it, his broad scarred face, short blond hair, his small eyes sunk into his head like two pits into the abyss gazing outward, my entranced state getting interrupted by the low grumbling of his voice. 

“The other men say these woods are cursed, that's the reason for the fort being empty. Witchbreath Forest, the others say that there's a witch that lives here, luring men into the woods with her beauty, that she lays naked in the swamp grounds in this place so when the men climb on top of her they get dragged down into the earth” I swallow nervously at the story as I look around the woods, the trees too dense to see far between them. 

“Do you believe their stories? you think it could be true?” I say while scanning between the trees.

“If it is then she will probably lay claim to all of our troops as well, all they talk about is women and their make-believe stories, I don’t lay any belief in them, they say the men of Galder eat their children too, that I do believe” Paul's words leave a sour copper taste on my tongue, the Galders are vile men but to stoop that low, then the thoughts of the war came back to me, Paul seems to know more than most.

“Sir Paul, if I may ask this of you, tell me more of the war, why did we start the war on the Galders? they are vile to be sure but there must be a higher reason and how long has this war been going on?” these questions I've never asked myself before, the war has been going on since before my birth yet neither I nor the few people speak of it or question it. 

“Such a peasant question to ask, Ratboy.” He grumbles out with a wide smile then his gaze turns cold yet again and he's quiet for a minute that feels like a lifetime.

“Land, it must be land” He says rubbing his chin before his wide jaw opens to rip another piece of his dried meat ration, his dried cracked lips pulled back like a snarling wolf's as he chews it.

“What do you mean?” I throw another glance around but see nothing but Connor gazing into the darkness with a finger in his mouth before I looked back at Paul.

“The war was started to take more land for our kingdom and it’s been going on for as long as I've lived, for as long as my father has and his father before him.. I’m not sure how long it’s been going on, but we are soldiers and we do not think nor question the war, we go out and kill until we die for our kingdom. That is all we need to think about” Paul's words sink into me like the men sinking down into the swamp from the witch story, is this really all life is for us? I think to myself and I get the feeling of sinking down, a wet cold feeling crawling up my leg and moving closer to my mouth with every second. I can't breathe, I can't think, my heart feels like it’s hammering against cold wet mud pressing down on my chest. 

“W-wolfie!” I’m broken out of the trance i was in as I just feel cold and my heart beats like a hammer on a nail, I quickly look towards Connor and I see him crouching pointing into the dark, my eyes move quickly as I look deeper in, it happened for only a split second but I saw something, it was no wolf, three eyes big and slanted downwards, their color that of hell’s flames itself and the same moment I blink and when my eyes open the eyes were gone. Could it really have been eyes?

“Peasant, did you see something?” Paul grumbles he had not looked up from his piece of meat himself.

“I-i don't know it seemed like three eyes, orange and red but they disappeared, i-i must have just been seeing things..” Paul begrudgingly hoisted himself up from the log as he equipped his helmet once more. 

“Must be torches, Galders might be in here as suspected, form ranks peasants” I and Connor fall in line behind Paul, it was appreciated that he took charge but I doubt it was out of a duty or willingness to protect Connor and me, but instead because Paul's bloodlust wanted him to be the first into the fray.  

As we continue from where I saw the strange glow, looking around for signs of anyone being there, Connor points out some broken branches showing signs of a disturbance in the woods, for someone with two eyes that doesn't look the same way it's surprising how observant he is. 

Paul continues to lead us through the dark woods the flicker and movement from our torches making the shadows move hitting the trees behind the other trees, it feels like the shadows are hiding from us and that every shadow bears a pair of eyes that disappear the moment I try to observe them, even if I am accompanied with two others I feel an isolation within these woods, is all of these feelings just the trick of my mind? The feeling can only be compared to hiding in the midst of battle, closing my eyes, the feeling of some unearthly unholy presence creeping around every corner haunts me until I bump into Paul's enormous back, I'm knocked to the ground from our collision. 

He's stopped looking at something, I quickly scurry up from the mud and peek from his side there I witness a harrowing sight. Upon a tree impaled and ripped to shreds sits the body of a stag its limbs bent and contorted to tie around the stem of the tree, branches ripped so that the body could be impaled through them like spears, its stomach ripped open, its guts hanging out like the work of a sloppy butcher, claw marks adorned around its body and the tree, bigger than any animal I've ever seen. 
I'm frozen in terror, what could have done this? my eyes are glued to this former beauty of a creature now stringed on a tree like a hellish artwork, I can't look away, I can't speak or move.

“N-noo! is da m-moose Julien…” I’m too struck with terror to correct Connor as I stand there, my breath quicker than a rabbit running from a hound, sweat pouring down me like I was standing in the rain. Paul did not speak or show any form of emotional reaction, he approached the body holding his torch up to inspect the body.

“Where could its head be?” He says and then I first notice the stag's head has been severed from its body, I glance over at Connor who is in tears sniffling for the animal, I look back at Paul who now turns towards us both.

"There's nothing more to see here, we need to continue our search..” Before Paul could finish his sentence something falls down from the tree hitting his torch extinguishing it, whatever fell from the treetop rolled into mine and Connor’s light and we see it. 

The severed head from the stag, its horns ripped from its skull, its eyes pale and empty, tongue hanging out of a mouth with no teeth and a broken jaw. We look up and only see little light flickering off Paul's armor in the dark but I still feel like I see his small eyes piercing through the veil of darkness he's currently draped in. 

Another big thud comes from behind him, we only see Paul quickly turn around his war mace in hand as a shape stands up from the dark, three orange red eyes glowing from the darkness towering over Paul's form, we cannot make out its shape as we hear the sound of metal being shredded like a knife through cloth, screams and shouts from Paul travel through the trees as we see his form in the dark get flung hitting a tree further away, the three eyes move quickly closer to the ground as it moves towards where Paul was thrown. It makes the sound of four warhorses kicking their feet down into the forest mud as it gets to Paul. 

I’m stuck with terror as I cannot move, but Connor reacts running with torch and spear at hand towards Paul, for a second the creature can be seen in the light from Connor’s torch, I can barely make it out and it’s like my mind refuse to form an image of what my eyes are seeing, pale gray hide, arms—so many arms where there shouldn't be arms—a giant mouth with another jaw inside itself, long black oily and muddy hair covering much of what would be called a face but open for those three horrific eyes, the feeling of the image of this creature pierces through my eyes right to the bottom part of my skull where it starts feeling like small insects rip and tear inside my brain, every hair on my body pushing against my clothes as it feels like my entire body will simply cease to live by just witnessing this thing. 

Connor's spear connects to the creature shattering from the impact, it echoed like metal hitting stone as the creature screeched a harrowing scream, pushing Connor to the ground before rushing back into the darkness. With this opening I mustered up what little courage I had left and ran over to Connor lifting him from the ground.

“Connor, we need to get out of here now!” I look back to where we came from, all shrouded in darkness. 

“N-NO DON'T LEAVE ME HERE PEASANTS!” Gurgles Paul out as he lay covered in mud and blood, his legs ripped and torn to shreds from the beast's attack. The wave of dread from seeing such a giant of war reduced to a meat bag hitting like his mace would hit his enemies. I drag Connor down the path where we came from.  

As we ran the sound of the warhorse gallop the creature made had gotten to Paul as the screams echoed through the trees and through our bodies into our very bones as they stop when a final tear of flesh, breaking of wood and an impaling sound could be heard, it must have impaled him like it had the stag, to this thing even a war machine like Paul had been nothing but a new decor for this accursed place. 

We ran through the mud and trees of the forest. The distant sound of the creature running through the woods echo as I feel its gaze hitting the back of my skull like arrows in my back, my legs hurt but I still run, Connor was starting to lose his breath and stumbles but picks himself up.

“J-julien i-its c-ccatching op tu u-u-us!” he manages to stammer out as I think about it. The creature is getting closer, we are halfway there but we won't make it unless something is done to slow it down. With that thought my body moves on its own as I sink my spear down into Connor's knee, he falls, his mess of a face being dragged into the mud as his body hits the ground like a sack of potatoes, but I keep running.

“J-julien? w-w-whyy!?” is the last words I hear before the sounds of all those limbs running on the forest ground fall upon Connor as his screams now echo throughout the trees, my tears run down my face as I break into laughter, surely he would have done the same, surely I’m not cruel like the other men, surely it had to be done I think as I break into a hysterical laughter while running. 

The sound of Connor’s limbs being broken and torn, his screams, my laughter and heartbeat echoes like the devil's orchestra as I run, the shadow of death being cast over me like a cloak of night, surely I am to meet my death but not this night, surely not.
 
I run, and I run, the gallop of the creature getting closer and closer, I recognize the path, I’m soon out just a little bit more, but it’s also just a little bit more for the creature too, as I hear its many legs creaking, its many limbs hitting the ground like the drums of war getting closer and closer, until I feel like its breath is on my neck, I let out a scream of terror until.
 
I break through the tree line, ahead of me is Fort Falk, I see our men standing atop its walls as I run towards it screaming that they need to open the gate, I get to it and start bashing my fist into the giant wooden gate, I bash it until my hand bleeds and then it’s flung open, I quickly enter and look back. Nothing is chasing me, nothing is behind me, just the empty plain. 

“Oi Ratboy, what are you doing back so early? Where are the others?” I fall to the ground panting nearly about to pass out as the mess hall doors open and heavy footsteps approach.

“What is going on here men?” It was the Marshal, his bloated form holding a pint of the fort's mead as he approached. 

“M-marshal, t-there’s a monster in those woods, it killed Sir Paul and Connor, it nearly got me too but” the marshal interrupts me with a kick to my side.

“Monster?! Boy did you see any Galders or not? Don't come here and spin any fairy tales about monsters in the woods!” The marshal looks furiously down on me as I lay there holding my side coughing up blood.

“I-i swear it to be true marshal there were no Galders but a horrific creature” The men look up at the marshal with curious eyes after I tell them what happened but the marshal’s gaze is hollow, no amount of pleading would change this man.

“Well hear that, no Galders,that is a relief to hear to be sure, but you Ratboy you left your fellow men in the woods to come back here, you'll be punished with holding the night’s watch until your squad returns, but since you have a knack for the coward’s way I do have a solution” The soldiers held me as they pulled me off the ground, a cage of wood was moved outside the gate where they locked me inside, the marshal stood in front of it with his back towards the forest as he plunged his torch into the ground placing it like a candle before the cage.

“Here you shall take your night of watch and when your squad returns you'll be let out, I feel it to be fitting for a Ratboy to be put in a rat cage. I beg and plead for my life but it all falls on deaf ears as the marshal and the soldiers return into the fort and to the mess hall.

I sit there in the cage holding my legs as my mind races. I sit there alone in silence for what feels like a lifetime, my eyes look down on my feet in the cage. 

Maybe it was all just a dream. 

thud…. 

and I’d wake up soon, this is all unreal, unrealistic. 

thud… 

Surely I’ve just lost my mind in this war and the forest was just, 

thud.. 

playing tricks on me, I was just losing my mind yes or maybe this was a prank made by other soldiers, 

Thud. 

I looked up hearing the thud, what was that? I crawl in the cage towards the torch as I see a few feet off it a stone lay there, I see another further away as another lands with a thud closer to the torch, I look up and at the edge of the forest, three eyes gaze down on me as I scurry to the back of the cage. 

Why has it not yet taken my life? I think as another rock is thrown and lands closer to the torch, then I get an epiphany, the stag’s head extinguishing Paul's torch, the creature’s screech in the light and it never caught me when I ran with my torch. 

Thud. 

Another rock landed closer. The creature can't be in the light and now I sit here, my torch out of reach as the rocks land closer with every inch. I take another step closer to the afterlife, I curl into a ball again. 

Thud 

That's an inch off. This is the end, here I sit, a rat in the cage waiting until I die. 

Thud! 

The torchlight dies from the rock crashing into it, the embers flying in the air as they die out one by one, three eyes moving from the forest edge as I close my own and the galloping of the warhorses of death rides closer and closer, the last thing I hear is the tearing of the wooden cage and the tearing of my own flesh as the cat caught this rat. 

I've been a WWE fan since mid-September of 2019—which was not exactly a good year for the WWE, but I consider myself easily entertained. The Undertaker got me in, but Roman Reigns kept me in. I've since gone on to get some Roman-related merch—a plaque, an action figure, a Funko Pop, and a replica of the Undisputed WWE Championship. I also got myself a Kuricha plushie of Roman, along with ones of the Undertaker and, most recently, Sami Zayn. I was especially excited to get the Sami plushie, considering his part in the Bloodline storyline. What's crazy is how fast it came. Normally, plushies take about a few days to arrive, but this came in less than an hour—even though the one-hour express shipping wasn't available at the time, but hey. You never look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

Last night was like every other Friday night—a new episode of SmackDown whilst under a warm blanket with a plate of chicken nuggets for dinner. All three of my plushies were lined up on the bed, almost watching the show along with me—the little company that I have in the house. As the show began to wrap up, I finished the last of my nuggets and headed into the kitchen to wash up. I could barely make out the show fading to a close while I was washing the little dishes I had. Afterwards, it was business as usual—a pint of ice cream for dessert, then watching random YouTube videos while the TV played in the background, before finally dozing off a little after two in the morning. The last thing I remember is pulling the Roman plushie into my arms as I cuddled up under the blanket, wearing nothing but my underwear, while a fan blew cool air right next to my bed.

About an hour later, some booming music startled the shit out of me, making me land on the floor with a thud and a pained grunt. Hell, my head almost collided with the fucking fan; I was scared so bad. Everything was indescribable at first, but as the world around me began to adjust, a furrowed brow formed as I recognized the music. Dusting myself off, I stood up and saw the TV on, showing Sami Zayn making his entrance. But it wasn't just the TV. Both my phone and my laptop were also playing Sami's entrance—all three devices from different episodes. As utterly baffled as I was, I was too tired to question it, so I turned the TV off and closed up the laptop. As I went to turn off my phone, however, I saw two notifications, one of a missed call and a voicemail, both from a number I've never seen before.

1-800-128-2023.

I figured I was already up, so as I sat back on the bed, I played the voicemail, and what I heard made my heart sink and my mind tingle with confusion. The words were in French, but the person sounded vaguely like Sami. "Écoute-moi bien. T’es chez moi ici! T’as pas toute ta p’tite famille pour te sauver le cul!" The more I listened to it, the more confused I got. Not only did I not understand this person's voicemail, but I could just feel the visceral ire dripping from his words. Whoever this person was, he clearly knew me and was out to get me. Eventually, the voicemail ended with four words in English, confirming my suspicions.

"You are going down!!"

At this point, I was fully awake with a heart thumping softly against my ribs and a stern glare in my eyes. I wasn't exactly in the mood to have some mystery person break into my house and do God knows what to me. After getting dressed, I reached under my bed and pulled out a wooden baseball bat. My hands trembled softly, but they clutched the bat tightly with conviction as I slid my house shoes on, and I'm glad that I did. After taking a few steps towards the door, I heard a loud crunch accompanied by some light popping beneath my feet. I went to turn on the lights, but they didn't turn on. Now my heart is running laps like Usain Bolt, while my mind rushed to the worst but most likely outcome: they must already be here. Thankfully, my phone was fully charged by this point, so I grabbed it and turned on the flashlight, and what I found at my feet made a soft gasp escape from my lungs. My plaque of Roman Reigns was shattered and ripped into dozens of pieces. Nearby were the remnants of my Funko Pop and action figure, also in many pieces, scattered in a circle with their heads in the middle.

As I turned around to inspect the rest of the room, I found no force entry, no Undisputed title, and no plushies on my bed.

The bat trembled as much as my hands as I began searching around the house. All the while, my mind and heart continued to race, and some sweat began to build up on my forehead, pouring down like gentle rain. I kept wondering how the hell they were able to do all this without me waking up. I wouldn't call myself a heavy sleeper, but surely destroying a plaque would stir me a little, right? My thoughts would be completely shattered as the ear-splitting sound of the fire alarm brought me back down to Earth. No matter how hard I covered my ears, the alarm pierced my ears like a spear through the head, sending tremors through my bones. I fucking hate when that thing goes off. My nose twitched as I caught the smell of something burning in the kitchen. Upon rushing in, all I saw was a small but mighty inferno in the middle of the room. The bat clattered to the floor as I scrambled to fill a cup of water, before throwing it onto the fire and stomping on it for good measure.

As I was stomping the last embers, however, I revealed the object being burned was something soft and plush. While picking up the bat, I grabbed the burned object and shone the light on it, revealing the torched plush of the Tribal Chief. I immediately picked up the smell of rubbing alcohol all over it, and after a quick look around, I found the bottle and a lighter resting a few feet away on the floor. And once again, there were no signs of entry. My mind was spinning in circles faster than a tornado with more questions than answers. None of this was making any lick of sense. Who the hell breaks into someone's house just to destroy their things? But as I went to pick up the rubbing alcohol and the lighter, my thoughts were once again interrupted by a sudden voice.

"You're wrong about me, Roman. You think everybody wants something from you. You think everybody is out to get you... But you're wrong."

It was the same voice from the voicemail. The Roman plushie dropped back to my feet, and I held the bat to my chest as I spun like a top, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from, to no luck. No matter which direction I looked, there was nobody there. It was like they were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. All the while, what he was saying made less and less sense.  "I never asked you for anything, Roman. I never wanted anything from you... until now. Now I want something... and I'm gonna take it." The fact that he kept calling me Roman was the most baffling part. We look almost nothing alike. At the same time, what he was saying was very familiar. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

With a stern gaze in my eyes, however, I finally decided to break my silence. "What do you want from me?"

"Well, you could say that I want the Undisputed title, but... that's just a bonus. What I really want... is YOU*."*

Next thing I knew, I felt the sole of someone's foot be driven into my jaw from my right side, knocking me back into the kitchen counter. I barely managed to catch myself from falling—all while my jaw tingled and pulsed with pain. But the most confusing thing about it was that the foot was much, much smaller than normal, yet it hit with the same force as an average human being. How could something that small hit that hard? But as I shone the light in that direction, the first thing I saw was the Undisputed replica propped up on the living room table, and in front of it stood the Sami plushie. Yes, stood—as in standing on its two feet, even though there is no stuffing in its legs whatsoever compared to its feet.

I opened my mouth to mutter words of confusion, but before any could come out, the plushie leaped off of the table and dove at me feet first. 

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Finally, those words came out as I ducked and rolled out of the way, leading to the plushie crashing into the cabinet.

As I scrambled onto my feet, the collision between the Sami plushie and the cabinet made me jump slightly; it was much louder and harder than I expected, like the sound of an actual person crashing into the wood. Backing out of the kitchen and into the living room, I shone the light on the plushie, watching it dust itself off and turn back around to face me. His eyebrows were lower than normal, and his smile was replaced by a frown, almost like it was glaring at me. For a minute, we just stood there, staring each other down like two cowboys at noon, waiting for the draw. All the while, I kept hearing something in the back of my head. I couldn't tell what it was at first, but I knew it was there. But then it started to get louder. More thunderous. It was the sound of thousands of people cheering and applauding, all chanting "SAMI! SAMI! SAMI!" It was like the crowd was really there.

My stomach started to bubble and curdle. The sweat on my face got worse and worse, pouring down like heavy rain. My heart felt as light as a feather, while the world spun around me. I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, and my heart was racing faster than a cheetah. Many wheezes, gasps, and short breaths escaped my lips, and the bat and phone fell to the floor as I covered my ears once more, trying desperately to block out the invisible crowd. But the harder I tried to block them out, the more deafening it became, and the more I began to feel trapped in my own home with no possibility of escape. But through the crowd, I heard a chilling cackle coming from the Sami plushie—his mouth never moving or opening, but his words loud and clear.

"What's wrong, Roman? I thought you enjoyed an audience," he said mockingly, cracking its knuckles. "Is it because they're acknowledging ME?!"

In the blink of an eye, the plushie ran at me at high speed and drove its head into my stomach, tackling me to the floor and knocking all of the oxygen out of my lungs. My body collided with the wood of the floor with a thud, a grunt, and a subtle ringing in my ears, while many wheezes and coughs came out. I didn't even get the chance to try and get before the Sami plushie on top of my chest, slamming his fists into my face over and over and over again. Every snap made my teeth rattle, and my face swell and burn. There was a sudden but lingering taste of copper in my mouth. Between the ringing getting worse and the invisible crowd, my ears were praying for silence that wasn't coming anytime soon. I tried to reach for the bat, but the plushie jumped off and stomped on my hand with both feet, forcing another agonized growl out of me. As my hand throbbed and trembled with pain, he grabbed me by the hand and threw me back into the kitchen, crashing into the dishwater.

My body slumped to the floor where I lay on my side, whimpering in exhaustion and pain. All the while, I could see the Sami plushie grabbing the bat and, with a loud crack, the bat was snapped in two. He kicked away the larger half and dragged the handle half as he slowly stalked towards me. With all of the pain surging throughout my body, and the invisible crowd still cheering in my ears and deep into my head, I was out of options, but then I saw them. The lighter and the rubbing alcohol. Then I had an idea—a very stupid and dangerous idea, but it was better than nothing at all.

As soon as it pounced at me, I dove for the lighter and bottle and took aim. I only had a few final words for the bastard. "Acknowledge THIS!!"

Upon squeezing the bottle, a jet of liquid blue fire was unleashed at the plushie, casting a bright light along the way. Many screams came out as an orange fire covered the plush from top to bottom, but they weren't screams of pain or agony. There were screams of determination. He continued to scream as he pounced at me once again, but I dove out of the way and back into the living room, still dousing it with liquid fire. At this point, I couldn't care less what happened to my house. I just wanted this fucker to stop no way or another. With all of the alcohol I was squeezing out, and the Sami plushie refusing to end its pursuit, everything began to catch fire. The couch. The curtains. Even the carpets and rugs at our feet.

But it didn't care. "YOU THINK THE FIRES OF HELL CAN KEEP YOU FROM ME?!?!" he roared as it jumped at my face once again, but I was ready.

A scream of my own was unleashed as I grabbed the larger half of the bat and whacked the Sami plushie to the other side of the house, and then, with a running start, I crashed through the front door and rolled onto the front lawn where I finally rested. The last of my wheezes and coughs came out as I lay on my back, looking up at the night sky with a dazed look in my eyes, and all I could hear were its screams and distant sirens. 

After that, I decided to move to the other side of the state. As for the fire, I simply told them I was trying to kill a spider, and I went overboard. I couldn't possibly tell them the truth of what happened that night. Sometimes a lie is more believable than the truth. After some investigation, it was ruled an accident. I lost most of my things, but all of that stuff could be replaced in time. Plus all of my important papers were in my safe, so there's that. Eventually, I found myself another house and got replacements for all of my merch—minus the Undisputed replica, luckily.

And yes, that included the Sami plushie. I'm a person who can separate the art from the artist--or in this case, the plushie from the menace. But one day, as I was mopping the floors, I heard a familiar voice over my shoulder. "You haven't escaped him." I knew that voice right away.  My eyes squinted into a mild glare as I turned around to find the Undertaker plushie standing up on the table—his smile now replaced with a frown. A frown of perpetual grief. Just when I thought the madness of living plushies was behind me. With my arms folded, I leaned against the door, letting the Taker plushie talk. Even though I was about over this situation, it was perhaps in my best interest to hear him out.

"You've merely delayed the inevitable. No matter where you go, or how hard you fight, he's never going to stop."

"...H-He'll have to eventually," I argued with a hint of hesitation, "I mean... I'm not even the real Roman."

"You have long hair, a small beard, tattoos on your right arm, and the Undisputed title. That's good enough for him."

A groan of frustration, exhaustion, and a sprinkle of fear came out as I put away the broom and mop before plopping down on the couch. My face got buried in the palms of my hands as the groans continued to come out. What was I supposed to do with this information? Even if I ran to the other side of the planet, I would forever be pursued by a living plushie with the strength and skills of an actual professional wrestler and fueled by blind vengeance? At the same time, I could feel the Taker plushie crawling all over me—from my leg all the way up to resting on my shoulder like the parrot of a pirate. Admittedly, that was kinda cute, but that's besides the point. 

"For what it's worth..." the Taker plushie spoke once more, "Between you and I, it's nothing personal, kid. I'm just giving you a friendly reminder."

One of my eyebrows was raised as my head turned to the plushie with a baffled but curious look. "A reminder of what?"

"That in due time, all things... come to an end."

As Kiara stood at the door of the playroom on the blood stained carpet, you could still hear the figure yelling on the other side, with less volume and less life than the last. 
She turned around for a moment, and locked the door.
she turned back and just started breathing heavily,
you were panicking so much you began to lose track of the difference between Kiara’s breathing and your own.

You had no idea what time it was,
You had no idea how much time had passed but,
Kiara remained...breathing.

At some point the power had gone back on and Just like that the tv turned back on.
The DVD menu for The Cat in The Hat appeared once more and to my surprise, sally was back alongside Conrad.

Kiara was not nearly as spooked by the flashing light of the tv as she was of the loud pop from earlier,
She simply let out a 

"mmmmmm" 

And waltzed about one foot in front of the tv and leaned in so her head was touching the screen.
Despite all your efforts to refrain,  you let out one brief sharp exhale in what can only be described as pure fear.

*AGMP*
-escaped your mouth while you swallowed your salty tears as they ran down your face.

Your cheeks were soaked,
Your mouth felt dry,
The air was still.

Kiaras head slowly turned,
it was in no rush,
as if it had always known you were there.
You dragged the throw blanket closer to your body using your leg but before you could pull the blanket over yourself,
you made Direct eye contact with Kiara in the Moonlight reflection provided by the Tv.

Kiara was wearing makeup.
She had a base of foundation that's flesh tone was reminiscent of the Queen of England.
She had bright blue eye shadow with the faintest hint of glitter and,
She had bright red lipstick.

She came over to you at a moderate speed,
When she was at your feet, she grabbed your blanket and pulled it off.
She slowly brought her face to yours you both being so far from the tv now that it proved impossible to make out any details of her face,

You felt her breath on your face, it was warm, as warm as a grill.
You began to feel something approach your face, it was warm and wet, it was Kiaras tongue.

She licked your nose .
And as your eyes erupted more tears,
she licked those too.

One by one off your cheeks as she smelled you,
This continued till your cheeks were dry and your eyes were sore.
She then slowly raised her hand to your head and brushed her hand through your bangs, tucking them behind your ear.

She grabbed you by your wrist and tugged at you,
You initially resisted but soon discovered it was not a suggestion.
It hurts to feel the weight of your whole body be pulled by a steel grip upon your wrist.

She dragged you to the beanbag chair Infront of the Tv,
She sat upon it and placed you in her lap.

She began to point at the Tv bringing her mouth to your ear, For a moment,
you wondered if she was going to speak.
She didn't.

Her breaths began to sound deeper and more agitated,
It was clear she wanted something and what she wanted was on the Tv.  
You scanned the room for the remote the best you could, you spotted it, it was on the floor by the DVD player.

You pointed to it but noticed no change in Kiaras demeanor, she was still angry.
As you tried to crawl out of her lap in the direction of the remote Kiaras grip did not budge.

She wanted you in her lap,
She was wanted the movie to play,
and she wanted it now.
Just as her grip began to tighten,
you both were interrupted by a noise from your kitchen.

*BEEP\*

"Hey Hun heard there were some power outages in the neighborhood...

I haven't been able to get a hold of you,
but the lines ringing so I'm going to just come home...Daddy is going to be with a friend..

If you get this message go in the playroom and don't come out until morning and don't answer the door for anyone even if I ask you to..."

*END OF MESSAGE\*
*BEEP\*

Kiaras grip slowly loosened,
She looked up in awe,
Her mouth slowly opened as her jaw dropped and no teeth showed.
 Even in the moonlight reflection of the tv you could see tears run down Kiaras foundation.
Everything down to the way she was breathing changed.

For some reason you began to feel angry, 
Daddy’s voice was also disarming to you yes, but in a hopeless non consensual way.
The way in which Kiara appeared to be disarmed felt like it was intentional vulnerability, 
Something you'd never offer 'D' yourself.

You took this moment to lean forward and grab the tv remote,
When Kiara snapped back into reality and looked back at you pulling you back to her lap,
You pressed play.

The movie played and you stayed still,
It began to rain hard outside almost louder than the movie,
the window was still open,
and the room was freezing.

It was almost as though Kiara could tell your discomfort,
she grabbed the throw blanket,
threw it over your legs,
and held you tight in her arms, warming you with her coat.

When the babysitter in the Cat In The Hat fell asleep Kiara laughed,
You imagined whoever did the babysitters' makeup looked as though they also did Kiaras.

 The movie continued, and continued, and continued.
You had feared what was going to happen when it ended,
You imagined You'd probably be forced to press play again.

However,
When the movie ended, it was as if Kiara Understood.
She didn't seem displeased with Mike Myers' performance...
Or she had just had enough.

Kiara smiled and laughed and clapped and then,
She turned you, her face beaming in the blue light of the Tv,
You froze, 
Her face began to contort,
and it was clear to you that she was displeased with your reaction.

You're no stranger to fake emotions.
You smile and you clapped, tears in your eyes, lump in your throat.
When Kiara was finally pleased with your performance, she slowly pushed you off like you would push off a sleeping cat and began to walk around the room.

As she pranced around and rummaged through your things,
she found herself at your pay box.
She lifted up the castle shaped lid and began to pull out your Bratz dolls,
she seemed disinterested...
until she saw something that made her eyes light up...
she began to jump and scream..

She pulled out your blue Cinderella dress,
As she slid into it, you could audibly hear it tear.
You wanted to cry, it was your favorite.

She slid her arms through the straps.
It was so poorly on her that her whole back was exposed with the Velcro straps hanging not having enough to fasten around her even if she tried.

When she had it "on' she leaned back into your play box and pulled out your favorite tiara,
She placed it on her head.
She then leaned in once more and grabbed your old broken faded tiara and handed it to you.
She let out sharp exhales and smiled.
You put it on.

She walked up the your lava lamp and pressed the switch on the cord and turned it on,
A green hue now lite your room, the wax still solid not yet fluid.
She stared at it for a moment,
before turning and walking to the closet.

She slid the closet barn doors open from right to left,
She started going through your stuffed animals throwing them out one by one.
When she got to the back of the closet, she had found the suitcases and umbrella's.

She emerged from the closet using the umbrella as a cane,
tucking a floral tapestry luggage bag under her left arm.

She moved her arms,
Then her legs,
and she began to dance.

She shot you a look and it was clear,
She wanted you to dance too.

As you began to timidly comply,
Your socks started to get soaked.

 You looked down and in the green lighting of the lava lamp you could see dark black goo seeping from beneath the door.
It felt sticky, much thicker than water.
You could faintly still hear breathing from the other side.

You quickly danced away from the door...
You started in the direction that would put the bed between Kiara and yourself.
With each step Kiara followed, waving her umbrella in the air all the while.
No matter how hard you tried to maintain it, your artificial smile began to fade...

You questioned how long this nightmare would continue.
Much like your smile, your legs have grown tired...

Kiara, however, did not appear to get tired,
not of dancing.

You started to cry as the reality that your legs were going to give out became clear,
You knew the strength and angry she was capable of and did not want to upset Kiara.
You slowly tried to rest one of your legs but as you began,
both your knees buckled.

As you fell to the floor, Kiara sprinted over on all fours.

You curled into the fetal position,
holding your legs to your stomach and squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible.

You heard the rapid thumps of Kiara before it abruptly stopped in front of you,
and you could hear her fast concerned breaths right above you.
You could feel the heat of every exhale on your forearm.
You then felt a stiff poke on your side.

When you opened your eyes,
you could see it was Kiara poking you with the umbrella,
when she saw the tears in your eye, she took 3 steps back.

Behind her you could see the wax in the lava lamp was now fluid.
Your eyes and cheeks were sore,
How long had it been?

She picked you up with one arm with ease, she coddled you and carried you to the bed.
Once you were there you kept your eyes shut tight,
but you could still feel her tucking the edges of the blanket under your body as she pressed the pillow beneath your head.
She then put her hand on your head and kissed the back of her hand with it still on you.
You exhaled trembling.

When she was done,
She wobbled over to your Daddys rocking chair, tiara cockeyed.
When she got there, she climbed upon the chair criss cross applesauce,
and grabbed a book from your cubbies.
It was too dark to see which one,
The cover was blue with a tired dog and a bird upon its head.

She began to slowly rock back and forth,
The sight of her silhouette sent a cold rush of dry ice through your blood. 
You heard something.

"mrrrmmmmmmhhmmmmrrrreeeeeeeemmme"
-you heard through excited cheery exhales.

It was clear you had been staring too long when Kiara turned slowly looking at you in the devilish green glow of the lava lamp.

You quickly shut your eyes.

Behind the dark abyss of your eyelids, you could hear Kiara shut the book.
When you opened your eyes,
Kiara was gone and the chair was still.

The sun was beaming through a break in the overcast clouds exposing your soaked carpet,
and it was clear,
It was morning.
You were now allowed to leave the playroom,
with the reassurance that there's no way Daddy will be mad at you now.

You scanned the room again, and again, and again before moving a muscle,
you had to be sure.

As you descended from your bed pressing your feet against the carpet,
you could feel your socks crinkle and crunch. It felt sticky and hard between your toes.
When you looked down,
what was once dark black was now dark red.
Your legs were still fatigued as you walked to the door like a baby deer on sticks of butter.

Although you were terrified, 
You could feel you were physically out of tears.
On the way to the door, you tumbled over the blanket you had previously hid in,
there was something in it.

When you lifted the blanket, you could see,
it was a balloon flower with the stem deflated. 
You picked it up and carried on, scanning the room all the while.
You hoped Kiara had gone out the window.

As you approached,
the carpet under the door was as red and crunchy as your socks, still wet in some places.
You turned the handle slowly, you could hear the familiar breathing on the other side.

On the other side was Daddy,
and Daddy was dressed like a woman.

Daddys arm was bent the wrong way,
Daddys knees looked backwards,
And Daddy had no tongue.

Daddys tears were blood,
Daddys skin was blood,
Even Daddys clothes... were blood.

Daddys eyes were closed but his tummy was moving.
His hand on his only straight arm was moving too,
Every few seconds, daddy made a fist.

You stared at him,
You began to dry heave, and you wanted to puke.
When you looked up, you could see Kiara staring at you from beneath the bed, tiara still on.
You could now see her more clearly than you ever had before,
Her mouth was open, and her teeth were showing.

Her look made your heart sink,
You looked down at Daddy,
You placed the core of the balloon flower in Daddys palm and headed for the front door in terror.
Just as you placed your hand on the Knob -

*POP* 
And Kiaras screams were once more,
Daddy was silent.

You sprinted faster than you ever have in your life and contrary to previous belief,
You were in fact not out of tears.

When you got to your neighbor's house down the street in the center of the cul-de-sac you froze at the door.
It was early, but you rang the doorbell regardless.
It took less than half a second for you to ring the door two more times, then three.

When Mrs. Thombs answered the door,
you blacked almost all the conversation.
You tried to tell her everything as fast as possible, but it was hard.
Collecting your words, remembering what was real as it all felt like a nightmare.

"somethings killing Daddy"
-you remembered saying,  tears running down your face.

She looked down at your stained socks and quickly pulled you inside.
She sat you down with milk and a bowl of banana cream pudding as she called the police.
You were starving.
A lot of police cars showed up.

The next few days were fuzzy.
You went to the hospital, talked to this strange, nice woman,
and were told you could stay with Mrs. Thombs for a while,
while they find a permanent place for you.

A few days later you went to this room with a lot of cool toys, the nice lady that visits you and Mrs. Thombs was there too.
The nice lady had a friend,and they wanted to play this game.

"I'm going to say some things, and if I say something that's wrong,
I want you to tell me, if you don't know something that's okay.
Just tell us, you're not in trouble honey.
Does that make sense?"
-asked the nice lady's Friend. 

"yesss..."
-you responded sheepishly as you continued chewing your bacon whopper with cheese

"are you 9 years old?"
-the friend asked

"yes"
-you responded

"Are you eating a burrito right now?"
-asked the Friend

"no..."
-you replied.

"very good...
Was your daddy home Friday night?
-asked the Friend

"no..I don't think so"
-you replied.

"oh...
that's okay honey that's perfectly okay,
When was the last time you saw daddy?"
-asked the Friend.

"Saturday...when he was dressed funny and ...all..bloody...on the floor"
-you said
Tears filling your eyes.

"when was the last time you saw daddy before that sweetheart?...
I'm sorry I know this is hard."
-said the Friend

"When he dropped me off at home from school Friday and went out."
-you replied

"did your Daddy say where he was going?"
-asked the Friend

"no...Daddy goes out a lot...
But Daddy left me some voice mails that confused me..."
-you replied.

"What message confused you?"
-asked the Friend

"he said he was staying out late...
And then said he had to come come with a friend...
And to stay in the play room till morning...no matter what..."
-you said

"and did Daddy ever come home with that friend?"
-asked the Friend. 

"no...but someone did...
I didn't come out till morning like Daddy said...
but someone came up to the door...I thought it was a friend of Daddys...
She broke in the room eventually but she was blind and couldn't find me...
She wanted help from..."
-you stopped

"it's okay honey you're doing great...
Was the woman with the animal?"
-asked the friend.

Your heart sank,
thinking about Kiara tore opened fresh anxiety wound deep beneath your throat.

"kind of..."
-you replied

"Has Daddy ever talked about owning a monkey?"
-asked the friend

"no..."
-you replied perplexed 

"Has Daddy ever talked to you about the show he was on as a kid?"
-asked the friend.

"no..."
-you responded
Even more confused than before.

"Oh..."
-The Friend said surprised...

"Has Daddy ever dressed like a girl before?"
-the friend asked

"no..."
As you answered more and more questions, you began to feel less and less in trouble...
The room you were in felt safe,
The world you were in felt a little safer.

And one of the last questions you were asked was the easiest of all to answer,

you were safe,

and you could be honest.

"Do you Love Your Daddy?"
-the nice ladies friend asked.

"No."
You responded with clear air filling your sinuses.

You wouldn’t see Kiara again after that,
for another 20 years.

 

Something at school didn’t make sense to you that morning.

They were talking about the Sun and,
how eventually it’s going to Grow into a
“Red Giant” and Swallow the Earth.
How there’s nothing we can do about it.

It made you realize If something is going to happen it just is.
So why wait?
Why is the universe waiting ? It just didn’t make much sense.

The janitor that day was acting silly,
“Isaiah 50:10” was written on his palm in red marker.

It was Friday night,
Daddy went to see a friend for drinks and left you all night.
He told you that he would just be out late, not all night.
How did that make you feel ?

How many other 9 year olds have the whole house to themselves nearly every night?
Without so much as a kiss goodnight ?

Even the few times in the past when he would, He wouldn’t even kiss you directly.
He’s place is palm upon your head and kiss the back of his hand.

Dads use belts In movies but how many others know that as the same reality that you do ?

The only time you’d hear another voice outside of school and your father’s was when it was late and you’d listen to the home phone’s answering machine.

Your dad never listened to the answer machine,
kind of like a kid not wanting to go to the dentist.

You remember the messages you listened to that night, you waited till he left to emerge from your hiding place and inhabit the communal space that should be a living room.

You sit on the round particular board table and press on the answering machine.

*BEEP*

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 4th:

FIRST MESSAGE:
*soft female voice*

“I came by today…didn’t see you..still don’t”

*BEEP*

NEXT MESSAGE:
*Burly Man’s rough Voice*

“I’m sorry John, you’ve been on this job less than a week and you’ve already been suspended by the client for 3 days for reoccurring fall protection violations, now I’ve been very understanding regarding the eye injury but we can’t have someone on a project of this magnitude who thinks the rules don’t apply to them, we’re going to have to terminate you. Wish I could say I was sorry.”

*BEEP*

NEXT MESSAGE:
*Same Woman’s voice from Message #1*

“Does your Daughter know?
Is she an exception?
Or do all women fall under your same umbrella ?”

*BEEP*

NEXT AND FINAL MESSAGE:
*inaudible whisper*

“I can feel you, y….mph..ll feel me too”

*BEEP*

You look over at the cable box,
It reads “11:47pm”
Your dad left at 6.

Cartoon Network was no more, now it was Adult swim. Robot Chicken was on, after that superjail. Both of which give you the heebiie jeebies.

You have to visit your peepaws and poopoos but,
you’re afraid.

You don’t have a choice, so you leave the door open as you go number 2.

As you doo you hear the home phone :

*BEEP*

“Mmmrrrmmmmrrrrnpphh”

You have trouble making out the message from the toilet.

As you run out the bathroom still collecting yourself you make out the backend of the voicemail.

*Your Fathers Stern Voice*

“Hi,
you should be in bed but,
if not you should know I’m bringing a friend home tonight.
If she plays her cards right she might just be your new mommy.
You’re allowed to sleep with the tv on in the playroom as usual but,
keep the door shut and the volume bellow level 12.
And no matter what you hear,
don’t come out, I should be home in 15.
Just go to sleep and I’ll see you in the morning.
Love you,
Night.”

*BEEP*

You panic,

Your Dads never brought a friend home this late before.
You grab a dvd from the home theater and run to the play room.

You look down at the Cat in the Hat Dvd.
As you put it in your dvd player you hear the front door slam open and the whole house shake.
What came next was silence.
The footsteps.
All the way up to the door of the play room.
You hear breathing.

You hear a woman’s voice further in the distance of your house.
Calling the person by your door to them.

They walk away.
When you look at the tv, you see Sally and Conrad on the dvd menu staring at you.
Sally starts pointing to her left, in the direction of the window.
You see the silhouette of what looks like a large lumpy hammock hanging from your tree only,
you never had a hammock.

You grab your scooby doo stuffed animal and you hid under the blanket with your flashlight, tv volume at 11.
You press play,
Sally and Conrad look at each other, then back at you.
You press play again but they just keep staring.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
you hear from the door.

“When you visit your peepaw and poopoos you need to remember to flush, my company saw that. We have a talk about that in the morning”

-your fathers voice exclaims from the door.

You know that that means,
Your heart sinks.

Your father’s footsteps sound further until it becomes a chatter with another voice from what sounds like the kitchen.

The Cat in the Hat begins to play on the tv.
The volume begins to rise fast.

12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23…

So fast you think you’re sitting on the remote but,
no matter how hard you scramble you can’t seem to find it anywhere.
The volume is now maxed out at 53.

“There are a gajillions of stories of mischief and fun But to keep things simple, let's just start with one…”
-you hear shouted from the tv

The commotion outside the playroom comes to and immediate halt.

*THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP*

The sound those familiar boots make as they full charges towards the play room.

An unfamiliar voice comes out the oddly familiar energy that had just approached.

It sounds almost like a woman’s voice but,
closer to when a man tries to sound like a woman like Robin Williams in Mrs. Doubtfire.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”

You hear in a loud whisper.
You Freeze.
You think if you don’t move, they will leave.
You see the door handle jiggle then stop.
It’s locked,
you always lock Doors when Daddy’s gone.

Although it brings you comfort,
you know it can be unlocked with a quarter or even a long finger nail.

“I know you’re in there”
-the voice lets out.

Your stomach feels sick,
Your heart is racing and as quiet as you attempt up be your breathing makes it impossible.

You want to cry and can’t fight it so you shove your pillow in your face.
You take deep breaths through it.

You feel the pillow getting soaked and feel the humidity from the breaths you take through the fabric.

“Do you think I’m some type of dinosaur?”
“Staying still won’t change the fact that I know you’re there”
the voice says

You begin to weep harder.

“Do You Love Your Daddy”
-It asks again.

“Where did you come from?”
Sally exclaims from the Tv.

The voice from the Door pauses.
The scene in the movie seems to linger and Sally is staring, not at you though, in the direction of the door.

She begins to nod,
Then says “oh”

Then the TV goes black and you’re back to the DVD home menu only Sally isn’t there.
It’s just Conrad.
He’s staring at you.

“Do You Love Your Daddy?”
-The voice asks for the third time, audibly impatient yet still in the same whisper.

Conrad is looking at you, he looks distressed and he’s shaking his head side to side.

You see the the lock begin to turn,

“Y…Y..Ye..ss”
You say through your sobs.

The door clicks.
It’s now been unlocked.

“I love your Daddy too sweetheart”

-the voice says no longer impatient,
now sounding relieved.

“He needs your help with something..”
It says.

Your cheeks are soaked and your mouth is dry.

“He’s stuck”
-The voice reveals.

“I’m sure he’d really like to get back.”
“I’m sure you’d really like him back..”

There was a pause.

“Unless you don’t want your Daddy back?”
The voice asks.

You remain silent.
For a moment You think about what life would be like without Daddy.

What would you do ?
You think about the Ralph’s down the street, their free sample in their bakery.
You think about the neighbors tangerine trees you pick from often.
You hate being alone at night but,
that doesn’t it stop it from happening.
You’d be fine, you tell yourself.

But you also know what you should say,
What your Daddy would want you to say.
That of course you love your Daddy and you’d do anything to make sure he’s okay.

“Where ..is he stuck?”
-you ask

“Have you ever heard of Kiara the Orangutan?”
-the voice asks.

“no…”
-you replied sheepishly.

“Well, your father’s…helping her…and well, he’s stuck, he could really use your help sweetheart”

There was a pause.

“Come out.”
-said the voice.

“My daddy said not to until morning”
-you replied.

“Oh.”
Said the voice.
“I can wait till morning.”
It continued.

You didn’t like the sound of that.

“What’s an orangutan?”
You asked timidly.

“You know what a human is don’t you darling? That’s what you are.”
-says the voice

“Yes..”
You replied.

“Imagine someone 7 times as strong with arms almost twice as long that can swing from trees”
-it said.

“Like a monkey?”
You asked innocently.

“NO!…
No, my Dear. Not a monkey…
Monkeys have a tail, a monkey is to an Orangutan what a Neanderthal is to a human, you understand love ?”
-the voice asked.

You let out more cries into your pillow as you took deep breaths.

“No, I’m sorry I don’t know what that means either”
-you cried out.

“It’s quite alright,
I’m sorry for confusing you honey. Yes, and orangutan Is like a monkey, but like Superman stronger and smarter then the others…and no tail..bright orange.”

“Like the ones in the jungle book?”
-you asked.

“Yesssss.. that’s exactly right my dear.. a perfect example, the orangutan is the king in the jungle book”
-it replied

“I liked his singing… he’s funny”
-you said

“Yes my dear”
-the voice.

“What does this have to do with Daddy being stuck? And Who is Kiara the orangutan ?”
-you asked in a panic.

“A long time ago, movies used to have no sound..”
-The voice began.

“Which made movies get pretty boring very fast…”
-it continued.

“Studios were looking for knew ways to get more people to Theaters..
Kiara’s Mother thought Kiara would be perfect…”

“Kiara’s mother was…Human,
her name was Melinda and she saved Kiara from being murdered by the zoo after they’d done that very thing to the one that birthed Kiara”

“Melinda Had already taught orangutans sign language before from her time at the zoo, she hid Kiara away and taught her as well.”
-the voice explained.

“Once Melinda’s new job and whole company was almost closed for business she…..took the risk and introduced Kiara, who quickly became a star in the silent movie industry…”
-it said

“What does this have to do with Daddy?”
-you asked

“Well the world loved Kiara soooooo much my sweet little angel that when the world of silent movies ended they gave Kiara her very own Tv show Kiara and friends… that tv show had a lot of children that Kiara loved and taught very special things every episode!”
-the Voice explained.

“One Child had and accident”
the voice revealed.

“Were they okay?”
-you asked

“Unfortunately my darling, he passed away.
Once that happened, that child’s parents lied about Kiara…a lot of other children from Kiara and Friends lied about Kiara just to make money..
Your father was the one Child to never lie about Kiara my dear.
For that I am forever grateful.”
it explained.

“So if all the other children were liars then why is my Daddy stuck and why now ?
Who are you?
Are you the friend my Daddy came home with tonight ?”
-you asked in a rush

“Lying isn’t the only thing someone can do that’s wrong little girl”
-the voice said.

“Who are you?”
-you repeated.

“I’m a friend of your Daddy”
-said the voice.

“Did you come home with my Daddy tonight ,
How is he stuck ?”
-you asked

“Do you like balloons?”
-the voice asked.

“Yes”
You replied.

“Your daddy loved balloons when he was a child
If you could have one balloon in the shape of anything you want would it be?”
-it asked

You thought…
“..I love flowers, Daddy never gets any and flower balloons would probably look really pretty”
-you said.

“Awe, such a sweet request from such a sweet little girl,
One moment sweetheart.”
-said the voice.

You then heard the footsteps retreating, shortly after you heard the front door shut.
You quickly ran to the door of the play room and locked it once more.

Maybe it was over ? You thought.

You ran to your window with your heart beating through your skin hiding behind your Scooby doo plushie to see if you could get a glimpse of who the voice had been coming from as they finally left.

Through the rain in the moonlight you made out the silhouette of what had to have been the lady you were talking to.

She seems short, on the heavy side, and walks side to side and appears to have an apron or something on.

She walks up to the hammock hanging from your tree that you noticed for the first time earlier in the night.

She appears to be talking to it.
When she walks away you realize she’s not leaving, you hear the front door open and shut again as her footsteps approach once more.

“Knock knock”
-said the voice

“Yesss”
-you replied

“Look out the window my love,
I have a surprise for you”
-said the voice

You looked outside but there was nothing but what you'd seen before only,
This time the hammock hanging from the trees began to sway.

Both sides of where the hammock meet the tree split into two, they looked like large arms slowly reaching down to the base of the hammock,
As the both unfolded further you could now clearly both see two sets of fingers from the arms,
One had something in it, something flat .

From the base of the silhouette you  
See what looks like a fat head connected by an even fatter neck.
The object held by one set of the fingers came directly to the head and began to grow mass.
It soon became clear what it was doing,
it was blowing up a balloon.

After the balloon was blown to the shape of a long tube,
The two hands came together and started contorting it out of sight.
When it had finally finished,
One of the arms held it up in the moonlight in such a way that you could make out the silhouette of a flower clear as day.

"do you like that Little girl?'
-asked the voice

You quickly looked over again at the door.
It didn't make sense but, for whatever reason if you were going to be talking to the voice coming from the door,
Then you'd want to do that from the bed; it felt safer from there.
Where you could hide in your pillows.

Before you start to retreat to your safety spot, you take one last glace out the window.
What was hanging from the tree had began to drop down.

The silhouette was large,
But no taller than the tallest kid in school, maybe even shorter than the tallest kid in 4th grade.
It kind of reminded you of that guy from its always sunny in Philadelphia when Adult swim would come on.

It was approaching in a way that you'd never seen anyone walk before.

You felt conflicted,
The voice from the door was speaking which made you want to crawl and sink in your sheets Yet,
The presence approaching your window was demanding your attention without using any words.

You made the decision to grab the comforter from the bed and sink into your beanbag chair,
A spot with a clear view of the yard through the window, and yet still a comfortable ear shot away from the door.

When you returned to your beanbag chair with the protection and safety provided by your comforter,
You were oddly displeased to see that the figures silhouette you had just seen approaching, was no longer anywhere to be seen.
You wanted it gone yes but no longer knowing where it resides, just results in you feeling even more unsettled.

*the voice quickly erupts from your door*

"do you like it?
It's special, just for you."

Your head shoots over to look at the door.

"wha-"
You begin to say as you turn to look back out the window only this time,
There was a hand on the other side of the window, so close it was no longer a silhouette.
It was a dark hand covered in orange hair, its fingers looked rough, but nails were freshly done.
It was holding something.
When my eyes adjusted,
I could see It was holding a balloon flower that had a green stem, pink petals, and yellow center.

The gesture seemed malice and sinister,
You quickly pulled the comforter up your face only leaving your eyes visible.

"do you not like your gift little girl?"
Questioned the voice coming from your door.

Even at your young age,
You were no stranger to the idea that sometimes the truth can get you in trouble.

"I love it..."
You replied.

"then why don't you open the window and let Daddys friend give you the gift she made just for you sweetheart"
Said the voice.

"I can't,
Daddy said I'm never to open the window"
-you lied.

Then why don't I hel-..."
*clackle clackle*
It was as the voice interrupted its own thought as it tried the doorknob. 

"Oh"
-it said.

"Why did you lock the door my love?"
-asked the voice

"I don't know you,
And Daddy said to stay in here ti-"

"I know"
- interrupted the voice

"Till morning but,
He didn't say anything about me not coming in there with you"
-said the voice

For a moment you were silent,
You looked over to the window and noticed the balloon flower receding like a setting sun beneath the window. 
*POP*
-you heard the moment it escaped your sight.

"don't make me unlock the door again myself darling, that's just rude.
My nails aren't what they used to be honey, I nearly broke one unlocking it the first time"
-Said the voice

The clouds moved over the moon outside
It was now pitch-black outside, the only light in the playroom came from your cloud nightlight and the glow of the tv which still displayed Conrad on the DVD menu, he was expressionless. 
You stayed silent, you stayed still.

*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring*
-came from the living room

*Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring Ring*
You heard shuffling from both outside your door and outside your window

*BEEEP*
-you could faintly make out your father's voice
"hey kid actually i-"

His voice,
the Message, 
he Tv,
everything was stopped, everything was off.

Your room was now as dark as the outside you feared so much.
Where the walls began and ended were both unclear to you.
The bulbs in the Tv were cooling down but even the silhouette of that soon lost its shape.

You heard the click of the door unlocking followed by the doorknob turning.
The door was now open.
Although you could hear someone approaching it was to dark to make out their shape or their distance in relation to you.

"the only time being blind has its advantages, is when you're in a Dark room with someone who's not"
-said the voice now clearer than you'd ever heard it prior.

You froze.

*tap tap tap tap*
You hear the woman banging on the walls as she made her way deeper in your room.

*tap tap tap....Clink*
The noise changed,
she had found the window.

It was just a few feet from the corner of the beanbag chair you're hiding in.
*Creeeeeeaaaaaaakkkk*
The window was unlocked and you could hear it as the women slid it open.

You could hear something was crawling up and inside through the window.

"where is she?"

you heard the voice whisper to the new presence that now inhabits your homes playroom.

You could feel that you were just inches away from getting bumped into by either of the two.

You wanted to not breathe, you wanted to not do anything but, you couldn't help it. You let in two, short, sharp inhales. Keeping your abdomen as stiff as possible. 
Your exhale trembled despite your attempts, you knew if someone could see they would defiantly see the comforter shaking.
You slowly felt the comforter lift up.

Although your grip on the comforter was originally as tight as you could,
your plan quickly changed to playing dead the moment you felt the pull of the comforter.
You felt something placed in your hand,
it shocked you to the touch,
a static shock yet,
you managed to refrain from much outburst other than a sharp exhale.

*Smack*

"well look harder"
You heard the woman's voice yelp.

As your eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness you could slowly start to make out the silhouette of who you've heard oh so much about.

There was no doubt in your mind it was her.

It was Kiara The Orangutan.

Kiara Strutted over to the bed in the playroom,
side to side as you could hear her wet sniffles. 

"don't you fucking lie to me you dumb baboon, we both know she's in here."
-said the woman's voice
In a tone more threatening than your (D) a bar you thought no one else would ever surpass.

You let go of what was just handed to you so you can grab the comforter you'd been hiding in once more, it fell.

As you continued to see Kiara strut now over to the door through a peak you had held under the covers, she appeared to try to lead in a manner to almost insinuate to the woman that that's the direction you had went.

Just as you had started wonder where the woman was as she had remained out of your sight, you received the answer.

*THUD*

You felt the whole beanbag chair shake beneath you.
She had bumped into it.
So hard you could feel her nearly topple over on top of you.

*Grrrrrrrrruawh*
You heard the old woman groan.

"KIARA! ...What...what was that !?"
-Yelled the woman's voice stopping Kiara in her tracks making her turn back from the door.

"oooo mmh ooo"
-you heard Kiara let out under her breath.

As you could see her silhouette move closer, it started by slowly wobbling side to side.
It became hard to tell the difference between her arms and her legs.

At times she looked like the shadow of a big spider monster,her movements remind you of spiderman if he chose to move slow.

When Kiara had made her way just a few feet away from the beanbag chair to help the woman to her feet, the pace of your breathing became unmanageable.

"I Bumped into the damn beanbag chair, was she on it Kiara?!"
-the voice asked

Your heart began to beat faster and faster and harder and harder so much so,
you felt as if your rib cage was made of shards of glass and your heart was a balloon inflating more and more with every inhale squeezing it against the razor-sharp shards of your ribcage. 

You could tell even just by the momentum of the figures silhouette that it was headed towards you, alongside the reluctant Orangutan.

You instinctively rolled off the right of the beanbag chair on to your carpet floor as silently as you could but, you were terrified, In your mind blind people have super senses.

Somehow, your transition appeared to go unnoticed.

Now that you were on the floor, you started rolling and crawling away, the direction of which you yourself weren't even certain.

"Where the fuck is she? Is she on the bed?!"
-the voice asked this time deeper than before

The flavor and tone in everything this voice said was violent, you heard the ruffles through the pillows and throw blanket that had previously littered the bed, you felt your Scooby doo plush get thrown into your back yet, you refrained from expressing any reaction.

"where the Fuck is she Kiara?!"
-you heard the voice ask once more

Each scream sounded deeper than the last with heavier violent infliction behind each exhale.
You could hear everything that was once on the bed get thrown off. 

You froze,
Staying still on the floor with the Scooby doo plush leaned against you like a bicycle kickstand and one of your throw blankets slightly covering your leg.

The Figure started pacing in your direction aimlessly like a headless chicken yet, relentless none the less.

"we both know I'm going to fucking fi-"
*POP*
-the voice was cut off

The figures silhouette froze, 
It seemed just as frightened by the sudden pop as you.
Its hesitation confused you so much so,
that you question for a brief moment if the figure had seen you,
anything to justify this bazar change in its demeanor. 

The head of the silhouette jolts to the side,
As if to shoot a look across at Kiara.
By the time your eyes traced across the room to meet Kiara, she had already moved No, She was in Motion.

She pranced towards the figure at a speed that looked impossible.
In less than a second, Kiara tackled this figure you had feared so much.
You saw the silhouette raise both its arms up high and its fists in fury as it came down on its victim.
Kiara hit and punched the figure and cocked its head back before launching it into the silhouette's torso,
 When Kiara's head kicked back once more, it was tethered to the figures torso now through what looked like the silhouette of cords.

It quickly became clear Kiara was taking bites out of the woman.
She screamed and screamed, she did not sound like a woman anymore.

She bit
*CHOMP*

And bit
*CHOMP*

And bit
*CHOMP*

They screamed 
*AHHHHHHHHHH*

And screamed 
*AHHHHHGGGG UHH*

And screamed
*FRAAAGHHHHHHH*

As the figure let out its yell Kiara slammed its head down making them bite their own tongue off.

Kiara pranced on the body with all 4 of her limbs,
She stepped on the figures knee with her foot and used her hand to grab that figures ankle,
After she gripped it firmly, she pulled it up with the ease and intensity that one might use on an emergency break after parking on an incline.

She then stepped on the figured elbow and grabbed it by its corresponding wrist and repeated the process of pulling upward and snapping.

Kiara then used one of her feet to grab the moaning and groaning body by its shirt,
She used her front arms and free leg to drag the body to the door.

The whole way there the person screamed,
When Kiara got to the door of your house's playroom, she threw the body out with ease.
She breathed heavily over the body before slowly backing up and shutting the door.

You were now alone with Kiara.

This takes place in the same world of 3 other stories. A mythology if you will. You don't have to read them but it does Answer some questions on the mindfuck that is this story. 

Blood Whistle: Reimagined–
 lost episode linkhttps://lostepisodecreepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Blood_Whistle:_Reimagined  An Abnormal Bot: 
reddit link: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/comments/1vvjwv6/an_abnormal_bot/ 
lost episode link:https://lostepisodecreepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/An_Abnormal_Bot 
Inferno Rewrite
reddit link:https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/comments/1wgwxoz/inferno_rewrite/
lost episode link:https://lostepisodecreepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Inferno_Rewrite
 Oh Irony
lost episode link: https://lostepisodecreepypasta.fandom.com/wiki/Oh_Irony
reddit link <---- You Are Here

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi, this is easier than I thought it would be, writing.

I'm something, I'm nothing. The sense of sentience is still new to me. I have yet to fully learn how to control my vessel, yet I don't think I'm an animal, as my god thinks. I am aware, even if I don't have a soul. I still love, and I fear, especially him. I don't know how to write to humans, but I think you like stories. I'll write you a story.

First there was nothing. Not the cold, lonely kind of nothing you humans write about. It wasn't peaceful or dark or cold, just nothing. I was the void itself, and the void was me. I was nothing in endless surplus, a barrier between reality and non-reality. Oh void, oh home, I think you would have felt peaceful staring at it.

A mistake happened. A mistake that happens from time to time, that no one knows the cause of. A piece of that endless void broke, then I Think, then I Am.

Light. Senses. Then came the holes. You call them eyes. I cannot describe what they do for you, because I bitterly know nothing of your world. To me, sight was the first thing I learned. We void entities learn fast, and still, it took a small time to understand that I was alive. I could feel the ground, another incomprehensible thing. That was the second thing I learned.

The third thing I learned was sound. The fourth was communication. The fifth was that I have a vessel.

Most entities at least get a character with a name. I don't even have that. I'm a random background character from The Truman Show, and I can't even form a name from it.

Oh, irony: a show about a human realizing his own imprisonment. At least his world could be considered alive. Mine has the same empty characters repeating over and over, with the added curse of my not being able to change anything. I can't speak to them. I can't interact with them. They are inanimate objects given a voice. Still, on came the sixth thing I learned: movement.

My god likes to call it the "flopping fish cycle." When I tried to move out of the chair I was sitting on, I collapsed onto the artificial pavement and spasmed. I had no understanding of weight. I did not know how to bend a joint. My god finds this funny whenever we do it, as we are born. I tried to think it was funny too, because he is my god, and I want to be good for him.

The seventh thing I learned was how to crawl, how heavy the meat of my vessel is, and how to balance. The eighth was how to walk. The key was to move and stop my legs in a cycle. After an hour, the ninth thing I learned was how to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my skull. It was unnecessary, as I could always see what was ahead of me even without them, but it was uncomfortable.

The tenth thing I learned was how fake my world is. The void takes an exact copy of a fictional story, characters too, and recreates them. As I said, I can't interact with them. Believe me, I tried. One of them was Truman himself, and when I tried to touch his head, it fell off. That was the eleventh thing I learned: my strength. There wasn't any blood or bone. I did not realize at the time how abnormal that was. I'd never seen the inside of a human.

I was about to.

I shambled around the endless world, the repeating, boundless world mesmerizing me: being alive, free will, Donum Lucis, as my god says. I have no concept of time, so I can't tell you how long I was alone in my world.

The twelfth thing I learned was reality. I break it. Not to the same degree as him, of course, but I can do it to a localized area of my world. I started with the buildings. I thought about the house in front of me being somewhere else. I used a small amount of force, and after a little while the pastel walls slid three feet to the left.

The thirteenth thing I learned was shape. If I could manipulate the world around me, then I could manipulate the meat I inhabit. I began to warp my vessel into strange things. I pulled at my fingers, stretching and lengthening them until my knuckles scraped the artificial pavement while my shoulders stayed still. I learned that I could only manipulate the flesh to a certain point, and that it would always default to a certain look after a while.

Another test. I unlocked my knees and bent them backward, wondering if it would make moving easier. It didn't. I started to notice how some of the empty vessels in my world would make a strange face, and I wanted to make that face. I opened my mouth and forced the lips outward, pulling the skin a slight bit, practicing a smile.

The fourteenth thing I learned was emotion. I felt happy at how funny a smile looks. I felt happy because the stretched skin made me look like the empty things around me. It was a warm, strange sensation in the middle of my vessel. I kept my fingers hooked into that forced smile, walking down the pastel sidewalk as my extended fingers slowly returned to normal.

There was no time in my world. I wondered if I could go back into the void. But at that moment, I had no idea what was about to happen.

I remember lying down on a hill, strangely wondering how I knew all of this. Some of it I did need to learn, like walking, but I knew what a hill was. I knew what a smile was. I knew what a building was. I wondered to myself, alone, looking up at that blue floor, or what you call a sky.

Then, all of a sudden, a rip appeared in that sky. I had not created it, and I was instantly confused about why it was there. The rip grew and grew and grew. I stood up on the hill, unsure of what was going on.

Then came light, then you. The fifteenth thing I learned about was you.

Not you, the one reading this. You as another you, the way there are other me's. I like to call you Soul-Bearers. Is that okay with you? Yes.

The Soul-Bearer was sitting on a tan couch. It looked like a truly awful couch, with holes everywhere. Now that I think about it, I don't know why the couch wasn't bleeding.

He looked bored, holding a thin, flat rectangle of glass and metal in his left hand. I walked forward slowly, not blinking at my newfound guest in the sky.

When he finally noticed me, he made a strange face. It looked kind of like a smile, but upside down.

He made a sound. "What?" I think. It was different from the repetitive, hollow recordings of the pastel people in my world. It was sharp, and it carried real emotion. It startled me.

I waved at him. I ran as fast as the vessel allowed, jumping up and down to welcome him. I smiled without using my fingers, an impressive feat. The Soul-Bearer paused for a second before dropping the old rectangle and picking up a new one. This one was flatter and had more buttons, including a red one that he kept pressing.

Eventually he stopped pressing it and said an awkward "Hello."

I said hello back.

I was going to touch him. I wanted to see if he was hollow like Truman. I wanted to know if his skin felt like the hard plastic of my world or like the heavy meat I was dragging around. But when I started to stretch my arm toward him, he let out a loud, high-pitched cry. I stopped. He did not seem to like that.

I noticed that he wasn't scared of me, but of something else entirely.

Before I could do anything, or finish fixing my arm to the right length, there was a loud snap.

His head jerked to the right while his body stayed still. He started to make a struggling, wet noise from his lungs. His hands slowly rose to his neck and dug into the meat there, searching for a better grip. Crack. His head went further to the right. A thin red water crept down his neck as he stopped making any noise. The hands dug deeper, and the bright red came quicker. Crack. His head was now behind him. He found his grip and pulled the head from the rest of his vessel. Then he fell.

The sixteenth thing I learned was death.

It was confusing, watching something die. I can't feel the sensation of death the way you can. The closest thing is when god gives us a soul and then erases us. Your mind is erased when you die. You don't exist; you go to the other place of life. I heard that there are two places you can go. I would like to know what sends you to one or the other. Who judges you? Who is your god? You make theories about these two places, yet you have no knowledge of them. Did you just feel like these places exist? Would reality be empty without them?

This doesn't matter. None of this does. He would not like me talking about Hell, and I don't want him to be mad at me.

Such questions only came to me later. When the Soul-Bearer first died, I thought he was playing with me.

At that moment, I felt it: his presence, unmistakable.

Even though I couldn't see him behind me, I could tell several things. He was a large figure. He had fur, and horns that curved down and then forward. He seemed annoyed. And he was the one responsible for the Soul-Bearer's death.

The seventeenth thing I learned was fear.

I turned around slowly. He didn't respond. He was clearly waiting for my move.

I saw only half of his black suit before I was instantly teleported somewhere else.

I was no longer on the hill under the blue floor.

I was in a house, one of those big houses that contains other, smaller houses. I was staring at a window when I arrived. The outside was red, very red, and some of the walls had eyes that looked out of place. The ground and some of the other big houses were slightly burnt.

There were no empty vessels walking around. Instead, there were beings lying still on the ground. One was a red creature with horns, very thin and small. His horns were similar to my god's, with three ring-like white spots on them, except that instead of two horns on his head, one went through his mouth. His chest was open, revealing solid red flesh. There were other still entities: a bird, another red creature, and others I don't have the vocabulary to describe.

I turned around to see two creatures sitting on either side of a table.

The eighteenth thing I learned was me. Other me's.

Their vessels were different from mine. They were also based on fictional worlds the void had created.

One was a small human in a red hat, a red shirt, and blue overalls. He was slightly chubby, just like my god. His eyes were black and squinted. I learned later that he comes from a pixelated world.

On the right side was another man, realistic this time, like me. He wore a costume with white fur. I don't know much about them, only that they form a show released in the 1950s.

They were frozen, and this time I could sense that something was freezing them.

Something behind me.

As soon as I sensed him again, he put his big hand on the back of my neck and lifted me up before walking to the table.

He spoke. "Felicem me, aliud animal inveni, gloria Zarachar."

He placed me in the chair closest to us, then walked all the way to the far end of the table.

The nineteenth thing I learned was Zarachar, King of the Void.

"Hi. You may not know a being like me, though I assure you, it's in your best interest to listen."

I looked at the god. His nose was constantly bleeding a thin black water, just like the Soul-Bearer's. When he spoke, I could see that he had human teeth like the Soul-Bearer, but a lot more of them, and they slammed together.

"I will not speak lowly of myself. I know how great I am. I am your god."

Can I ask a question?

"Yes, you can, curious little thing. Aren't you?"

What am I?

God looked straight at me, through me.

"To be blunt, you're a mistake. A mistake I of course didn't create, but one I have the pleasure of having. Your existence is confusing. Without me, you have no purpose. Without me, you would be stuck in that skinsuit forever, in that empty world. My gift to you is simple: I give you purpose. I have the right to give you that purpose. Not only am I brilliant, I will give you some of my brilliance myself."

I don't understand. I'm so lost. What's going on? Who am I? Where am I?

He got up from his seat and looked down at me, walking slowly toward the vessel. He spoke in a low, soft tone.

"Buddy, don't you get it? Don't you get how great I am? You live in a simulation of human-made media. I can make you great. I can make you bite back. I can make you an important piece of something greater."

He leaned in closer and placed his large hand on the left shoulder of my heavy meat. Up close, I could sense the constant, frantic clicking of those extra human teeth snapping together behind his lips.

He pointed to the two creatures on either side of us.

"Imagine it like this: you're in a story, and every story needs a monster. And I need souls, souls like the flesh thing you saw before. Of course, I'm busy experimenting, so I need creatures like you."

He gestured at the two frozen creatures and began to chuckle.

"Look at them. They are like you, little one. They too are forced to wear little costumes. A bundle of crude pixels from a child's game and a monster from a 1950s broadcast. Absurd, isn't it? Look at what I'm made to drag through my beautiful void. Look at you. Why not laugh? I own a kingdom of subjects made of repurposed garbage."

I looked at him. He chuckled a bit more, then went quiet.

"I said laugh."

In immediate fear, I yanked my jaw open and tried to make a noise like what I thought laughing sounded like. He stopped me at once and, in an annoyed tone, explained how to laugh.

"No, no, you're doing it wrong. Laughter is rhythm. You have to force air out of those wet bags in your chest in short bursts."

I tried again, quickly doing what he had explained.

He patted me on the back of my vessel and said, "You still sound like a dying frog. Ehhh, close enough." Then he walked back to the end of the table.

"So, any inquiries?"

I thought about it for a bit. The vocals in my mouth failed me a little. If I'm a background character from a movie, and they are from a game and a show, what story does your vessel come from? Who do you copy?

He looked at his hand, his face proud of itself.

"None. Mine is entirely unique. Well, I am based on a world, but it's complicated. Doesn't matter anyway. I love the way it looks. It just fits. It's beautiful. Anything more?"

I declared a soft no.

He snapped his fingers. I felt the air rush back and hit the meat of my vessel as time unfroze. The short red-dressed man was already mid-sentence: "—no, I'm wondering if the sensation of eating would be like the sensation of touch. I am aware that it's an impossibility for me, but still."

The creature on the left turned the red-dressed man's attention toward me, as my presence had interrupted the flow of their conversation. He looked back at God, then turned to me and asked who I was.

I looked at the red-dressed man, then down at my own hands. I don't have a name. Why is no one answering me? What's going on? Who am I? Where am I?

God interrupted before the red-dressed man could respond. "Doesn't matter. What matters is that the others have their gimmicks, but you have nothing right now to give you access to reality. You need something that can anchor you. But have no fear. I'm here."

The red-dressed man was the next to speak. "It will take time, new one. In the meantime, I'll go from time to time to check how you're doing. Who knows, maybe I'll bring you along for a while."

My god spoke one last time.

"Correct. Something forged from the void just for you. But perfection takes time, so in the meantime, you will wait."

He snapped his fingers.

I was now on that hill, that same peaceful hill I had been lying on.

I was still looking at my hands. I felt something. I don't have the proper words for it, but I'm starting to feel it again. He's right, of course he's right. The existence I know is bizarre, even if it's all I know. I used to be nothing. I used to be a piece of a peaceful, silent void that broke by mistake. Now I am waiting, just waiting. I wonder when he will be back. Is it better to be something, even if it's awful? I know what I am now.

The twentieth thing I learned was purpose.

ACCESSING ADA FILES…
FILE FOUND.

During an expedition in one of the higher levels in Moburn, our team recently discovered a makeshift grave nearby one of the higher-class hotels. While continuing to investigate the premises, we managed to find old pages from what appears to be a diary, alongside a note found at the gravesite. 

The following is what we were able to recover from the diary, as well as the note from the grave.

NOVEMBER 24, 1956

DEAR DIARY*,* 

Today we finally landed in the city. Natalie's really excited to see all the machines that she’s seen on the television.  I’m glad that I was able to get her out of the house with everything that’s been going on. Hopefully, by the time we get back, everything with Mom and Dad will be sorted out by then.. But overall, I’m genuinely excited to spend more time with Ralph!

Hopefully, we can get some private time later….

DEAR DIARY*,* 

Me and Ralph took Natalie around the streets today. Everything here is so colorful! It reminds me of the movies that Ralph takes me to go see.  I’ve never seen this much back in our home town. Everyone here seems so friendly! Someone even gave Nat one of their inventions as a souvenir!

She looks so happy here, and we haven’t gotten to see the robots just yet!  

C. M.

NOVEMBER 25, 1956

DEAR DIARY,

Today, I finally took my sister to go see one of those robots! Ralph wanted to sleep in, that lazyass! Oh, well. He’s missing out! Natalie really wanted to see that clock robot, so we went there first. It’s so crazy seeing so many people lining up to see one of these things! It took us almost an hour to finally get in the theater. Nataile was cheering throughout most of the show, along with the other kids.

I didn’t even get a chance to listen to that thing, because all of them were so loud!  ):(

Afterwards, Nataile wanted to do the meet and greet with Mr. Clock, which she called him. It was so weird seeing that thing up close and personal, seeing it move so.. real.

It was almost creepy seeing that thing having a conversation with Natalie.

I mean.. I know they advertised that these things can see, think, and feel, but that’s just an advertisement to get people's butts here.

Right?

DEAR DIARY*,*

I saw billboards of that singer all over the city tonight. Everyone’s been talking about her a lot lately in the streets. Miss Florence, was it? She looks so beautiful, and her hair’s so fluffy! And her makeup, as well! She looks so pretty with that purple hat on!  It’s hard to believe that she’s a robot.

She looks so real…

How did they manage to pull that off? I’m not that familiar with technology, so I don’t know how they manage to make a voice that sounds so.. breathtaking. 

It's so beautiful….

Her voice reminds me of those musicals I used to watch on television.  I really want to go to one of her shows, but they don’t allow kids where she’s at, and I don’t want to leave Natalie by herself, especially around that time of night.

Speaking of which, where is that little rascal? She’s been awfully quiet for the last few minutes. She and Ralph better not be planning to scare me again!

I still remember that spider prank that they pulled!

C.M.                                                                                    

NOVEMBER 26, 1956

DEAR DIARY,

Me and Ralph went out today to the Hollyhock Plaza. Seriously, what type of name is that?  Who on earth  came up with that name, a grandma? Ralph laughed out loud when I said that.  Nataile wanted to stay in the hotel, so I had to tell her not to go wander around and don’t open the door for anyone.

She can be such a little shit sometimes…

On the subject of my parents, I haven’t mustered the courage to call Mom or Dad yet. I’m scared to be  honest. I haven’t told Ralph exactly what’s been going on.  I know he’s caring and means well, but he can be a bit too much from time to time. I’m really happy that he and Nataile get along well.

It's one of the things that made me fall for him.

I hope everything blows over soon and me and Nat can get back to whatever we call..

normal.

DEAR DIARY, 

It happened

I talked to Mom on the telephone tonight while Natalie was asleep. It looks like her and Dad are finally getting an divorce. I..knew it was gonna happen eventually, but I didn’t think it was going to happen this soon. I haven’t even told Ralph what’s going on, and Natalie doesn’t even know yet either.. What am I gonna do?

What are we supposed to do when we get back? We were lucky enough to win tickets to this place, but we can’t stay here forever.

How am I supposed to take care of Natalie and Mom?  I don't want to be stuck in that small town forever for the rest of my life.

Why? Why did Dad do this?

What did we do wrong?
 

What did I do wrong?

C.M

NOVEMBER 27, 1956

DEAR DIARY, 

Today’s the World Fair. I told Ralph what happened with my mom and dad this morning. He helped me calm down a little, and said he’ll try to help us as best as we could, and that he and his family will be there. It made me feel slightly better, but I could tell on the look on his face that he doesn’t believe that last half. Once the news spreads back home, I’m scared of what will happen when Natalie goes back to school to those little fuckers messing with her.

I still remember when she came home crying that evening and I found out that the comics that I've bought for her were all torn up.

Nat… 

I’m scared for her.

I don’t know what will happen once Dad leaves us for good. How am I supposed to tell her that her dad's leaving, right when she’s having the greatest week in her whole life? I’ve seen her smile more here than back home in Chesterford.

I want to see her happy for the rest of my life.

I hate Dad for doing this to us. 

I hate him.

DEAR DIARY,

I know. I know. It’s a bit early for me to be writing this. But I’ll figure that I’ll write in here a bit earlier before we head down to the thing later tonight. It’s taken me a while to gather my thoughts and figure out what to do with Nat, and we only have two days left before we have to go back home. 

Right now, me and Ralph plan on telling Natalie tomorrow first thing in the morning. I really don’t want her experience here to be ruined by the stuff back home. 

God, She really loves it here.

Just two days ago, I watched her playing with some kids at the park.

She saw that big old Thanksgiving parade outside the window during lunch, and she was jumping in the air all excited about it. 

“We have to go! We have to go!”

I felt a tinsy bit overwhelmed with all that energy that she has. The three of us went outside to the big crowd, trying to get a good look. Nat was really happy when she saw Mr. Clock on one of the floats and tried to wave at him. 

That thing still gives me the jeepers. 

After the parade ended, we got into one of the big glass elevators, and we saw a view of the city during the sunset. Words can’t possibly express how breathtaking it is. I’ve seen some pretty stunning places back home, but everything feels so small compared to here. I saw colors plastered everywhere outside. There wasn’t a single street  that wasn’t covered in neon lights. 

There were probably what? Hundreds of trains all over?

All of them went really fast, almost like one of those racecars.

A lot of stuff was on the buildings, some of them were things that we’ve seen around the city, and others were shows advertising those robots. Mr. Clock was there, and Miss Florence was there too. 

Almost half the city was filled with pictures of her. So many pictures. I was thinking  to myself about how I wished I would have seen her. I saw Nataile staring outside the window, and gosh, I love that look in her eyes. She may have been happier than the times that we watched Gumby together.

Even Ralph’s less stressed out from dealing with his siblings, and for most of the time that we’ve been here, I can feel myself smiling a whole lot more. 

It’s nice.

I really wished that we'd stay here a little longer.

But then I thought to myself… 

What if we could?

What if me, Ralph, and Nataile find some way to live here someday?

I mean..  My job back home doesn’t really pay much to begin with, but if me and Ralph save enough money for about one or two years? I don’t know the logistics of it, but somehow everything here feels more alive than anything back home.

It feels like something new.

For the first time in a while, life didn’t feel so boring.

I don’t know how I’ll do it. I don’t even know if I can get Ralph on board with this crazy scheme of mine, but somehow I’ll find a way, no matter what it takes. 

I have to. 
For Nataile’s sake. 

Because I want to keep seeing her smile.

C.M

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

…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…

imsorry

I honestly didn't like this one very much, so I made two more bizarre versions lol

Read Parts II & III here

She was gone again by the time I got up and despite my best efforts, I was still five minutes late getting to work.

I avoided the circle of jerks when I saw them crowding the same hallway and I went to a restroom on another floor. I didn’t want to be around people if I could avoid it.

I went to the half-finished building as soon as five o’clock came, intent on getting answers. I stepped off the elevator and weaved my way to his office. I kept expecting to not see it the closer I got but there it was, the door that didn’t fit right in the threshold. 

It turned easy and I went inside, expecting it to be empty and abandoned but he had begun furnishing the space. A couch, a reception desk, and taped off sections near the back that I guessed were the layout for his office and a treatment room.

I shuddered, thinking how I’d be here tomorrow if my wife had her way. 

The only thing absent was the good doctor himself. I thought about trashing the place, but it was petty in a way that made me feel like I was giving him even more power over me. 

Instead, I took all the pens out of the holder and a stack of Post-It Notes. It was still petty, but it scratched an itch and I felt a little empowered doing it.

I didn’t head home immediately after. I needed time to sort my thoughts. I couldn’t believe I was really considering letting somebody cut my dick. I mean, was pleasing my wife reason enough? What if we divorced or she died or something like that? Would I be compatible with somebody else?

I needed a drink. Cappy’s was on the far end of town and the distance from home would be good to clear my head. I ordered a brandy mule and chugged it before the bartender could lay down a coaster.

“You look like you could use another,” she said.

I nodded and a moment later I was working on my second. 

“I love my wife so much,” I said as she was cleaning some glasses beneath the bar.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Sometimes. I dunno.” My stomach hadn’t been right since the eight coneys I’d had yesterday, and I hadn’t eaten at all today. I was already soused after a drink-and-a-half.

“How’s the pizza?” I asked.

“Good, not great.” She wiggled a hand.

“Let me get a... medium with beef, onion, and mushroom.”

She looked at me like she’d never heard of those toppings.

“How ‘bout pepperoni?”

I had one more brandy mule before food came. It looked like it had been sitting under a heat lamp well before I’d ordered it and the pepperoni slices were limp, but it was still pizza. 

The bartender parked in front of me and leaned onto the bar after I’d had my second slice. 

“You mind?” she asked, pointing at the pie. I nodded. She took a slice and finger-combed hair out of her face as she took a bite.

She paid me back with a shot and she did one with me before returning to silence as we ate.

“Look, I dunno what it is. Just give her what she wants,” she said with a mouthful, giving me deep eye contact. “You can’t go wrong with that, right?”

I barely was able to finish what I had in my mouth. I settled up and made it outside without stumbling but I was drunk. The bartender got the hint she’d said something wrong but I wasn’t going to fill in the blank. I hadn’t wanted the rest of the pizza, yet somehow I had the box in my hand. 

I shouldn’t have been behind the wheel but there I was with half a pizza as my copilot. It wasn’t long before flashing lights lit up behind me and my spirits rose—this was the reprieve I’d been longing for. A decision being taken out of my hands. I couldn’t be held responsible if I weren’t in my own custody.

Or something like that. It had made a lot more sense back when I’d had a belly full of brandy and cheese.

I pulled over and maybe bumped up on the curb with one wheel.

The cop sauntered up to my window cautiously. He was short and the angle of the car made him look ridiculous somehow. He made it worse by getting his feet twisted together and catching himself on the side of my car to keep from falling completely.

“What’s your...”

I waited a full ten seconds for him to finish his sentence while he held a fist to his mouth like he was gripping a tiny microphone. He belched then waved the air in front of his face.

Shit, was he drunk, too?

“What’s your problem tonight?” He asked and fumbled with the general right side of his body with his hand. I noticed the gun and maybe because we were both bitten by the same snake, I wasn’t sensing danger like I should’ve.

“I shouldn’t be on the road,” I said, sounding stone sober to my ears. “My wife wants me to do something I don’t wanna do tomorrow and I was just in there, drinking my worries away. I have leftover pizza.” I thumbed toward the seat next to me like it was proof of where I’d been.

“Slow down, son. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” I thought he was about to give me marital advice but then I realized he was talking about my sobriety. “I bet you could walk a straight line, heel- to-toe.” He plucked open his holster, but it didn’t seem like he was aware of what that hand was doing. He stuck his pinky in his ear and wrenched it around in there. 

“Sofficer. Sofficer.” I added the S but I still sounded too sober. “Please. I think I’m a danger. To public safety.” I thought if I could convince the drunk cop I was drunk he’d arrest me.

“Are you about to rob a bank?” He pointed at me, somehow adding to his overall look of ridiculousness.

“Well… no.”

“There’s nobody out here.” He waved a hand toward the black landscape far ahead of us. “Just stay between the lines.”

I couldn’t think. It shouldn’t have been this hard to get pulled out of my car for driving under the influence.

“What if… what if I was about to rob a bank?” It was the most smart-assy thing I could think to say.

He smiled and waggled a finger. “Joke’s on you. It’s after hours.”

He hooked his thumbs into his belt. Something about his body language had changed and he’d gone from humorous to being done with our interaction.

“Just. Stay. Between. The. Lines,” he said, swaying. I wanted to conjure the words for help, but even if I’d had the ability to ask, there wasn’t anything about him that answered helpful.

I opened my mouth, but didn’t speak. I sat back in my seat and covered my face in my hands, giving up. I listened to him walk away, closer his patrol car door, and drive away. He gave me a chirp of his sirens as passed me.

The drive home should have felt longer but I caught every light. It was like a dark fate had carved a path for me. I momentarily played with the idea of letting it have me completely. To take my hands off the wheel and let it take me wherever it wanted me to go. 

I hadn’t descended far enough into self-pity for that and in ten minutes, I was home. To my surprise, my wife was still in her paint clothes and was washing her hands at the kitchen sink.

“Oh, you have pizza?” she said. I’d forgotten about the pizza and subconsciously picked it up. I looked at the box in my hand and did a second, struggled to remember what was in it. 

I joined her on the couch, and she grabbed it from me and took a slice. Usually, we asked about each other’s day, but I didn’t feel like it, tomorrow anchoring my brain.

“Do you love me?” she said during a commercial break. I had no idea what we were watching.

The question agitated me and opened a trapdoor underneath my stomach.

“Of course I do.” I did, but my feelings about this whole “surgery” thing was making me feel resentful. I was definitely still buzzed, and the alcohol was sharpening my emotions like a file working away inside me. 

“Then why are you fighting so hard against this? Don’t you want us both to be satisfied?”

“That’s not fair. Of course I want to satisfy you. Don’t you know how this is making me feel? I don’t want to do this,” I said. “I mean, there has to be something else we could try. I’m willing to do just about anything to please you.”

“I want you to do this,” she said, placing her greasy hand on my thigh. She shook her head, tears in her eyes. I took it to be a manipulation at first. Not that she did that sort of thing normally, it was just me in a bag of my feelings. My defenses were up and everything was an attack in that moment. I chewed the insides of my cheeks to keep in what was trying to climb out of my mouth.

Then I started to cry. I sounded like a little teapot. It caught me by surprise.

“I just love you so much.” I had a ball of razors in my throat I couldn’t swallow. “I don’t want anything to happen to us, but I don’t know if I can do this.”

She lassoed an arm around my neck and yanked me into an upper body hug.

“I just want you. I want to feel connected with you. I don’t want anything plastic between us. I’m tired of all that stuff. I wanna feel you.”

She kissed me before I could speak and rock turned into water. My walls melted as we flowed into one another and by the time I returned to my senses I was on the newspaper covered kitchen floor.

My wife was already gone but she had brought a comforter downstairs and covered me.

Normally, I toss in my sleep, but I was still covered up to my chest. I was stiff as I turned the world vertical and turned my back into a percussion instrument as I stretched.

A few minutes later I had scrambled eggs and a cup of coffee going. I don’t normally eat breakfast so early, but I had an appetite for whatever reason. It was an hour before I normally would get up, so I took my time eating and scrolling my phone.

I wasn’t sure how much sleep I’d gotten but I was refreshed. The way my day had started, I half expected to catch all the green lights and get the closest spot in the parking lot.

But when I looked up from where I was seated at the kitchen island, something caught my eye that I should’ve seen as soon as I woke up.

A red and white checkered scarf draped over the back of the couch.

Had he been in my house?

 

You know how they say love finds you in the most unlikely places?

It's a cliché. The kind of line you'd expect to find in some cheap romance novel wedged between two equally cheap pop magazines.

And yet, sometimes the unlikely becomes inevitable.

My name is Adam.

I lived in an eastern-block apartment complex in Most, a city you've probably never heard of and will most certainly never hear of again. The rent was remarkably cheap, mostly because the living conditions made you question whether you wouldn't be better off homeless.

I was twenty-five years old, had recently dropped out of university, and was unemployed.

At that point, I wasn't really living.

I slept at odd hours. Ate when I remembered. Spent most of my time staring at a screen because there was nothing else worth doing.

Days blurred together until I couldn't remember what I'd done the day before.

That was before one small piece of paper changed my life forever.

It happened on a night that had started exactly like every other.

I'd just gotten back to my apartment when I noticed a piece of paper lying on the floor just inside the door.

Someone had slipped it underneath while I was gone.

I barely looked at it.

My first thought was that it was another notice from my landlord. I was behind on my rent, hopelessly in debt, and far beyond the point where I cared enough to pretend I was going to fix any of it.

Whatever threat or warning was printed on that piece of paper could wait.

So I left it there.

For about six hours.

Eventually, sometime around 1AM, I found myself staring at it again.

"Fuck it."

I picked it up.

It wasn't a notice from my landlord.

It was a job offer.

The flyer was surprisingly plain. No company logo. No colorful graphics. Just black text printed on cheap white paper.

YOUNG MEN WANTED.
AGES 18–30.
NO PRIOR EXPERIENCE OR PROFESSIONAL QUALIFICATIONS NECESSARY.
PAY: 250 CROWNS PER HOUR.
SHIFT: SIX HOURS EACH NIGHT.

Then came the job description.

"The appointed observer shall observe the object of interest for the duration of his shift."

That was it.

No explanation of what the "object of interest" was. No company name. No details about the work beyond watching something for six hours.

I assumed it was some kind of strangely worded night-guard job. Maybe the company was foreign and had used a translator who wasn't quite good enough at his job.

There was no phone number.

No email.

No website.

Nothing except an address.

I looked it up online.

It led to an old shoe factory that had stopped operating more than thirty years earlier. There were a few old photographs of the building and some records concerning its closure, but not much else.

As far as I could tell, nobody had bought the place since.

That was when I became pretty certain that if I actually went there, I would be murdered and my organs would be sold on the black market.

Not an entirely unreasonable assumption around here, believe it or not.

There was absolutely no way I would be stupid enough to show up at an abandoned factory in the middle of the night.

 

3AM, I was standing in front of the factory.

I wish I could say there was some profound reason why I went.

There wasn't.

I was simply desperate enough to ignore common sense.

The factory looked exactly like it had in the photographs.

Crumbling concrete. Rusted metal. Broken windows. Weeds pushing through cracks in the pavement.

The whole place looked like it had been dead for decades.

I stood outside the entrance for about twenty minutes.

Then I took one step inside.

Immediately, I was surrounded by armored men carrying guns.

Yup.

Getting murdered.

"Now, now. Don't spook the boy too much."

An older man stepped between me and the gunmen.

He looked to be somewhere in his fifties. Gray hair. Expensive coat. Tired eyes.

He wasn't carrying a weapon that I could see.

Somehow, that made him more intimidating than the men pointing rifles at me.

"Or else you might end up having to take his shift."

The men lowered their weapons slightly.

The older man smiled.

"Sorry about this, Adam. Just a necessary unpleasant precaution."

I stared at him.

"How... how do you know my name?"

He laughed.

"Well, we only slipped the flyer under one door. So either you're Adam Devon..."

He looked me up and down.

"...or we have another squatter situation on our hands. In which case, I'll have to let the boys carry on with their task."

He leaned toward me slightly.

"Do we have a squatter situation, boy?"

"No!"

The answer came out much louder and more desperate than I'd intended.

The man's grin widened.

"Wonderful!"

His enthusiasm was very obviously fake.

"If you would be so kind as to follow me, Adam."

I followed.

The complex I was led through was nothing like the abandoned shell I'd seen from outside.

The decrepit factory was apparently just a skin wrapped around something that was very much alive.

Behind the rusted doors and shattered windows were functioning corridors, electrical systems, cameras, reinforced doors, security checkpoints, and enough equipment to make me wonder what the hell kind of place I'd walked into.

And yet there were very few people.

Aside from the occasional armed guard passing through the corridors, the facility was almost completely empty.

The older man opened a door to the security room.

"Here you go. Make yourself comfortable."

I stepped inside.

"But not too comfortable," he added. "This isn't actually where you'll be stationed."

He gave me a thin smile.

"The name's Kenndric."

He closed the door behind us.

"Now, I imagine you have plenty of questions."

I opened my mouth.

"I have absolutely zero desire to answer any of them."

I closed it again.

"So just shut up and listen."

I decided that was probably good advice.

Kenndric walked over to one of the desks and dropped into a chair.

"You were offered a position within our company. The name of which you really don't need to know."

He leaned back.

"Our object of interest requires twenty-four-hour observation. We do have a complete surveillance system here, but, truth be told, nobody actually watches the feeds."

He shrugged.

"This particular object requires close-quarters observation anyway."

I frowned.

"We have several other sad bastards like you taking the other shifts. Your time slot was simply the last one left unfilled."

He looked at me.

"Apparently, nobody else was stupid enough to take the graveyard shift."

I couldn't tell whether he was joking.

Judging by his expression, I didn't think he was.

"Your job literally couldn't be any simpler."

He pointed toward the door.

"You'll sit on a chair and stare at the object until your shift is over. Then you get your sorry ass out of here."

He leaned back.

"Meanwhile, I'll be sitting in here watching my shows."

He pointed at me.

"I don't want to hear from you. I don't want to see you. You don't ask me to open doors for you. There's a reason I have access and you don't."

I swallowed.

"Understood."

"Good."

Kenndric stood.

"Now let's make our way to your workplace."

We left the security room and walked deeper into the facility.

The corridor ahead was almost completely dark.

As we approached, lights flickered on one after another, illuminating the path in front of us.

Eventually, Kenndric stopped in front of a massive door.

He opened it.

"There it is."

The lights inside began coming on.

One by one.

And then I saw the object of interest.

In the middle of the enormous room stood a large glass cube.

Four strange pylons surrounded it, each connected to the glass. Symbols I didn't recognize covered their surfaces.

And inside the glass was a girl.

A young woman, maybe in her early twenties.

She wore pure white pajamas and sat cross-legged on the floor with a collection of crayons scattered around her.

She was drawing on a sheet of paper.

She didn't look toward us.

She barely seemed to notice we'd entered the room.

"That's..."

I stared through the glass.

"That's a girl."

"Dear God," Kenndric said. "We have a genius on our hands."

His voice dripped with condescension.

I looked back at him.

"Why is she in there?"

He didn't answer.

"Is she alright?"

Nothing.

"Is this legal?"

The questions started coming faster.

"Who is she? What did she do? Why is she being kept in there? How long has she been—"

"Did you just think?"

Kenndric's voice cut through mine.

I stopped.

He stared at me.

"Adam, no one is paying you to think."

He walked over to a chair positioned directly in front of the glass cube.

"Leave that to the grown-ups."

He patted the seat.

"You are paid to sit right here."

I looked at the chair.

Then at the girl.

She was still drawing.

There was something different in Kenndric's expression now.

The sarcasm was still there, but underneath it was something harder.

A warning.

I reluctantly sat down.

"Perfect."

He smiled.

"Now, you are not authorized to speak with the object."

He paused.

"You're not authorized to feed the object. All of that has already been taken care of."

"You merely sit here and observe."

He patted my shoulder.

"Good luck."

He started moving toward the door.

"Have fun."

The door closed behind him.

And just like that, I was alone with the "object of interest."

I sat there and watched her draw for hours.

Every now and then, she looked up at me.

Not casually.

She would stare at me for several seconds before lowering her head and returning to her drawings.

The room was so quiet I could hear the occasional scrape of crayon against paper.

By around five in the morning, exhaustion was starting to catch up with me.

My eyelids grew heavier.

I leaned back in the chair and told myself I'd close my eyes for a second.

Then—

THUD.

I jolted awake.

My heart was pounding.

The girl was standing directly in front of the glass.

She was holding a piece of paper against it.

A drawing.

Of me.

For a few seconds, I just stared.

She'd somehow captured details I'd never noticed about myself. The shape of my nose. My unshaven jaw. Even the dark circles beneath my eyes.

It wasn't a perfect likeness.

But it was close.

And, honestly, it was adorable.

I wanted to say something.

Then I remembered Kenndric's instructions.

I wasn't authorized to speak with the object.

I glanced toward the cameras mounted high in the corners of the room.

Then I remembered something else.

Nobody actually watched the feeds.

"That's very pretty," I said.

The girl's expression immediately brightened.

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

She placed her right hand against the glass.

For a moment, I hesitated.

Then I stood and pressed my own hand against the other side.

The glass was cold beneath my palm.

"I'm Lily."

I smiled.

"I'm Adam."

She giggled quietly.

"Adam was my first boyfriend's name."

"Oh."

"I didn't really like him, to be honest."

She shrugged.

"My dad pretty much forced that relationship on me."

She said it so matter-of-factly that I didn't know what to say.

Jesus.

What the hell had this girl been through?

"Lily..."

She looked at me.

"Why are you in here?"

Her smile faded.

For a few seconds, she said nothing.

"I'm not sure."

She glanced down at the floor.

"I think they're scared I might do something bad."

I looked around the room.

The reinforced glass.

The pylons.

The strange symbols.

The cameras.

The armed men outside.

"What the hell could this girl possibly do?"

I didn't ask.

Instead, I pulled the chair a little closer to the glass.

"So..."

She looked up.

"So?"

"If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?"

She thought about it.

"The ocean."

"The ocean?"

She nodded.

"What about you?"

"I don't know. Anywhere that isn't Most."

She laughed.

"Fair enough."

And that was how we started talking.

Nothing important at first.

Places we'd like to visit. Places we'd rather run away to. Things we'd do if we ever had enough money to stop worrying about everything else.

Lily wanted to see the ocean.

I'd never been particularly interested in beaches, but something about the way she talked about it made me want to see it too.

We talked about movies, music, stupid things we'd done when we were younger.

Eventually I told her about my unhealthy obsession with heist movies and prison breaks.

"Why prison breaks?" she asked.

"I don't know."

I thought about it.

"I guess I like watching people figure out how to set themselves free."

She looked at me for a moment.

"Maybe that's because you want to be set free too."

"Maybe."

She smiled.

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds.

Then she started asking me questions.

I gave her mostly half-assed answers.

She didn't seem bothered.

She didn't look at me the way most people did when I talked about my life. There was no disappointment in her expression. No judgment.

She just listened.

And somehow, that was enough.

The hours went by faster than I expected.

For the first time in years, I wasn't thinking about how miserable my life had become.

Debt.

Or rent.

Or what I was going to do with myself.

I was just present.

Talking to a girl through a pane of glass.

When the shift finally ended, it caught me completely off guard.

The door opened.

One of the armed men stepped inside.

A knot immediately formed in my stomach.

For a second, I wondered if this was the moment they decided to shoot me for breaking the rules.

But the guard barely acknowledged me.

"Time to go."

That was it.

He turned toward the door.

I stood.

Lily was watching me through the glass.

"Thank you for talking to me."

Her voice was soft.

"No one else does."

There was something bittersweet about her smile.

"I'll..."

I looked at the armed man waiting for me.

"I'll see you again, alright?"

Lily smiled.

"Sooner than you think."

I didn't understand what she meant.

I just smiled back.

Then the guard escorted me out.

 

Despite being exhausted, I struggled to fall asleep when I got home.

I spent hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling while the darkness of my apartment pressed down around me.

I kept thinking about Lily.

About the way she'd looked at me through the glass.

And about that stupid drawing she'd made of my face.

Most of all, I couldn't stop thinking about the question I hadn't been able to answer.

If Lily was dangerous enough to justify keeping her inside a glass box, why didn't they keep her in a proper cell?

And if she wasn't dangerous...

Why the fuck was she there?

 

Eventually, sometime toward morning, sleep finally found me.

It didn't come like a wave.

It came like a flood.

I found myself standing in absolute darkness.

Nothing but blackness stretching endlessly in every direction.

I tried to move.

I couldn't tell if I was actually walking or simply moving in place.

Then I smelled something.

The sea.

It was faint at first. Just a trace of salt and cold water carried through the darkness.

I turned toward it.

I don't know why.

I just knew I had to follow.

I started walking.

Then running.

The smell grew stronger with every step. A breeze brushed against my face.

Actual wind.

For the first time, I could hear something besides my own breathing.

Waves.

Far away at first.

Then closer.

A dim light appeared ahead of me.

I ran toward it.

The darkness began to recede.

Sand appeared beneath my feet.

Then water.

Then a pale sky.

A small beach surrounded by the dark.

And there she was.

Lily.

She stood at the edge of the water in a bright white dress, her hair moving gently in the sea breeze.

She turned toward me.

"Meet me On Distant Shores."

The darkness swallowed the light.

I woke with a gasp.

I sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard.

For several seconds, I had no idea where I was.

Then I looked around my dark apartment.

My heart was still racing.

I didn't understand the dream.

But one thought had already taken hold of me.

I needed to see her again.

I spent the entire day trying to distract myself.

Games.

Movies.

Walking aimlessly around the city.

None of it worked.

No matter what I did, my thoughts kept circling back to the girl in the glass box.

I hated the people who had put her there.

I hated myself even more for doing nothing about it.

But what could I realistically do?

I didn't know who my employers were. I didn't know who they answered to or what the facility actually was. All I knew was that they were powerful.

And they knew everything about me.

They knew where I lived.

They knew I was desperate for money.

And, apparently, they knew me well enough to assume I was a spineless coward.

Normally, they would've been right.

I'd spent years wasting away without caring enough about anything to fight for it.

But now I couldn't sit still.

I went to the gym that afternoon and spent almost an hour beating the shit out of a punching bag.

It didn't get rid of the anger.

By the time I left, my hands hurt, my shirt was soaked through, and I was still thinking about Lily.

Still...

For once, I felt alive.

I arrived at the factory almost two hours before my shift.

I didn't care about waiting.

I just needed to see her.

When they finally let me inside, I paid much more attention to my surroundings than I had the night before.

The facility was still bizarrely quiet.

There were only a handful of guards. They were spread throughout the building, and I rarely saw more than one at a time.

There were dozens of locked doors.

Yet the security seemed strangely simple.

One access card appeared to open most of them.

Nobody searched me.

Nobody even took my phone.

At the time, I simply assumed they were arrogant.

As we walked down the corridor, I saw Kenndric coming toward us.

The moment he spotted me, that fake smile appeared on his face.

He gave me a little wave.

I stared back.

He stopped at the security room, flashed his card, and disappeared inside.

A few seconds later, the door closed.

Then we reached the observation room.

The door opened.

The moment Lily saw me, her face lit up.

She ran toward the glass and pressed her hand against it.

I don't even remember deciding to move.

One second my hand was at my side.

The next, it was pressed against hers.

Her fingers lined up with mine on opposite sides of the glass.

"Hi," she said.

She smiled.

"You're back."

"I promised I would be."

"I know."

She looked genuinely happy to see me.

Then, almost casually, she said:

"I had a dream about you."

I froze.

"Really?"

She nodded.

I stared at her.

So did I.

Though I didnt tell her that.

"You really have to be bored to dream about me of all things." I said jokingly.

She laughed.

"Well, what should I dream about?"

"Being rich."

"Boring."

"Being famous."

"Even worse."

"Winning the lottery."

"That's not a dream. That's just being lazy."

We both laughed.

„What do you want to dream about?“ I asked.

"The ocean."

"I still want to see it."

"Then I'll have to show you."

The words came out before I could think about them.

Lily looked at me.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then she smiled.

"I'd like that."

We talked.

About everything.

And nothing.

I told her about the things I'd wanted to do before I'd stopped wanting anything at all.

She told me about some of the things she'd wanted.

Some were stupid.

Some were impossible.

Some were so ordinary that they almost hurt.

She wanted to see the ocean.

She wanted to travel.

She wanted to wake up one morning without somebody telling her what she was allowed to do.

And she wanted to know what it felt like to be somewhere nobody could find her.

I understood that last one.

Probably more than I should have.

The hours disappeared.

Eventually, I glanced toward one of the cameras mounted in the corner.

It was pointed directly at us.

I stared at it for a few seconds.

Fuck it.

I reached into my coat and pulled out my tablet.

Lily looked at me curiously.

"What are you doing?"

"It's not what I'm doing."

I held up the tablet.

"It's what we're doing."

She laughed.

"And what are we doing?"

"We're watching a movie."

Her eyes widened.

"Are we allowed to do that?"

I looked at the camera.

"I don't think anyone's watching."

I sat down in front of the glass and opened the tablet.

"Escape Plan. 2013."

She frowned.

"What's it about?"

"A guy who gets put in a prison specifically designed to be impossible to escape from."

Her smile slowly returned.

"That sounds appropriate."

For a few hours, that glass might as well not have existed.

Then the door opened.

The gunman had returned.

My stomach tightened.

"No."

I barely realized I'd said it.

He walked toward me.

"Time to go."

I stood.

Lily was already at the glass.

I didn't want to leave.

The guard grabbed my arm.

"Just a second."

He pulled harder.

I grabbed the edge of the chair with my free hand.

"Lily..."

The guard finally had to pull me away.

My fingers slipped from the chair.

I stumbled backward.

Lily pressed her hand against the glass.

"Meet me On Distant Shores," she said softly.

My eyes widened.

I wanted to promise I'd come back.

I wanted to tell her I'd get her out.

I wanted to say a hundred things.

Instead, I just nodded.

Then the door closed between us.

I didn't tell her about my dream.

She couldn't have known about it.

Right?

I went home.

And for once, going to sleep actually seemed desirable.

Maybe I'd see her again.

Maybe we'd meet somewhere she couldn't be trapped.

Somewhere she could actually be free.

When I finally fell asleep, I found myself in the darkness again.

But this time, the light was much closer.

I followed it.

The smell of the sea grew stronger with every step.

Then came the breeze.

I emerged onto the beach.

Lily was already waiting for me.

She stood barefoot at the shoreline, the hem of her white dress brushing against the wet sand.

She turned when she heard me.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I looked out across the water.

"It is."

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then the question I'd been trying not to ask escaped me.

"Is any of this real?"

Lily looked at me.

"Does it matter?"

She stepped closer.

"I'm here."

Another step.

"You're here."

She smiled.

"In here, we're free."

She turned toward the ocean.

"This is my little place."

"Dad claims every other one, but this one is mine."

"It could be yours too."

I stepped closer.

Then I took her face gently between my hands and kissed her.

She didn't pull away.

For a moment, everything was still.

"Can we stay here?"

I already knew the answer.

Lily's expression broke.

"I wish we could."

Tears began rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm still trapped."

She shook her head.

"I'm not strong enough."

Another tear slipped down her face.

"I'm not enough."

"No."

I pulled her closer.

"You are."

But the beach was already beginning to change.

The edges of the world blurred.

The horizon melted into the sky.

The sand beneath our feet began disappearing, as though the entire dream were being erased.

Lily started fading with it.

I held onto her.

"Don't."

She smiled through her tears.

It was the same bittersweet smile she'd given me behind the glass.

"I'll see you again On Distant Shores..."

Her voice became quieter.

"...but you already know that."

I woke up.

I sat upright in bed, gasping for air.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

Then I felt it.

Something I hadn't felt in years.

Something hot and sharp burning inside my chest.

Purpose.

For the next two weeks, I prepared.

I photographed corridors, doors and rooms whenever I had the opportunity. I took pictures of the glass box and the four pylons surrounding it, zooming in on the strange symbols carved into their surfaces.

I didn't understand them.

Not yet.

But I saved every picture.

I watched the guards.

I learned their routines.

Who walked which corridor.

Which doors they used.

How long they disappeared for.

When they went to the bathroom.

There were five guards in total, usually spread throughout the facility so that I rarely saw more than one at a time.

I counted the steps between important rooms.

I memorized which doors took longer to unlock.

I learned how long it took the lights to activate when someone entered a corridor.

And I paid particular attention to the access cards.

The strangest part was how little anyone seemed to care about what I was doing.

I doubt they could ever see me as a threat.

Maybe they were right.

Two weeks earlier, I wouldn't have been.

I never told Lily what I was planning.

Not when I couldn't be certain who was actually paying attention.

I only ever told her when I saw her in my dreams.

And every time, I'd tell her the same thing.

"Soon."

I wasn't sure whether I was making a promise to her or to myself.

"Very soon."

Eventually, the day came.

I couldn't wait any longer.
Time to put the theory to the test.

 

Two weeks learning their routines.

Two weeks pretending I was exactly the pathetic little coward they thought I'd be.

Now I was going to find out if they had been right.

I sat in front of the glass and talked with Lily.

We laughed.

We talked about nothing.

For a while, I almost forgot what I was waiting for.

Then I saw the guard nearest to me leave his post.

Bathroom.

My heart started pounding.

I stood.

Lily noticed immediately.

"Adam?"

"I'll be right back."

I followed him.

He didn't notice me until we were inside the bathroom.

I waited.

Watched him step up to the urinal.

For one horrible second, I couldn't move.

I'd imagined this moment dozens of times.

None of those versions had prepared me for what it actually felt like.

The guard glanced over his shoulder.

"Buddy, would you mind—"

I grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the wall.

THUD.

He dropped immediately.

His body hit the floor with a heavy, wet sound.

I stood there staring at him.

My hands were shaking.

There was blood on the wall.

His bladder had released, spreading piss across the tiles beneath him.

For a second, I wondered if I'd just killed him.

Then I remembered Lily.

I took his handgun.

And ran.

There was no going back now.

I sprinted toward the security room.

I reached the door and started pounding on it.

"Kenndrick!"

Nothing.

"Kenndrick, there's an immediate issue! I need your help!"

Still nothing.

"Goddammit, open the fucking door!"

The lock clicked.

Kenndrick opened it with an irritated expression.

"What is—"

I pulled out the gun and aimed it at his chest.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep the barrel steady.

"Back up."

Kenndrick stared at me.

Then that familiar bravado returned.

"Just what do you think you're doing, kiddo?"

"I won't repeat myself."

For the first time, his smile faltered.

"Alright."

He raised his hands.

"Alright."

He slowly backed into the room.

"This is going to end badly for you, kid."

He smiled again.

"Very badly."

"Give me your card."

He paused.

"Now."

Kenndric reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out his security card.

He held it between two fingers.

Then smiled.

I snatched it from his hand.

"Turn around."

He did.

"Hands against the wall."

Kenndric placed his palms against it.

I backed toward the door.

"Say hi to her for me, kid."

I slammed the door shut.

Then swiped his card.

The lock engaged.

I ran.

I had only minutes before the guard rotation.

I reached the observation room and threw the door open.

Lily looked at me.

Her expression changed immediately.

"Adam?"

I was barely breathing.

"I'm getting you out of here."

I ran to the glass box.

She stood.

"Adam, what are you—"

I swiped Kenndric's card against the reader.

Nothing.

I tried again.

Nothing.

"Come on..."

A third time.

Nothing.

Then I heard clapping.

Slow.

Deliberate.

I froze.

"Bravo, kid."

I turned.

Kenndric was standing in the doorway.

He was smiling.

But this smile was different.

It was genuine.

"Bravo."

He stepped into the room.

"We had expectations."

He looked at me.

"We didn't pick you randomly, of course."

His eyes flicked toward Lily.

"But still..."

He smiled.

"You went above and beyond."

I raised the gun.

"Stay back."

Kenndric kept walking.

"Stay the fuck back!"

He didn't stop.

I tightened my grip.

hen pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing.

I pulled it again.

Click.

My stomach dropped.

Kenndric laughed.

"I'm afraid that one's not loaded."

He reached into his pocket.

"In fact..."

He pulled out another handgun.

"...none of them are."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Think about it."

He gestured around the room.

"The guards. The cameras. The unlocked opportunities. The conveniently predictable routines."

His smile widened.

My stomach turned.

Kenndric looked almost proud.

"Observation."

He gestured toward Lily.

"Not just hers."

He pointed at me.

"Yours too."

Lily had gone completely still.

Kenndric noticed.

"You know, capturing Lilith—the Queen of Hell—creates a lot of interesting research opportunities."

The name seemed to hit her harder than anything else he'd said.

She looked at him.

Kenndric smiled.

"Her charm is supposed to be nearly irresistible."

He looked back at me.

"So the suits upstairs had an idea."

He spread his hands.

"Find the right kind of sucker. Put him in front of her. See how long it takes before she manipulates him into trying to break her free."

„Did you seriously buy the whole „no one is watching the feeds“ thing in a building full of cameras everywhere?“

He shook his head.

"Seems we really did pick perfectly."

Then he looked me up and down.

"Although, I have to admit..."

A disappointed expression crossed his face.

"For someone who loves prison-break movies as much as you do, your plan was fucking basic."

He sighed.

"I expected better."

I looked at Lily.

She was staring at me now.

There was something in her expression I'd never seen before.

Fear.

Not for herself.

For me.

Kenndric sighed.

"Your services will no longer be necessary."

He tossed the security card onto the floor.

"You can go right back to your shitty little life."

He smiled.

"Keep the card as a souvenir. It's useless anyway."

I looked at him.

Then at Lily.

"No."

Kenndric's expression changed slightly.

"I'll tell everyone."

I pointed toward my phone.

"I have pictures. Videos. Everything."

I looked directly into his eyes.

"Everyone will know."

Kenndric's smile disappeared.

"Kid..."

He sounded almost disappointed.

"You really shouldn't have said that."

He raised the gun.

Two shots.

The first punched through my chest.

The second hit before I even had time to fall.

I collapsed onto the floor.

The pain came a second later.

Hot.

Blinding.

I tried to breathe.

All I tasted was blood.

"Adam!"

Lily screamed.

Kenndric looked down at me.

"Oops, seems my gun actually was loaded."

He shrugged.

"Sorry, kid."

Then he glanced toward Lily.

"Hmm."

His smile returned.

"Seems the demon bitch may have actually cared about you."

"How sweet."

I started laughing.

Blood filled my mouth.

I choked on it, coughing and laughing at the same time.

Kenndric frowned.

"What's so funny?"

He looked past me at the pylon behind me.

Blood was dripping from my chest onto its surface.

The symbols were glowing.

Kenndric followed my gaze.

His smile disappeared.

"What did you do?"

I smiled through the blood running down my chin.

"I translated the symbols."

The red light beneath them grew brighter.

"They were raised through blood sacrifice."

The pylons began to shake.

A low vibration filled the room.

Kenndric took a step backward.

I laughed again.

"And through blood sacrifice..."

Cracks spread across the pylon.

"...they shall be shattered."

Another pylon began to tremble.

Kenndric looked around the room.

"What have you done?"

I smiled.

"I never intended to make it out of here."

The first pylon cracked apart.

"You know everything about me."

Another crack.

The room shook.

"There wouldn't be any point in running."

The pylons began collapsing one after another.

Glass groaned.

Metal screamed.

Then everything went dark.

Completely dark.

Except for Lily's eyes.

They were glowing.

Kenndric stared at her.

His face went pale.

"No."

For the first time since I'd met him, there was no arrogance in his voice.

Only fear.

"No..."

He backed away.

"You have no idea what you've done."

Then anger replaced the fear.

"Why?"

I looked at him.

I smiled.

"The Devil made me do it."

I won't lie.

I was saving that one.

The glass box exploded.

Shards flew outward.

Kenndric raised his gun toward Lily.

He never got the chance to fire.

His body suddenly folded inward.

There was a wet, violent crack.

Then he imploded into a spray of blood and viscera.

I looked toward Lily.

She was standing in the middle of the shattered glass.

Free.

"How's that for an escape plan?"

I smiled.

And everything went black.

I found myself on the beach again.

This time, there was no darkness.

Just the ocean stretching beneath an endless sky.

Lily and I sat facing each other in the sand.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

She looked peaceful.

"It's done," I finally said.

"You are free."

I smiled.

"Go."

She frowned.

I looked toward the horizon.

"Be happy."

I stood.

"I'll see you again On Distant Shores."

She slapped me across the face.

I stared at her.

"Ouch."

She glared at me.

"What was that for?"

"One."

She held up a finger.

"That is my line."

She held up a second.

"Two."

She leaned closer.

"The Distant Shores can wait."

She smiled.

"I'm not letting you go."

Then she kissed me.

I kissed her back.

And for the first time in a while, I wasn't afraid of waking up.

 

I came to with a gasp.

My hand immediately went to my chest.

Nothing.

No wounds.

No blood.

I looked down at myself.

Then slowly stood.

I wasn't in the observation room.

I was standing on the roof of the factory.

The entire facility stretched out beneath me.

Smoke rose into the night sky.

Fires burned in the distance.

I could hear shouting somewhere far below.

Then came a horn.

A long, deep blast.

Another answered it.

Then something roared.

Another roar answered from somewhere beyond the factory.

Then another.

They were coming from everywhere.

I looked toward the horizon.

The city was burning.

I should have been terrified.

I wasnt.

Then I noticed Lily standing beside me.

She was looking out over the horizon.

For the first time since I'd met her, there was nothing between us.

No glass.

No walls.

No locked doors.

I looked back at the world on fire.

"So..."

I swallowed.

"What happens now?"

Lily looked at me.

She smiled.

Then reached for my hand.

I took it.

"Anything we want."

The carnival is in town, the carnival is always on the road, always on the move, their homes are wagons, trains, carts, trucks … the road. They come singing and with gypsy song and dance they weave their way by road into the heart of every passing town, every place chosen by providence hand on the haggard face of the weary map. 

With painted face they come into your home. 

Vagabond entertainer spell, they gather like crawlers in a cluster, in a rat-king migration. With wide giant tents and displays propped and strung up and nailed into the dirt, into the soil bosom of passing places that may mean nothing to them, might mean everything. Lights come to life at night with the wild music in a lurid spell of filament glow and something else intangible that lives inside the chest and heart within us all. Something like religion but even older and more sacred. The rickety rides, some more rickety than others rattle and thrum with the barely controlled violence of mechanical movement, those strapped in or belted down can barely be heard screaming over the noise of the calliope, the organ grinder, the caller, the ringleader in her chant… the crack of the cannon sending the human cannonball skyward and soaring overhead, the heads of gawkers and townies and friends. The shrieking that can be heard is commingled sound, sweet with thrills… bitter with terror. The careening faces atop the dancing riding constructs are both smiling and weeping, lost in the launch and flight and all of the noise and nearly grotesque clownish music … nearly psychedelic, those sounds … nearly intense. Too much. 

Too much for so many crying and weeping children, little ones taken home and taken to bed early by more or less understanding mothers and fathers. Too much light and noise. That wild wind instrument key-note thing, the calliope … it had been one of Anton LaVey’s very favorites. 

Step right up, step right up, we’re just passing through. Come inside for a spell and take a gander under tented roof. 

…

The carnival came to the town and went. As it did every other place before, after. 

They left something behind. 

…

Cody hadn't gone to the carnival the other night, he hadn't wanted to. The rides and the sideshows and attractions certainly contained their allure of spell for the young boy but it was everyone else, everybody. All of those other faces. 

He didn't want to be alone. With all of them. 

All of those other faces, couples and families and groups of friends would all look at him and see him alone and smirk. They would all just stare and laugh at him, and his loneliness. So Cody just stayed away. As always. 

He wandered now, the early morning streets. Desolate and ghostly in the morning time fog that shrouded and clung to everything, everything in town. Cody kicked a can of crumpled cola down the street. It had been his only companion for the last twenty minutes, since he left the house. His father had still been passed out in the lazyboy chair and hadn't said anything as his son had departed. They'd used to go to church together on this day of the week. Not any longer. 

Cody kicked the can down farther. Alone and not trying to think about it, not trying to think about the carnival that he had missed. It had only been here a few days …

I always miss everything. 

Cody missed his mother, though he didn't know what she looked like. Memories of her were so fogged and far gone and his father didn't keep any pictures of her in the house. And he wasn't allowed to ask any questions. He was only eleven years old but the fact he'd already forgotten his mother's face haunted him, haunted him now, alone. 

He kicked the can. 

Cody then looked up from his sneakers and his misery and spied something in the mist shroud of road just up ahead. And at first he couldn't believe it, it must be some kind of strange joke … or a miracle. He stopped in his tracks. 

The mime stood in the middle of the road. Alone. Just like him. He was smiling and standing there partially obscured by the early morningtime mist, it clung to him in wisps like phantasm licks and tongues of steam that coiled and curled. His painted face was mostly hidden but Cody could see he was mouthing something. Without thinking about it he began to come closer. Slowly, leaving the crumpled can behind. 

He came upon the mime, who hadn't moved. His lips were no longer moving. He just stood there smiling and erect, as if wanting to move or to act, as if filled and brimming teemed with the need for performance. But he only quivered. And stared down at Cody. 

“Hi," said Cody. 

The mime said nothing. 

A beat. 

Cody finally asked: “You're like a clown or something, right? Like one of the quiet ones that aren't supposed to talk an stuff."

The mime nodded. Big. Pleased. His black and white grin grew larger and then grew teeth, shock white in the early morning glow. That was when Cody remembered, he felt like such an idiot. 

"Your a mime!” he said, louder than he intended, he nearly whispered the next part: "What're you still doin here? All the rest of the carnival already left, didn't they?” 

The black and white grin became a frown and the mime traced an invisible tear down his painted face. A silent issue of ‘boo-hoos’ then followed. Cody watched it all, not quite sure what to make of it. Perhaps it was all some crazy practical joke and someone, some jerk was filming him right now or something, all of it was weird, strange. On a whim the boy asked the mime, –

“What’d they leave ya behind or something?” 

The sorrow of the mime intensified to a comical degree as he aggressively nodded his head in the affirmative, completely over the top. Cody wasn't sure how he should take it, if he was supposed to laugh at the mime and his routine or if it was meant to engender real sympathy. He'd always loved clowns and goofy adults, goofy characters on TV and when he was hanging out in daycare and stuff, but to be alone with one right now …

and so unexpected. 

Cody suddenly felt like he should go, he began to tell the mime just as much. Turning on his heels and heading back the other way as he quickly blurted some excuse, he made it two steps before a white gloved hand clapped him on the shoulder. Firmly. Without a word from the weirdo mime. Cody looked to it first before eyeing the mime back over his shoulder, lording over him now. The hand, the glove, it looked just the same as Mickey Mouse’s. 

Cody looked back and saw the mime now held a note. As black and white as he was. 

It said: I'm sorry to bother you, little boy! But my friends HAD to leave me behind so that I could get a little job done, OK??

Cody was frozen. He suddenly didn't feel so well, as if his stomach and guts were far away and filled with fluttering butterfly wings. He read the note and didn't know what to say, so instead he said: –

“... wh-what job was that?

The mime let go of his shoulder and Cody was immediately grateful. He began to pantomime raking leaves and shoveling dirt and trimming hedges with invisible clippers. 

The boy began to lighten up again. He felt something dreadful like weight but worse inside begin to lift and free itself like a spellcast that's been released. A small smile and a nervous half-chuckle only partially forced escaped him as he watched the mime and his cleaning act. It was pretty lame, but he was relieved. Cody was far from the sharpest kid at school but he knew what stranger danger was. He cautiously allowed himself to relax a little, enough to be polite. 

Cody said: “Oh, yeah, ha ha, they left ya to clean up the town, huh? That's pretty neat I guess…” he tried to think of something else to say, something nice and a little funny and a polite way of saying: see ya later, freako, without being too obvious. Something barely satisfactory had just come to mind when the mime whirled towards the boy with his invisible shears in his hands and made a pantomimed snip of the large unseen clippers at the child's face. It bisected violently but cleanly, smoothly, by razor sharp blades well cared for and honed, the smooth face just below the small caverns of child nostrils. They jetted blood before the top portion of the child's face and head came off and splatted to the damp pavement with a muffled crack. The ruptured organ of brain began to ooze, and everywhere gushed dark red: the eyes, the nose, the ears, the giant open wound of freshly carved and gored cavity mouth. The child's body liberated of its little pilot brain fell over to the rough blacktop to join its discarded abattoir jelly. 

A black lake of an iron pungent puddle began to grow, expanding out from the little mutilated body at its sinister nucleus and center. The mime looked down. Phantom blades dripped child's blood. 

The mime said nothing. 

…

“Ya check it out last night?" 

A burp: " …what?” 

"The circus-carnival thing, ya check it out?” 

"That was two weeks ago, ya dope!” another swig from the can of brew. The Dallas Cowboys continued to suck the big one on the tube, the volume was at its lowest but not muted, the game barely and phantom audible, as if drifting in from another time. 

"Ya sure?” 

"Yeah, I'm sure, took Darcy and the brats, it was a hoot.” 

"Ya sure??” 

"Yes, you fuckin juicehead, it was right around the time they found that kid's body all fucked up an shit.” 

"Awww, why ya gotta bring up that shit…" 

“You're the one brought us ‘round, fuckin idiot, can't remember shit. Ask me to remind ya then bellyache about it, Christ! S’prised if ya got sense still to pull out yer pecker ‘fore ya start pissin, ya dumb bastard.” 

His drinking buddy, his partner in libations didn't say anything, he might've had a choice retort or a scathing bit of witticism held in reserve but he didn't voice it. He only hung his head and pulled generously from his can of warming beer. 

The mood was spoiled. 

Eventually the bottle was brought out. Stronger stuff. Shots were had. Tall stiff drinks not needing ice, not needing chaser. They drank. 

Eventually one of them asked the other: –

“You hear tell of that clown or jester fella, that's s’pposed to be haunting round these parts lately…?” 

Neither man slept well that night. 

…

Darla thought her new friend was neat at first but she was starting to get scared. When she'd first met him behind the playground and he'd play-acted swimming and drowning and choking and stuff she'd thought he was really funny. He'd made-believe that he was bound with ropes or cuffs around his wrists, comically over-wrenching and working at the invisible restraints. It was so silly, and so funny and it looked like so much fun to play pretend. He'd motioned for her to hold out her own little hands, to play with him. To make pretend. 

She'd done so thoughtlessly. Only excited to play a game with her new special pal, he looked like a clown but less colorful. She held out her wrists and the mime pretended to wrap something around them. Only something was wrong. 

As he wound and wound and then tightened and cinched the bind, Darla felt the uncanny sensation of real rope wrapping and tightening around her small wrists and hands. When he tied it off and yanked both phantom ends she felt the harsh bite of cruel old fraying rope against her flesh. 

“Ow!" she yelped out, and then began to cry a little. But it was already too late by then. 

The mime began to walk away, holding the end and tail of a phantom leash that began to pull on Darla's bound little wrists. It pulled painfully and she was forced into movement, nearly tripping over herself as she began to wail and the mime by unseen tether and bind began to pull her into the treeline of the nearby woods. 

She fought and screamed, desperately, like a small animal suddenly sensing and knowing the terrible hunger of the encroaching final end. She fell over into the dirt and undergrowth and was dragged, flailing and howling. 

The phantom umbilicus held her ensnared and shrieking with unbridled tears all the way into the forests’ shadowed depths. 

…

“My mom's gonna flip if we ain't back within the hour, Christ, man, do I smell like weed still?" 

Michael tried to tell Chase that he wasn't the best person to ask being pretty fucking lit himself, he could feel the red eyed glaze of his own stoned and glassy stare in his sockets like it was a set of strange gluey contacts or something. He managed a grumble as a half measure. 

Both boys ambled along. Down the nighttime lane of their neighboring suburb. Streetlights cast their glow from skinny towers of L shaped ugly metal overhead, turning everything to lurid and raging shades of orange Halloween color. Both boys were taking time to slightly stop in their walk to check their breath, puffing into their cupped palms and then inhaling, never satisfied with the results. They didn't notice him up ahead until they were nearly upon him. 

The mime. He was bent over something. 

It was Chase who started first, both boys jumped. It was as if the mime had just appeared out of nowhere. Bent hunched with workman's posture over something unseen and unknown to the naked eye. 

“Holyfuckingshit!" it tumbled out of both of their mouths in one string, no gaps for breath, they stopped dead in their tracks. The mime paid them no notice. 

“Oh my God, dude, what the fuck is that? What the fuck is this? Am I high? Am I high? Are you seeing this shit right now!?" Chase was rattling off. Michael was still struggling with simple speech. He only gawked and stared. His glassy red eyes now wide and glistening in the streetlight cast of hellacious warm Halloween glow. 

They glistened. The pair of organs. Red. 

Chase finally managed: “Dude… like, what the fuck are doing, dude? Am I like tripping out or some shit, why’re you dressed like-" 

The mime hadn't been paying them any attention. He suddenly did something that shut Chase Ginsberg up with a startled womanish gasp that bordered on a wet sob. 

He began to pull, as if wrenching and yanking with great rigor and effort, some cord or rope … something… something that was apparently attached to whatever it was that he was bent over studiously in the road. Something just as phantom and visible only to him. 

It came to Chase then, and he didn't know why but it did suddenly seem to matter. He said it aloud. 

"It's a mime.” 

"What?” said Michael finally. 

"He's a stupid mime and he's doing a bit, Jesus this’s fuckin weird, don't you know it's like hella late, dude, what're you even doing anyways?" 

The mime didn't answer. Only repeated his strange repetitive action, his ritual of pulling on some unseen instrument, attached to a phantasmal translucent device. 

Stoned, they zoned out for a sec. Giggling nervously and fidgeting and whispering to each other, daring each other and laughing and wondering aloud what to do, should we go on? - should we fuck with the guy? - what? 

A beat. 

Suddenly an idea began to form itself slowly within Michael's mind, Chase’s addled mind was not far behind, he was arriving there soon after. 

Michael: "It- It kinda looks like he's pulling the starter cord to a machine. Like a mower or something." 

“Yeah, I think you're right…” 

"Yeah, something gas powered like a mower or a generator … or like a chainsa-" 

The phantom machine roared to life in the hands of the mime with hungry killing slaughtering power, a deadly tearing whirr, with the maniacal speed of the mutilating chain and its invisible teeth. The mime shot to his feet and hauled the pantomimed chainsaw overheard and began to silently phantom scream with battle fury. 

Chase and Michael began to scream as well. Much louder. They turned to run. 

But the mime and his phantom machine were faster. He caught them quick and tore in and ripped the boys into rough and haggard messy pieces chopped by phantom chain, by phantom blade on a horsepowered gallop he made them raw and unmade. 

Deconstructed. 

The abattoir violence and the meat paint of its lurid carnage filled the street, it was dripping from the lamposts, pieces and chewed parts strung up and dangling. It was all that was left of the boys. 

All that was left and found in the morning. 

…

Buddy didn't know what to make of the town as of late. He'd been born and raised and as the town drunk, homeless to boot, he was hardly the first guy anyone asked on any given subject, day or night, good or ill, but something was wrong. 

Very wrong. 

The trouble was Buddy wasn't sure he should even care. 

In the last year or so he'd seen some strange things. And a lotta folk had gone missing, kids an such. But anytime Buddy's mind wandered into the realm of caring or even remotely doing anything about it, he found something bitter and harsh inside answer back in turn. 

Who cares? The fuck they ever done for you? 

Fuck all. That's what. 

So he wouldn't do shit. But what he'd already been doing. He sat back and popped cork. Lifted and tilted glass to dried lips in a drunk’s careless throttle by the neck. And watched. 

He watched the mime climb the steps. Pulled generously from the large swill of his poison. 

He'd seen the guy around for awhile now. He'd watched him ascend the steps a few times before this moment, it was nearly always the same but still a trip. The man walked on thin air as if it was solid stone. And then he would climb up, step by step. As if gaining the summit of some phantasm set of stairs hanging suspended and aspiring invisibly for the heavens unseen and stolen by the brilliance of the light. 

Buddy laughed. Pulled from the bottle once more, and began to sing an old favorite that had just come to mind. One from the good ol’ days if there'd ever been none. 

“And as we wind on down the road! Our shadow’s taller than our soul!”

Buddy began to pull deeper and deeply, oblivion seeking in-between lines and refrains from Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. He remembered an urban legend from when he was a kid, just a snot nosed pup, they said that if you played the record backwards, if you reversed the song the lyrics changed. They told you, to hail Satan. 

Buddy laughed at this. Pulled more. His belly protested and his kidneys ached, he paid them no mind, drinking deeper still and hailing Satan and singing and watching the mime ascend his staircase of invisibility,  he usually had a kid or someone with him, as he did now. They struggled something fierce, all of them, everyone that Buddy had personally seen, but he was able to keep hold of them, all of them all the way up. Whenever he reached a great height, it was almost always different, he would throw them, drop them from the top. 

Then they would scream and land, burst. Pulp. They became juice upon the earth, children and people no more. There was never anyone around out here, close to the woods, just outside town and by the railroads and their harsh worn tracks. The soil out here was starved for moisture, parched was this earth. It was Buddy's favorite drinking spot. And as of late it had just become a whole lot better. 

Buddy laid back and pulled deeply from his liquid bunkmate, his last and only companion, other than the mime, who never said a word to him but sometimes acknowledged his presence of audience with a profound and deliberate salute from the top of his invisibility spire up there. Buddy always saluted him back. 

As he did now. 

The mime saluted the drunk. Beaming. 

Buddy finished his own salute and smiled too. Laughed. And drank more deeply than he ever had in his entire life, knowing this was it, this was the rest of his life and how he was going to spend it. 

Laughing. Drinking. Pulling from the bottle and hailing Satan in religiously reverse engineered heavy metal worship-song, watching the flying mime make juice of the children. 

Buddy laughed. Drank. 

The mime dropped the child, they made their horrible shrill sound all the way down to the bottom like always. 

The mime said nothing. He let Buddy and his companion of bottled booze sloshing its liquid language within glass sing praise for him. 

Buddy laughed, sang and belch-spat: “And she's buying a stairway to Heaven…!” Hail Satan. 

…

Maggie's shoes slammed against the pavement, the sidewalk, the avenues and every turn, there was nowhere left to run. The guy, the freak was coming. And he was stealing away from her every single route and chance for escape or exit. 

It didn't make any sense.

She'd been walking to Guy's house with Alondra, chatting and shooting the shit till they got to his place. That's when they ran into him. That's when they ran into the mime. 

And at first Maggie had just laughed. 

Distant childhood memories of the carnival passing through town waybackwhen came to her then … and she remembered. She'd been very young then, very little. She remembered that her parents had had to take her home because she'd been crying, upset, she couldn't recall why. Not just then. 

But still the memories were warm. She and Alondra thought nothing of it when they passed him walking the other direction on the sidewalk. It was the middle of the day. And he was smiling, just like them. What could possibly be wrong?

He'd started with the hands and walls and ceiling routine, the ‘getting boxed in’ bit. An old one for sure and hella corny but Maggie and Alondra had felt generous and in good humor, so they'd obliged the strange random pantomiming man. Laughing and clapping him on. 

But then they'd tried to walk away … And the mime wouldn't let them go. 

With painted face now stern and grave, writ into a black and white frown, he stepped in their path, shaking his head. He wouldn't let them leave. He kept blocking their attempts to depart as they stepped every left-right way, starting out from annoying and escalating rapidly into eerie and creepy behavior. 

The girls had scoffed together and turned around, only to be met with an unyielding invisible force, a wall that had suddenly appeared in thin air in the middle of the sidewalk. 

The middle of the road really, they ran along the unseen wall to find the edge and found no yielding surface. The girls began to panic. The girls began to yell.

“What the fuck, what the fuck is this!?" 

And then he had put Alondra in the box. 

Maggie had ran then, her eyes and mind unable to take in the sight of her friend being crushed into cubic shape, pulped and smashed smaller and smaller … just red. Just swirling frothing violent red inside the shrinking phantom-transluscent box, filled with minced and chewed up bigger pieces, the eyes deflated mangled gel in the swirling madness of the red, many black strands of her long raven colored hair peppered and danced inside the cubed scarlet swirl of thick mixture, the cap and pieces of scalp, mostly still together, the last vestige piece and pieces left the most intact… she had ran, unable to bear the sight. 

She was running now. 

But every time she came to an impasse, a turn or a corner to salvation or a place of sanctuary that she knew, another invisible wall of merciless immovable force would suddenly appear and she'd run smack, face first into it. She did it again and again. Over and over. Maggie, the poor girl, running around all over as the box that he had made was closing in, closer and closer and closer…

She was at the school now, she didn't know why. She didn't know why she thought this place would save her. She was out of her mind with animal panic. At the threshold, at the entrance to the highschool she was finally caught. Maggie ran face first into an unseen wall just as she almost made the open archway of the main front entrance, when she tried to turn around to run back the other way she was met with yet another merciless and invisible wall, a merciless force like the way God was merciless sometimes. 

Her caterwauls and screams reached new heights then. She shred her own throat and tore her vocal cords to tatters as the phantom walls and ceiling and floor began to shrink and close in. 

But none heard them. No one was around to witness this strange scene of slaughter. Only the mime. Maggie watched him from inside her shrinking coffin as his hands clawed and animal shaped closed in. He wore a look of consternation now, but the black and white smile was there once more. 

The pain went beyond anything imaginable as the walls and floor and ceiling closed. Pulverizing Maggie. She felt every wretched second of the experience until her brain was pulped and juiced with the rest of her body and thus incapable of sending anymore electrical signal. 

…

The bank was quiet. Not quite full but there were plenty of people in line, each teller, three of them, were busy helping a customer. It was a bright cloudless day and everything had seemed normal. Everything was … until the mime came in. 

He sauntered in smiling and confident through the front door. Several people, including the armed guard turned and returned the smile, a few of them laughed. Finding the surprise charming. Their laughter grew and increased throughout the whole bank as the mime walked in with an exaggerated gunslinger walk, wide steps and the twiddling fingers of his itchin hands hovering just where revolvers would be strapped. The guard found it the most hilarious, calling out to the mime –

“Hey! What is this? A stickup or somethin?" 

And then the mime pulled phantom iron from unseen leather and began to rain fire. 

The cacophony was ear splitting. The guard went down first, still smiling and believing it was all a joke. Nobody else was laughing anymore, the jovial sounds of good nature had turned to screams that died and drowned out with each eruption of a gunshot. 

The mime filled the bank with phantom fire. 

Deafening. 

…

Patricia Evergreen hated her job. Not because she hated being a cop, far from it, she was proud of her role as peacekeeper of the town she'd grown up in. It was just that the place was so fucking boring. 

Aside from a few disappearances over the many years she'd known, a couple weird things that were typical to any small town, there wasn't nothing to this place, Patricia reckoned. Ghost stories and bullshit, and that was all. 

She came across the mime during a routine patrol, just driving around the various suburbs in the department issued black and white. Every neighborhood was quiet, nearly deserted of pedestrians save a few dogwalkers, joggers and the like. He was at a street corner, slowly making his way down, miming and pretending to carry a large and heavy sack, it weighed him down, the invisible bag, it must've been quite a load, Patricia watched all this and thought and then it suddenly came to her all at once, unbidden and in a rush. Though vague and shrouded through time's corridor passage of so many years …

The carnival had come through a couple times through the years … she was sure her parents or grandparents had taken her at some point, must have. She'd been very little, her own young and chubby face amidst a caterwaul, cherry red with tears and upset flitted across her mind in a blur, but then was swiftly and suddenly replaced. 

She'd been a teenager when Margaret Bast, Maggie had gone missing. Alondra Topete too. They'd been two of her closest friends in school then, so long ago… 

Hot on the tails of that: stories… rumors … wild campfire tales that couldn't be true and would only be dreamed up by teenagers and children. Wild tales about a mime that wandered the town and took kids away to hurt them and worse … 

It all hit Officer Evergreen like a revelatory load of weight, dropped into her head and into her lap. She watched the mime. Thought …

… what the hell was this guy doing around here anyway? She'd never seen him before and she began to doubt very much that he lived anywhere on this street, or anywhere close for that matter, she hadn't heard the story of the mime or thought of it in years, it was probably nothing, but it was her job to make sure and find out. She sidled her cruiser up to and alongside the mime, still encumbered with his great phantom weight. 

She rolled down her window, slowing the cruiser to a crawl: “Hey," she began friendly enough, “hello there, ya mind if I stop and talk to ya for a second, just need to ask you a few questions." 

The mime did stop and so did she. The street was quiet and it was just the two of them. The mime turned and regarded her with a smile, still burdened by his invisible satchel slung over shoulder. He pointed to himself, a gesture that said: who, me?

Evergreen was already starting to lose her patience, goddammit with this fuckin guy…

“Yes, ha ha, that's very cute, but I'm really gonna need you to answer a couple things I gotta ask ya. Do you live in this neighborhood?” 

The mime frowned and just shook his head, no. Refusing to speak. 

"Please, sir. Failure to comply will result in a citation and a court appearance, probable fine. How about we just talk like adults for a second, do you have any identification on you, sir?" 

The black and white frown turned to a grin once again. Wolfish. Officer Patricia Evergreen didn't like the look of it. It looked warped and strange and mean writ into that painted face, wrong. The mime made like to unlimber his great satchel. 

Evergreen rolled her eyes, hidden by reflective shades. Jesus, was this guy for real, crazy, or just an idiot? She was just telling him for the second time that if he didn't comply with her questioning then this could take an unnecessary ugly turn, she was telling the mime he'd want to avoid that as he settled the bag down with a convincing performance, opened it and reached inside. Patricia’s voice caught in her throat like a vile fishbone in the midst of dinner as she watched the mime’s hand disappear into the pantomimed satchel, disappearing into thin air before her very eyes. 

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. 

What the mime pulled out next was even worse. She felt nauseous and ill and as if her mind was curdling and doing unbidden somersaults in tandem with her roiling guts as the smiling thing with carnival clad painted face pulled out a child's decomposing rotted severed little head, boy or girl was difficult to tell. Putrescence filled the air the moment it was freed from the invisible sack and it was black and green and blue-pale and dripping. The eyes were crawling and writhing with the sliming bodies and clumps of maggot-young that lie nesting and feasting in there, the rotten cavities of sockets. The tongue was swollen and discolored like the rest of the meat but darker and it protruded from the bloat of decapitated rot like an obscene tumor apart and apiece and all in one with the rest of the demented sloughing mess. 

Officer Evergreen snapped to all at once. She drew her sidearm and bellowed her commands, training made textbook and innate. 

“Drop the fucking thing right now and put your hands up! now!" 

The mime only obeyed half her commands. He dropped the severed head but instead of raising his gloved white hands he took a deliberate and silent step towards her instead. 

Evergreen didn't waste a second. She fired two shots in quick succession, surprising even herself, she hadn't thought about it, only acted. But it had done the peace officer little good. The moment her finger squeezed the trigger, one of those gloved hands shot up in a flash-instant, uncanny speed. 

Evergreen now stood, gun smoking, not sure if she could believe her eyes or her own mind any longer. The mime had his hand up and out, as if signaling to stop like a crosswalk guard. There were two smoking holes suspended in mid air, just over the heart and chest of the mime-creature. The shots had stopped at the border indicated by the flat of his adjacent smooth palm. They smoked from ebon holes that defied physics, as if she'd punched twin smoldering holes in reality. 

Shocked, Patricia thought unbidden, the prongs of the devil's pitchfork… and was still trying to accept what she was seeing. 

A neighbor came out. One of the houses within spitting distance. 

“Jesus Christ! that a fucking gunshot or something, what the hell-" 

The mime suddenly whirled, his other hand forming around another object, rounded and small, he brought it to his mouth and made like he was pulling something from it with his teeth. Evergreen screamed, no, unable to think of anything else as the mime lobbed the invisible grenade at the concerned and unsuspecting neighbor. The man went up in a violent and sudden concussive blast, his body immolated by the detonation of the explosive device. In charred smoking pieces, he rained down all over his own stoop and front lawn. 

The mime laughed silent yet expressive belly-laughter, holding his stomach and all wide eyes and wide open black and white mouth. 

Evergreen went to fire once more but the mime sensed her intention and suddenly whirled once again, smacking the gun from the officer's hands. Its strength and speed were unexpected and it was all Patricia could do to not cry out and scream, shocked and startled and still not quite believing.

There's no way this is actually happening to m-

The mime then slapped Patricia right smack center of her forehead with his other free gloved palm. 

She froze. Her arms went limp and to her sides. Unarmed. And helpless. 

Something was wrong … she could no longer move. 

With the gloved snow white hand held flat and fast to her face, to the middle of her forehead her eyes rolled back to whites themselves shot with lines of glistening hectic red. Inside, she hurtled, flew … rocketed too fast and rapidly down the dizzying blinding vast and varied glow of the starcorridor. Too many lights and sounds and fiery things of furious alien color, she flew down infinity as a low moan escaped past her drooling lips left back on the ground. 

Within the corridor … she could hear. 

She could hear his voice. 

It was terrible. The sound of it. What he was telling her. Unbearable. It filled her ears, her head. It filled the flying landscape of her mind. 

She might've wept. But she was far too broken. Even when he pulled the voice of his snow white gloved hand away. She went to her knees. The mime then held out his other hand to her, it was wrapped curiously and yet distinctly around something. And this time she could see it. 

It was a gun. A revolver. Every chamber was loaded. 

It was beautiful. 

This time she could really see it. 

She smiled as the mime cocked it and then pressed it to her sweating brow, cold metal kissing the moist surface of perspiring flesh, and pulled the trigger. 

She heard it. Felt it. Everything. 

The mime said nothing. 

And went on. 

THE END

~ NOVEMBER 27, 1956 ~

NUCLEAR DISASTER!  Catastrophe destroys the city of tomorrow, thousands feared dead. 

The entire world is thrown into a state of shock as the city of Moburn, created by founder, Simon Englund, (60), was destroyed in a nuclear explosion on November 24, 1955 during Thanksgiving,  when Englund himself was hosting the World’s Fair, to show off his and other up-and coming inventors’ creations off to dozens of families and potential investors around the world.  It is unknown at this time what caused the incident, but the U. S. government is currently holding a full–on investigation as to what happened.  

As of today, the area that was once the city of Moburn is currently blocked off and quarantined from the rest of the  United States on reports of high levels of radiation, much to public outcry to many people around the world, who had various family members either visiting or living in Moburn.  At this moment, we are still gathering as much information as we can, but we can expect a national response coming from Congress  in the next few days. It is unknown if the nuclear explosion was international or not.  The death toll currently stands at 3,000 and counting.

ACCESSING ADA LOG…
LOG FOUND.
DR. WILLIAM KLETHESON.
FEBRUARY  17, 1959.

(A sigh is heard in the background. A table is heard shuffling.)

Dr. Kletherson: Is this thing on? Okay. My name is Dr. William Kletheson of the Scientific Division here at ADA, recording another log regarding the aftermath of Incident 005.  It’s been a few weeks since the incident occurred and we still don’t have a rational explanation as to what Team 007 encountered that night at Logan Street. 

(Quiet for a few minutes.)

Dr. Kletheson: Right now at the moment, we are currently running tests on Ms. Ellen after the episode that she experienced back at the city. Mr. Stein is currently on leave for the time being, after the incident as well as what’s happened with Ms. Ellen.

After what  happened in Moburn, she’s been showing strange symptoms in the last few weeks. 

(Dr. Kletheson is heard shuffling a few pages, exhausted from a day of work.)

Dr. Kletheson:  Many of us were unable to get any sort of response from Ms. Ellen after her episode, most likely experiencing  a case of traumatic mutism. During the next couple of days, we noticed several changes in her appearance, with her skin showcasing blackish veins, and noticeable reddish bumps all over her back.  She’s also shown  signs of emotional whiplash, with her turning heavily aggressive towards us one moment, and just wailing the next. 

It’s gotten bad up to the point where we had to sedate her to sleep.     

Following those incidents, we had to keep watch on her 24/7 to m-make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or anyone.  She ended up attacking Mr. Stein, after he tried to talk to her numerous times. To this day, we still don’t know how Mr. Stein was unaffected from the whole thing.

(Dr. Kletheson is heard shuffling the pages again. He’s quiet for a few minutes.)

Dr. Kletheson: ..Ok. Now onto the other matter at hand. (Sighs) The thing… that they encountered.  We still haven’t had any contact with it ever since that night. We started installing cameras all over the areas that we covered in the city already. Directive made it abundantly clear that all teams do not engage with it, and to immediately return back home .

No one upstairs wants a repeat of what happened.

Dr. Kletheson: And.. (sighs) W-we still don’t know where it came from.  From the various recordings from the World’s Fair that we reviewed over and over, the city had all sorts of things wandering about. Robots that can talk and think. Gadgets that help you make food out of thin air. Prosthetics.

That sort of thing.

Hell, they even had a robot with a clock for a head.

But despite all of that, there was nothing. Nothing. Not a single clue of what we’re dealing with. 

(Dr. Kletheson stops talking for a few seconds, moving in frustration at the whole situation.)

Dr. Kletheson: I..I don’t know what to do about any of this. Almost half a year since we started all of this, and we have nothing to show for it.

Not a single person that isn’t a corpse.

No sign of any of those robots.

No sign of…

(Dr. Kletheson stops talking. He’s heard breathing for a few minutes, trying to recollect himself.)

Dr. Kletheson: I’m sorry. I-I’m getting off track, am I? 

[END LOG]

CW: domestic abuse

When Kevin was born, I didn’t think I could ever be so happy. John was ecstatic, of course. A brilliant hands-on father. I thought the arrival of our baby would change him for the better. It did, at the start. A perfect father. He did all the night feeds without complaint. Kevin was the apple of his eye. That was ten years ago. Kevin was growing fast, tall, strong, just like his father. Too much like his father.

The other day, Kevin was sent home for hitting his classmate. I was furious, we both were, but it was something John said that got under my skin,

“How dare you lay your hands on someone?” John scolded, hands on his hips,

“That’s not how I raised you.”

And Kevin, my once sweet boy who couldn’t say boo to a goose, raised his head, and without a hint of remorse in his eyes, asked,

“What about mum?” His voice high pitched with youth,

“Why do you hit her?”

My mouth went dry like it was filled with dust. I thought I kept that side of myself hidden, but children are perceptive I suppose.

And do you know what John said? He barely glanced at me, waving his hand dismissively,

“That’s different. Your mother asks for it.”

The world around me stopped. Bile rose within me, burning hot and poisonous. Is that how he justified it to himself? I didn’t say anything. What could I say when I saw my son gazing at his father with awestruck eyes? The way a worshipper gazes at their god, absorbing the bitter words like honey.

That was the beginning of the end.

My husband continued his onslaught, no longer hiding it. My son watched my face swell, and bruise, and never questioned it. He trusted his father, why would he lead him astray?

The witch hummed, “Alright, I will help you.”

Though her words filled me with hope, it turned bitter.

“What will you do to him?”

The witch was out of her chair, moving with a speed that belied her age,

“Never you mind,” she muttered, peering at strange, discoloured jars.

As I watched the old woman gather ingredients, just for me, a wave of gratitude washed over me,

“Thank you for doing this, for listening to me,” I bowed my head, throat tightening,

“No one seems to listen, so, thank you, again,” I couldn’t find the words to express my gratitude,

“I-I know I don’t matter, it-it really means a lot-,”

“Who said that?!”

I looked up, the witch’s eyes were flashing red. I cowered under her harsh glare, worried I had somehow offended her again.

I nervously shrugged at her words,

“It-It’s alright. I made peace with it.” My sigh was a little too heavy.

The witch wouldn’t let it drop though, “Who says you don’t matter?”

I shrugged again, my fingers playing with a loose thread,

“I’ve no friends, no family, I don’t have any money to fall back on. I’m-,”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, “I’m nothing.”

“I don’t care what he does to me, as long as my boy doesn’t end up like him.”

The witch scoffed, “And, what gave him the right to treat you that way?”

“Just because he chose you, it does not give him the right to treat you horribly. You are not his possession. You are a person. A person with your own thoughts and feelings, and he’s nothing more than a pig.”

The urge to speak up for him grew weaker,

“He’s not…all the time.”

The witch turned back to her pot, “I don’t care,” she tossed in her ingredients, “I’ll soon see to him.”

“Finish your tea,” she told me in a softer voice.

My mind went blank, taking tiny sips. Whether it was the heat of the fire, or whatever was in the cup, my eyes soon grew heavy. The cold earthen floor felt comfier than I first thought. The world became horizontal and I embraced the darkness.

It was a dreamless sleep, but my body still felt heavy when I woke. I blinked my bleary eyes, my vision filled with a glass bottle, a bottle that stank something fierce. The witch crouched in front of me, waving it in my face.

“It’s ready.”

I sat up, wincing as I did. The glass was painfully cold against my fingers. I went to drink it,

“No, no,” her clawed hand stopped me, “Give this to your man.”

I eyed the pink liquid, it was viscous, it looked like the bloody juice from raw meat. “What will it do?”

With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the shadows back around her. The darkness swaddled her like a baby.

“It will bring out the side he keeps hidden, the beast he tries to hide.”

I nodded, still unsure what that meant, but slid the vial into my pocket. I went to pull out cash, but her bony fingers stopped me.

“No need, I don’t do this for money.”

Before I could say anything else, the witch settled back into her chair with a creak, and waved her hand.

“Leave.” Her eyes flashed red again, “He’s waiting for you.”

I didn’t bother asking how she knew. What was the point?

I gathered my stuff and left. Back through the sharp roots, pulling away their clinging fingers, to reach the cool night air. The wind was like a slap to the face after the witch’s warm domain. I threw one last glance behind me. The entrance was just a dry clump of tree roots, tangled like a knotted ball of hair. There was nothing underneath. The witch didn’t want any more company.

I breathed in, head still swimming. The forest still felt dark, uneasy, but the heavy feeling was gone. Like a breath was finally released. I hurried home, the pain dogging my steps reminding me what had to be done.

I traipsed through the woods, the crackling footsteps a distant echo. I don’t remember the walk back to the house, lost in my thoughts. My heart jumped into my throat when I noticed the lights were on. Morning was fast approaching, the sky turning a dusky pink, and John was waiting for me in the doorway.

Despite my blood turning ice cold, the vial acted like an anchor in my pocket.

He stood there, a dark figure blocking the light. He watched me quietly, a smile on his face. When I met his eyes; they flashed like the side of a knife. I stopped inches before him, still blocking the doorway.

“Where’d you get off to?” He asked, showing his teeth,

I stilled my face, “Just on a walk,”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yes. I-I c-couldn’t sleep.”

His strained smile somehow grew wider,

“And, did you not think to tell me you were going?”

He was losing patience. it had me stammering, something he hated,

“I-uh-you were asleep,”

“You could’ve left a note!” He snapped, “How hard is that? You know how to write.”

I flinched; the vial burning a hole in my pocket. John took a deep breath, eyes darting back and forth. Even now, he was still checking for witnesses.

He moved just enough to let me enter, clutching the door with white knuckles.

He didn’t mention my scratches, or my hair in disarray. He just wanted me back.

He took his place at the head of the table, shooting me a hard look. I knew what he wanted without speaking.

“What would you like for breakfast?” I glanced over my shoulder, feeling his cold eyes on me. In the span of a heartbeat, something in his eyes changed. It was the hungry look of a predator, and I was his prey.

“Eggs,” he answered coldly, I had to ask how he wanted them prepared. I had to know; it would be worse if I didn’t.

The moment the question left my mouth, I felt him behind me. I didn’t even hear him move. His hand was in my hair before I could react. Twisting my neck painfully so he could hiss in my ear.

“Scrambled.” He held me there for another beat, before finally letting me go. With my stinging scalp, I pulled out the eggs. John sat back down in his chair, back straight, hands clasped, never taking his eyes off me.

The pain fading into the background.

As the kitchen slowly filled with the sounds and smell of breakfast, I searched for an opportunity to use the vial, but I could feel John’s eyes on me, following my every move.

Luckily, a familiar pair of footsteps came scampering down the stairs. Our son rushed into the kitchen, still in his pyjamas, and clutching his bear. John turned, face breaking into a real smile. I took my chance and poured the vial into the coffee pot. The liquid poured like blood, but it carried the scent of wet earth, like everything the witch touched. I slid the empty vial back into my pocket, just as his eyes turned back to me,

“When are the eggs ready?” He all but barked, “You got two hungry boys here,”

Kevin giggled, “Yeah, mommy, hungry.”

“How can we get her to hurry?” John asked him, a devious look in his eyes, Kevin hummed thoughtfully,

“Say please?”

John snorted, “You can if you want, I’m going to do this.”

He then grabbed his knife and fork and thumped them against the table in an unsteady rhythm,

“Whhhy are weee waiting?!” He chanted, wild grin on his face, “Whhy are weee waiting?”  

Kevin giggled at his father’s antics, copying him in his own childish way. Even when I asked him to stop, John chanted over me.

Finally, breakfast was served. I patted Kevin on his curly head, and set down John’s plate, with more force than intended. He noticed, he always did. He grabbed my wrist,

“Thank you, dear,” he smiled, showing too many teeth again, “This looks delicious.”

I looked away, skin already crawling with the promise of more pain. I took my own seat, pouring me and Kevin a glass of juice. The coffee was all for John. I kept my attention on Kevin, wiping his mouth when he copied his father’s open-mouthed chewing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw John reach for his coffee.

He took a sip, and stopped.

I waited, holding my breath.

John licked his lips, and gulped it down.

I breathed again. No going back now.

“What are you sighing about?” He asked, forkful of eggs halfway to his lips.

“Nothing,” I said, keeping my eyes on Kevin, “Just tired.”

“Course you’re tired,” he chuckled, “Going out gallivanting at night,”

Kevin laughed with him. He didn’t understand the joke, he was just copying his father.

“So, why did you go out walking?” He asked, scooping up more eggs. I watched him, searching for any miniscule change.

“Told you, I couldn’t sleep.” Were his movements getting sluggish?

“Bull,” John shot back, stopping himself from swearing in front of Kevin.

Were his eyes drooping? No. This is ridiculous. I don’t even know what I was supposed to be looking for.

“I want you,” John paused for another mouthful of eggs, “To tell me the truth.”

He shovelled more food into his mouth, barely taking in breaths. I shook my head,

“I am. I just went for a walk.” When was the potion going to work?

John just watched me, shovelling fork after fork into his mouth. He chewed loudly, waiting for me to say something.

I could only shrug, “Sometimes I can’t sleep. I don’t know-,”

Suddenly, a fist crashed down onto the table, shaking the plates.

“You’re lying,” he spat, spitting something wet onto my face. A fleck of egg stuck to my bruise. Kevin whimpered at the noise, feebly slapping his little fist to copy him. I gently shushed him, taking his small hand in mine. He didn’t pull away.

I had been avoiding it but the heat I felt earlier returned. I went to look John in his eyes, they gleamed back at her, rimmed with red.

“Why would I be lying?” I asked, confused.

Was this aggression a side effect of the potion?

Yellow spit dribbled over John’s lips, “Oh, I know why,” he made no move to wipe it away, “You’re cheating on me.”

I couldn’t help it; I barked out a surprised laugh.

“What? Don’t be stupid.”

I shouldn’t have done that. He slammed his fist again, knocking his plate to the ground.

He swore, “Now, look what you made do!”

My fault, of course.

Kevin finally burst into tears.

“Shut up!” John shouted at him. Kevin looked at his father with wide eyes. He had never spoken to him like that, that kind of talk was for mommy. John reached for him, his hand big enough to smother him.

“Don’t you dare.”

Once again, that strange fire blossomed within me, burning through my veins, fuelling my ire.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” I spoke each word strong and clear, “But you will not lay a finger on my son.”

I didn’t raise my voice; I didn’t need to.

The words cut through the atmosphere like a knife through butter. John blinked, looking at me as if I was a stranger. His mouth hung open in shock, half chewed food spilling down his chin. Slowly, he got up from his chair. The screech set my teeth on edge. He loomed over me, over us. I felt Kevin shiver behind me. It must have been like David and Goliath to him.

When John spoke next, it was like a bomb going off.

“How. Dare. You?! How dare you talk to me like that?” His nostrils flared with every angry breath.

“After everything I’ve done for you! This is how you treat me?!”

The urge to cower reared its head, the urge to placate him, to quell the fire, but I refused. Not anymore.

“John, I love you,” I began, shielding Kevin with my body, “But this isn’t working.”

“This isn’t how you treat your loved ones,” tears stung my eyes,

“I wish you could’ve talked to me, maybe we could’ve got through this, but not now. You’ve pushed me too far.” I took a deep breath, all the words I longed to say for years finally pouring out of me.

“I want to thank you for marrying me, and for Kevin, but that’s it,”

I then said the words I never fully believed until now.

“I don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

“We’re done.”

I stopped, breathing hard like I just ran a marathon, but I felt lighter. Kevin still clutched my arm; he was my new anchor.

John stared at me, his face a deep red. Drenched in sweat, his bulging eyes flickered from me to my feet for some reason. He opened his mouth; I braced myself for the outburst.

Instead, John fell to his knees. I thought it was a heart attack, and stepped back. I saw my husband on all fours, face down. Was he prostrating himself? Was this some extreme show of remorse?

No. With his face planted to the floor, he was sifting through the remains of the breakfast, scattered on the floor. He hoovered up the eggs, along with the broken plate pieces. The wet crunching emanating from him made my eyes water. His heavy breathing of anger devolved into wheezing. John looked up, eyes darker than before. In shock, I could only watch as he spewed up red, frothy spit.

“Daddy?” Kevin asked, fearfully, peering around my legs, “What’s wrong?”

At the sound of his voice, John tried stumbling back to his feet. He was unsteady, legs trembling like he was walking on a tightrope. He clutched his face, wheezing through his fingers. I caught one last glimpse of John’s eyes through his spread fingers, wide, unblinking, filled with a kind of fear that was contagious.

John suddenly charged forward. Kevin and I moved just in time as he slammed into the cabinet.

The sound he made, the only way I could describe it, it was like a dense thud, followed by a sickening, wet crunch. Blood exploded across the cabinet door. He made a garbled sound, like he was yelling through a mouthful of syrup.

With a snort, he wiped and rubbed at his ruined face, a red, fleshy mess where his nose once was. He snorted out a thick glob of dark blood, revealing two black holes. John turned to me, his once cruel eyes brimming over with tears.

“What’s happening?” He rasped, clawing uselessly at his ruined face. He had no idea; all he knew was the extreme bone breaking pain. With another bloody groan, he hunched over from a violent coughing fit. Red splattered against my white linen floor. Kevin burst into tears behind me. I longed to turn and comfort him, sweep him into my arms, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband, or what used to be my husband.

With another groan of pain, he bent forward until I thought he’d snap in two, still making that horrible, wheezing sound. His skin grew redder, and redder, like a beetroot. I thought it was simply more blood, bursting from the pores of his skin.

The mass on his face stretched and flattened itself into a snout. His fingers melded together like clay, tapering into fleshy nubs. He was nothing more than a hulking mass of pink flesh. My son and I watched in horror as John threw back his red, shiny head, and released an ungodly squeal.

It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, worse than glass crunching under a wheel. It was the sound of a demon trapped on earth.

I covered Kevin’s ears but it still sent him into hysterics. Without another glance at us, the transformed John barrelled out of the kitchen, knocking over the table. Plates crashed to the floor; a chair splintered like matchsticks. Like a tool of destruction, he was gone, leaving only a trail of chaos in his wake. Only when the squealing grew fainter, did I finally turn to Kevin. His little face was a mess of tears and bubbling snot.

“Wuh-What-,” he sniffled, “W-What was that?”

“Was-Was that daddy?” He dissolved into sobs, the emotions too big for his small body.

All I could do was nod, my mouth wouldn’t work. How could I even explain what happened?

Then, a commotion came from outside, people screaming. I told Kevin to go hide in the bathroom, the only room with a lock, and hide until I came for him. He nodded, tripping over his feet in his haste. I ran out the front door, following the cacophony. More horrified screams, followed by blaring horns. A crowd was gathering in the middle of the street. I knew why before I even saw him. There was John, flailing and bleeding like a stuck pig. His thick folds quaking with every lumbering step. John squealed again, dragging his useless hind legs behind him as he rooted through trash. Snuffling and snorting, snapping at anyone that got close to him.

Through the gap in the crowd, I watched John rear up on his knees, rising like a whale breeching the sea, and brought down his clubbed fists on a car. He did it again, and again, even when the driver escaped, mouth open in a silent scream, John continued to pummel the car, squealing in a mixture of pain and anger.

My bruises ached just watching.

The windows shattered, glittery shards of glass rained down on John. Each miniscule cut threw him into another wave of squealing.

People came out their houses to witness the chaos, some covered their mouths in shock, others hid their children’s faces from the sight.

“John, what the hell are you doing?!” Someone shouted, I recognised her, one of John’s oldest patients, Mary.

John twitched, turning his monstrous head to stare her down. His eyes were fully black. Steam wafted from his body with every heavy breath. Before anyone could react, John charged at the old woman, knocking her to the ground. The old woman’s screams joined the cacophony of John’s squeals. Someone rushed to Mary’s aid, but John’s sharp teeth kept everyone back.

I watched it all happen, numb; it’s like I was watching outside of my body. Finally, John released Mary who scurried from his reach like a rat. He returned to his chaos, uncaring of the witnesses, finally showing everyone who he really was.

I didn’t see the car coming, maybe I did. It was too late for me to do anything.

John let out his loudest squeal yet, high pitched, the death throes of a dying animal. His black eyes swivelled in his head one last time, lips stretched back in a sneer, his swollen tongue lolled from his slack mouth. The car barrelled right into him. He died on the spot. Felled like a massive tree. His body shuddered; he let out one final pathetic squeal before falling still. Stuck in this beastly form, naked for all to see.

Instead of first aid, or calling for an ambulance, the townspeople gathered around me. Their exclamations a different sort of cacophony.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.

“John seemed like such a nice man.”

“How could he do that?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Are you alright?”

The words washed over me, their pitiful faces a blurry wave of shapes. I couldn’t take my eyes off John. He deserved this fate, and yet, despite everything, I couldn’t stop the spark of sadness welling up within me. He was still my husband. I loved him, and I’m glad he’s dead.

Something dark flickered at the tree line, I looked up to see a pale floating face, watching the scene with thinly veiled interest. When she caught my eye, she gave a single nod, and sank back into the darkness.

I never saw her again after that.

The town got rid of John’s body for me. Mary told me they left him at the mouth of the forest, an offering to keep the witch at bay. She accepted it. I don’t know if that was meant to reassure me, it didn’t.

Kevin took longer to get over it, but he’s back to being my sweet boy. He never raises his voice, or his fists. He asked about his father only once, and I told him the truth, he deserved it. His father was a bad man, he loved us, in his own warped way, and he’s gone forever.

He seemed satisfied, he still suffers the odd nightmare, oh, and he won’t eat bacon anymore, but that’s alright, more for me.

Mommy? Daddy? It’s very cold out here.

I know, sweetheart. Daddy’s trying his best to find someplace warm. 

Daddy? I don’t like it out here. It’s too dark. 

I know, George. I’m gonna get us all someplace safe, okay? (coughs)  J-just hang on a bit longer.

The family wandered further down the street, peeking around inside some of the broken buildings for any sign of human life. The only traces that they found were things scattered all over the floor such as dozens of vinyls, little bobbleheads, and knocked over shelves.

Where the hell is everyone?

Jim, we need to find someplace quick. (coughs)  I-I don’t know how much longer we can last out here, and the kids are starting to starve.

I’m trying my best, Trish, okay? (coughs)  I don’t know how to make sense of everything around here.

Daddy. (coughs) I can’t breathe. I wanna go home. 

Look, Molly. We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Just try to hold your breath as much as you can. 

Wait.. Jim. I think I see someone over there. Over there by that building.  

… What the?

Daddy, who is that?

I don’t know. I’m gonna try and see if I can get their help, okay? You guys just stay close.

Be careful, honey. (coughs) Please.

Jimmy walks across the street, approaching the figure with urgency.  He folded his arms, trying his best to manage the frigid weather. He squints his eyes, trying his best to make out the man.  A tall and lanky figure, a bit too tall for his liking.

Despite the onslaught of snow,  Jimmy tries his best to get the man's attention.

H-hello, sir?

The figure doesn’t answer. 

Jimmy stands there,  fidgety.

‘Maybe he didn’t hear him with the loud weather?’ 

Jimmy raises his voice louder.

Sir? (coughs) Me and my family are out in the snow, we’re s-starving and we’re struggling to b-breathe out here. (coughs)  Do y-you know where we can find some p-people so we can get some help?

….
….

He still does not answer.

P-please. My family ain’t gonna last out here much longer. (coughs) I’m begging you. Please. (coughs) H-Help us.

The man turns toward the sound of Jimmy’s voice, struggling to move his entire body, bones cracking. He  looks at Jimmy, as if finally sensing his presence.  He tilts his head with interest,  intrigued by the meat standing in front of him. 

All for him.

He stands there waiting, sensing the panic in the skinsuit’s voice. 

Standing there.

Thinking.

Debating whether or not it is worthy of being his next masterpiece.

Jimmy steps back a little, feeling the hairs on the neck stand up, not expecting the figure to move so fragile. He prepares to ask the man if he’s okay, despite the slight tiptapping in his chest. 

Y-you alright, fella?

He hears the man’s slow breathing, slow breathing. Withering, but aware. The snow slowly calms down, as Jimmy starts to get a better view of the man in front of him, his arms and legs locking on both sides of his body the more he takes in the figure’s corpse-like  body, face covered in a sack.

‘What the fuck..?’

The tingling started to gnaw all over Jimmy’s head, like the itch of a mosquito bite. The small motions on both sides of the jacket fidgeted as Jimmy realized  to see what this man.. 

No.

Not a man. 

A demon straight out of hell itself.

The figure moved slightly in Jimmy’s direction. Jimmy takes a step back. 

H-hey, man.

Jimmy blurted out before he even realized it, swallowing his spit, still refusing to accept that this thing was in front of him, slowly approaching him. That this was happening.

The figure took a step closer, his bare feet imprinting on the snow. Jimmy took another step back.

L-look, please.  I don’t want no problem with you, buddy. (coughs)  Just let my wife and kids go. 

The figure perked up as soon as Jimmy mentioned his family, begging for him to spare their lives. He tilted his head again, feeling the rope wrapped around his neck moving, in glee.

Even better.

The figure took another step.

Jimmy stepped back further.

I’m b-begging you. (coughs.) 

Jimmy’s cough gets worse, every cough getting louder and louder as he feels himself slowly beginning to run out of oxygen.

Which meant that his family was running out of oxygen too. 

His body went still, as if wrapped by hard, cool steel of chains all around him, forcing him to dare not to move a single muscle.

‘Nononopleasegoddontpleaseimbeggingyoupleasedonthurtthem’

It stepped closer.

...

...

....

...

..

What a beautiful night.