Hey, Nick, can I have some of the popsicles? Please? As
she yelled out to me while I was laying on the couch with an ice
pack resting on my chest. It was a hot, humid day in the
middle of the rural outskirts of upstate New York on a Friday afternoon. My
younger brother and I had just gotten home from school, board as hell while
we boiled alive indoors and outdoors. No, we have to wait until Wednesday.
But it's my birthday, so I should be able to have one,
Asher said, in an annoying, entitled tone. Not your birthday till Wednesday,
dude, Plus mom and dad said. I was annoyed, uncomfortable,
sweating, and felt like a husk. I was fourteen, while my younger
brother was turning eleven. We were home alone until Sunday morning while our parents
were out on a business trip. Asher closed the freezer door after peeking inside,
and lazily walked over to the couch, where he fell over and landed
on top of me. Do what the hell get off me? I yelled
out. I'm bored. He groaned, Yeah, okay, I literally don't
care, I said. I shoved him off the couch and he got up,
looking out on to the porch. Can we go look for snakes outside?
He asked, you can. I'm tired. I closed my eyes,
wanting to take a nap. You're always tired, he said, as he
walked over to the glass sliding door. I watched him look out the window,
feeling too weak to move. It was so hot it felt like I
was melting into the couch. Mom and Dad had all this time to go
on dinners, trips, and visits, yet they didn't have time to get
someone to fix their conditioning. A knock from the front door echoed to the
house, catching Asher's attention. He stood up and went to answer it.
Don't answer it, I said, in a weak monotone voice. Why cause
it could be a serial killer waiting to make you his next victim. Shut
up, Nick, you're not funny. The knock then evolved into multiple fists
pounding at the door. It's just the FBI. Open up, you're all
under arrest. Jacob's muffled voice yelled from the other side of the door.
Okay, open it, I said, annoyed. Asher raced to open the
door, letting Jacob and Trevor inside. They were the two closest friends we
had, both of them in the same class as me. They raised inside,
and the disgusting odor of hot sweat permeated off of them. Nick,
you'll never guess what we found in the woods, Trevor excitedly yelled out,
we found an abandoned treehouse. Jacob followed up. Trevor elbowed Jacob, and
they both looked at me, ready to run back outside. My interest was
piqued as I sat up on the couch where at I curiously asked. It's
further past the quarry, Jacob said, trying to catch his breath, like
a fifteen minute walk past it. I want to go, please, Nick,
let's go check it out. As she yelled out, I sighed,
getting up off the couch. I looked at the time as though I had
something important coming up. At three sixteen pm, the three were staring at
me excitedly waiting for an answer. Yeah, all right, I guess,
I said, shrugging my shoulders. Yes. Trevor yelled out, all right,
let's go quick. Trevor ran out of the house, followed by Jacob
and Asher. I jugged towards them and exited the house. They all hot
on their bikes that were hastily thrown on the messy, toy covered lawn.
Mom and Dad had told us that we needed to clean the front and backyard,
but our logic was to wait until the last second before touching anything.
We were two geniuses competing with Tesla's IQ. Our house was completely surrounded by
miles of woods and a small quiet road. The nearest neighbor was a mile
and a half away, so if anything were to happen at home, then
we were on our own. I honestly don't know what our parents are thinking
during that point of time. Always going out, We drove about a mile
and a quarter down the road on our bikes, the wind feeling amazing against
my sweaty face. Afterward, we drove to a trail off to the side
of the road and continued through the forest. The sun was beaming through the
trees, most of which were just barely grown back the leaves. When we
finally got to the quarry, Jacob and Trevor slowed down and got off of
their bikes. Asher and I shot each other confused glances. Why are we
stopping, I questioned them. The treehouse isn't on the trail Jacob said,
panting as though he had been running the whole way here. How the hell
did you guys even find it? I asked. We were looking for a
new spot to catch water snakes. Trevor yelled out as he dropped his bike
and quickly walked towards the thick forest. Asher and Jacob, along with myself,
quickly followed behind, all eager to see this treehouse. Trevor, Jacob
and I had always dreamed about having a treehouse or something of that matter to
hang out in and have sleepovers inside, like headquarters for our group. Since
this was out in the middle of absolutely nowhere, it would most likely need
some touch ups, which we could easily do over time. Ah, I'm
tired, Asher whined, Quit being such a baby, I said, not
wanting to deal with this crap. You know it's going to be a long
walk, I know, but still, can we stop for a second,
Asher said, trying to sit down. No, we're literally like five minutes
away, Trevor said, not turning to look towards Asher. We continued on,
Asher continuing to whind the entire way. He'd always been whinying entitled,
but I still felt bad for him since he didn't really have a lot of
friends because of it. But unfortunately that's what happens when mommy and daddy don't
know how to say no. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited
out on my mind to see the tree house, though, but I wanted
to look cool and keep calm on the outside. After about twenty minutes in
total of traveling through the forest, leaves crunching under every step, birds singing
and chirping, accompanied by the noises of a pratty little brother, we finally
arrived a very tall, skinny oak tree sat in a small clearing about fifty
feet away from any trees. It was a strange sight, but it made
sense why whoever built the tree house chose that particular tree. The tree house
itself was decent sized, provided enough room for about five kids our age to
sit comfortably inside. It wrapped around the tree about thirty feet in the air,
and a singular ladder led inside. It seemed as though it had been
there for so long that the trees started more around the edges of it,
like it was clay. The treehouse was in amazing shape, a little dusty,
but no rot overgrowth, nothing at all. Dude, this is amazing,
I blurted out. Have you guys gone inside yet? Nah, Drevor
said, shaking his head. We wanted to get you guys first. He
looked over at us with an excited grin. It was an amazing sight,
for sure. The wood of the treehouse was a light color, almost a
whitish yellow. Fine details were all over the outside of the walls and windows
painted red and dark brown. This was the kind of treehouse that was made
by a father who had a passion for craftsmanship, made specifically for his young
children to make wonderful memories inside. Yet for some odd reason, it was
out there, almost three miles deep in the woods. We didn't question it,
though I wish we would have, but we were young, stupid,
and naive. At least that's what I keep telling myself. I went up
next to the ladder and rested my hand under the tree. However, I
instantly pulled it back. The bark of the tree fell off. In fact,
it didn't feel like tree bark at all. It was somewhat warm,
with a soft, newbug leathery feel. I slowly went to feel again.
It was definitely not bark. I couldn't even keep my hand on it for
longer than two seconds without feeling disgusted. I honestly thought the tree was rotten,
which made me hesitant to climb up the ladder. I didn't say anything,
as did not spoil the mood, so I stood back to look back
at the treehouse again. Trevor, Jacob, and Asher plabbed about their ideas
of what they could do with the treehouse. Treffor and Jacob always tried to
include Asher and stuff, which was nice, but I still always felt annoyed
with his presence most of the time. Jacob asked who should go up first.
Trevor and Ash both instantly said they would, so they did rock paper
scissors to settle and who would be the lucky number one? Trevor one,
making Asher a bit upset. Trevor smiled and told him that it's best he
goes at first, just to make sure it's safe. Asher surprisingly shut up,
finally understanding the concerns from someone else's viewpoint other than his own. I
was a bit annoyed since he never listened to me, but whatever. Drefford
started to make his way up the tall, skinny ladder, all of us
waiting in anticipate, patient for what he would see up there. The subtle
wind caused the trees to sway in a strange way, like he was doing
his best to blend in with the other trees around it, but didn't know
how. That's the best way I can describe it. When he finally reached
the top, he didn't say anything. At first. We couldn't see him
as he had entered the treehouse. What's it look like up there, Jacob
yelled out. It's pretty empty, only a couple of cobwebs. Trevor yelled
back. Asha then started climbing up the ladder eagerly. I stopped him,
and he looked back at me with an annoyed expression. What he whined.
I was about to say something, but I tripped over my tongue and couldn't
remember what I was going to say. Just let him go, bro,
Jacob said, with a face of pity. I motioned for him to go,
and he continued up the ladder. In that moment, a strange,
cut feeling washed over me, like a primitive instinct was kicking in. I
didn't say anything, but I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't want
my brother going up there. But what was I going to say, you
can't go up there? Because I said so. Yeah. Right after Asher
got up there, him and Trevor called out to us to join them.
Jacob started climbing up the ladder next, and I was debating if I should
follow. After my turn came and I began to slowly make my way up
the ladder. I felt much higher than what it seemed from the ground.
The soft wind blowing against my face, the sounds of the branches swaying and
brushing up against each other echoed through the trees, almost sounding like a deep
groan of a sleeping giant. When I finally reached the top, I rested
on the floor of the tree house, looking around at the interior. The
tree was in the center of the room, with what looked to be faint
vomits sanes covering the wooden floor. It even kind of smelled like vomit.
Jacob pointed out the smell and said they could bring some air freshness when they
came back with some decor. The feeling in my stomach got worse looking out
the windows, seeing the seemingly infinite void of trees around us instead of the
nice, cozy backyard of a small home made me feel uneasy. Something was
off and it was eating me alive, my excitement slowly diminishing. Meanwhile,
the others were still geeking out over the place. So what shall we name
this place? Jacob asked the cool Kid's club with three ks. Trevor giggled.
As they went back and forth, I noticed something on the tree itself,
a strange mark, just about three feet wide. It was like a
seam in the bark, curved inwards into itself, very similar to two flaps
of fat. I've seen some pretty strange tree formations, so I brushed it
off. I tried keeping cool, but this pit of my stomach was forming
into a black hole. So I made up an excuse for us to leave.
Why don't we go back to our place and get some stuff to bring
back here, I said, having no intentions of returning. We can bring
snacks, Yeah, all right, Trevor said. We can also stop by
my place to get my backpack to fit more stuff. Asher was clearly upset.
But I don't want to go, he whimpered. We're literally going to
come right back, Jacob sighed, So I can stay here and wait for
you guys, Asher argued, no, Mamma, Dad told me to keep
an eye on you at all times. I argued back, well, it's
almost my birthday, he said, folding his arms. After a little more
pointless arguing, he begrudgingly agreed to come back down. I was relieved to
finally get out of there, But when we got to the bottom, I
saw Jacob look at Asher with a guilty expression. It's not his fault.
He felt bad for him, even though we were coming right back to cheer
him up. He handed Asher a small army knife he got from boy Scouts
and told him he could carve all our initials into the tree at the top,
so that way people would know it was ours. Asher a little with
excitement, and his mood instantly shifted. Why don't I come with you,
I said quickly. I can do this by myself. I'm not a baby,
Asher said, annoyed with me. I wish I'd stopped him. I
wish I could have done more, something, anything more, but I didn't.
I watched as he eagerly made his way up the ladder, carrying the
knife and honor of marking our territory. Jacob and Trevor cheered him on as
I nervously watched. Hell yeah, Asher, Trevy yelled, you caught this
birthday boy. Jacob followed after. I didn't know why I was nervous,
but I just was like my guardian angel was screaming at me to go and
get him. Unfortunately, that would be the last time I ever saw him
again. The tree groaned with the wind. Something was definitely off. Asher
got to the top and went to carve the names, but I lost sight
of him. Yo is everything okay, man, Jeff asked me. Yeah,
yeah, I'm good, I replied back. My eyes were dead focused
on the treehouse, and I could feel Jacob and Trevor looking at me for
a few more moments before turning their gazes back to the treehouse. I was
imagining Asher struggling to even leave a mark in the tree with his little noodle
arms. Usually I thought like that would make me laugh internally, but I
only felt sad, the type of sadness when you see someone who hasn't had
a good life or is struggling physically spill their drink everywhere or trip on a
treadmill at the gym. As silly as that is, I shook the thought
off and looked back up at the treehouse. We waited for a few minutes
with no call outs from Asher. Do you need help up there, Jacob
called out. Jacob and Trevor chuckled, waiting for a response. A few
seconds went by, only to be greeted with nothing. Asher. I called
out, we were all waiting for a response, but nothing came. I
wanted to assume that he was dead focused on carving those initials, but after
we called out some more, we still got no response. Asher, stop
messing around, man, Trevor yelled out. I then grabbed a hold of
the ladder, making my way up, anticipating Asher jumping out at me at
the entrance. As I made my way up, I could have sworn I
saw movement underneath the bark, like there was something trying to escape from it.
It reminded me of when a snake swallows a rat or something of that
size, when you see that lump moving down its throat. However, saw
it for about a second, so I assumed that it was the tree swaying
in the wind or something like that. I got to the top and looked
around but saw nothing Asher, I said aloud, assuming he was behind the
other side of the tree. I crawled inside, and the now stronger smell
of vomit and bile assaulted my nostrils, causing me to tear up. I
crawled all the way around, but he was nowhere to be seen. My
stomach dropped. Where could he have gone? I looked at the floor and
saw the army knife lying there in a puddle of what looked like greasy yellow
slime. I took a good look at it, and then turned my attention
towards the tree. The same mark I saw before had slimed, dripped down
from the tight crevice, with a new small mark above it, looking like
a little scab. The sight reminded me of the close mouth of a toothless
old person, so eliva running down their lips. You look like ashes started
carving but didn't finish. I just sat there, trying to process what I
was looking at. Jacob and Trevor were calling out to me, but he
didn't register with me. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. I wanted
to throw up. It was at that moment and the screams of Jacob and
Trevor yelling out for me to come down finally got through to me. I
nearly fell all the way down as I quickly hurried down the ladder. As
soon as I reached the bottom, I saw why they were screaming for me.
The tree was breathing. It wasn't the wind, it wasn't an illusion.
It was literally breathing, letting out a soft, deep gurgled groan with
every breath. I couldn't believe it. It felt like a dream, but
it was real, as real as you and me. The tree house was
alive, and it had made a meal of my baby brother. The strange
movement I saw when climbing up the tree was Ash's silhouette trying to kick and
escape from its throat as it swallowed him. The thought made me shaken fear
uncontrollably. I thought I would pass out driven Jacob ran for it, but
I sat there for a few more seconds, with my thoughts racing. I
could only imagine the fear Asher had been experiencing at that moment, screaming in
terror, calling out for someone to save him, his cries unable to be
heard, not being able to escape his claustrophobic fate, being digested alive with
no one to help him. Knowing that Mom and Dad didn't know where he
was. He had gone up there, excited, thinking that he was finally
part of the friend group. Instead, he had been eaten alive by a
treehouse, or at least something pretending to be a treehouse. The bark of
the tree was squirming, like there was muscle twitching and contracting underneath it.
The branches started moving in an alien like way, something I'm unable to describe
further than that, the sounds of a deep, monstrous, wet, gurgling
noise echoed through the forest. As I followed behind Jacob and Trevor. We
made it back to the quarry, where we hopped on our bikes and rode
to the nearest police station, about five miles away. What happened after that
was a blur. I don't remember much, but what I do remember is
that we told the cops that my brother got eaten by something through incoherent cries.
We came back to the spot where the police, but the treehouse was
now gone, not without leaving a giant crater in the ground. Although they
were presented with a strange hole that didn't explain why my brother was missing.
We were taken to the police station for questioning. We were separated into different
rooms to explain ourselves. The police was stumped. All three of us stories
matched up perfectly with each other, so we were either great at lying or
we did in fact witnessed something supernatural. Call to my parents explaining the situation,
and they rushed over as fast as they could. My mom and dad
were heartbroken. They never believed my story, though they rarely went on trips
again, and if they did, they brought me along. I'm pretty sure
Mom and Dad think I did something to him, and I don't blame them.
Asher remains missing to this day. I feel so stupid. It's my
fault. I didn't stop him. I want to blame Jacob for giving him
that stupid army knife. But deep down, I'm still drenched with the guilt
of thinking that I could have prevented everything all by not having him enter the
door. Maybe then Jacob or Trevor would be missing, perhaps both, but
at least my brother would still He'll be here. As selfish as that sounds.
Seventeen years later, I have a child of my own turning nine next
week, and a beautiful wife. I rarely speak to my parents, or
any of my family for that matter. These events still linger in the back
of my mind like a parasite, something I'll never be able to forget.
I live about seven hours away from where my childhood home was. Since my
wife didn't feel comfortable leaving a hometown, I've decided to write all of this
down the best I could remember, because when I got up this morning to
complete my daily ritual of making my coffee to stare out the backyard window,
I saw something that took me back in time, far out in the true
line, past the family of deer eating the grass, stood something unnatural that
did not belong there, the same treehouse from all those years ago. I've
been trying to tell the truth for so long that our lies become more convenient.
There's been countless emails and phone calls, but there's no one to listen.
I can't blame them. It sounds insane. If what I told them
was even partly true, it had changed the way they looked at the world
forever. It started with little lies. I stopped saying I saw something,
but even then it was considered in bad taste to even talk about. They
thought I was lying or spicing up the truth to hide something even more sinister.
And honestly, I've grown tired. I'm so tired of trying to be
believed. So for one final time, I'm gonna tell the truth and then
just never talk about it again. This has to stop. I never like
the term stormchaser. It sounds too much like a fun hobby. Well,
it is a term commonly used. It's not just about being a thrill seeker.
We provide real and tangible services. The NWS relies on real time updates
about barometric pressure, wind direction, rainfall and rate, surface conditions, wind
speed and direction, and a dozen other data points. This is information taken
into account when providing early onset warnings and to alert emergency services in affected areas.
I worked with two other guys back then. We rode in separate vehicles,
the two of them up front, with me following in a back up.
There was Javert, the gear head. He made sure our cell phones
worked even in nasty weather through various cell phone boosters, as well as keeping
us updated on satellite radar and mesoscale analysis. He was also in charge of
the radio, making sure we were up to date on any info coming in
from police, the fire department, emergency services, citizen Band or military frequencies,
mostly Air force, but we could get marine as well. Second guy
was read this meatball shaped man was a veteran in every sense of the word.
He came back from Afghanistan and went, oh, well, let's check
out tornadoes. So he did. He educated himself and got a job as
a forensic meteorologist. Yeah, that's a thing. Years later he started his
own business, one which I was employed at. We were on a data
gather job for a storm about six o'clocks north of a small minutes of the
town not far from Rochester. Early predictions had put the storm as passing east
of Madison, but there had been a sudden western shift. They needed boots
on the ground for new measurements, and it was looking to be a nasty
surprise. There'd been no weather warnings going out as far as Saint Cloud,
and this thing was poffing up into a monster. Rion roaded a quick damage
survey as we passed through Wardville. It didn't look like much a couple of
bent saplings along the tree line, but we were at the edge of it.
This was just early indicators. We could tell service conditions. We're kind
of go straight to hell. I was hearing Reid react to it in real
time over the radio. Sky's gonna hail. Crap, he laughed. Mark
my goddamn word. I in no way, Javier said, ain't that kind
of pressure. Boss says it's gonna hail. It's gonna hail. I added,
glad I've got at least one agreeable man on my side, or to
call him, raise jaser. Javi scoffed, I'm telling you it's not happening.
We were breaking the speed limit, but driving in rough conditions kind of
comes with the job. Our vehicles go through regular checkups to make sure they
can take some punishment. Last thing you want is to get stranded in front
of a twister. It's a measure twice cut once, kind of deal.
Away through Rochester, heading northeast by way of Kellogg. It was a decent
chance we'd have to cross the Mississippi. First arm of the storm was about
to pass Maxville. Javert couldn't help but to laugh. It's a quick turn,
quick, quick turn. I could almost hear him shaking his head.
Hailstorms don't move like that, he added, you're full of it. Reid
laughed. You'll see the roads were looking clear as We rolled up on the
Wabasher Nelson Bridge. The sun was setting, casting a stark contrast between the
dark clouds and the red sky. We slowed down to get a better view.
I wasn't sure what I was looking at. That's what hale looks like,
said reed. No, that it's clustered, right, Javert sighed,
Did the Rockies do it? Ain't no way, I scoffed at the radio,
unless the rock Is are somehow out in New England. Girls girls read
laughed, you're both pretty. It's fine. There was a rest stop just
across the bridge. We turned in to check the weather stations and do a
preliminary reading. Javert double checked the power supply. We were running a ton
of devices and you don't want any of them breaking in the heat of things.
He was reading a checklist out loud as Rudy and I took a sidebar,
getting a closer look at the storm. You really think it's hale,
i asked, Could just be a nasty downpour? Ah, it's hale,
he nodded. You get a feel for it. You can smell it.
Smell it, yeah, smell it smells like nonsense, more like it's what's
happening. He pointed south, predicting her sharp movement to the west, powerful
winds enough to rip away more than just a couple of saplings across the road.
We were locking a potentially serious property damage. Checking the weather station confirmed
it. Wind direction was shifting fast and picking up speed. We kept going
north, heading to Wisconsin, then southeast to the thirty five. We got
a better view of the storm, and something just felt off. I had
only worked with Reid for about eighteen months, but it's like he said,
you can kind of smell it, and I did. We kept going another
ten to twenty minutes, stopped by the roadside and updated our readings. As
Javert updated the local NWS office, Reid stopped for a cigarette. The wind
was picking up another nemometer was picking up speed, spinning faster and faster.
Reid was having trouble lighting his cigarette that if anything seemed to worry him,
rain or shine, he could light a goddamn cigarette. It ain't looking good,
he said, not one bit. What are you thinking. I'm not
sure yet, he sighed, cupping a hand around his lighter, looking worse
than a hale. We're talking twister. He shook his head. Finally lighting
up a spark. Nah, he sighed, that ain't it. We kept
going south for another ten minutes or so. The clouds were rolling in fast.
I could feel the increased moisture in the air sticking to my skin.
I had to turn up the ac We got to stop for another reading,
said Javert. We're getting in the thick of it. We're turning back,
said Reid. No, chuck old Jever, No, we ain't. That's
moving out of We're turning back. We have no idea what we're running into.
You got no idea of Javert, You really got no idea you Yeah,
read at the pause, hang in the air for a moment. I
could feel the tension, all right, said Javert. Yes, we're going
back. Ty screeched. As Reid turned, I could see flashes of light
in the rear view mirror. Then came the thunder. Yeah, it's picking
up. Reid said. So it's not Hale, juggled Javert. I don't
know what the hell that is. Told you it ain't Hale. Now it's
not the time to be a smug ass ole, Javi, I interrupted,
We're we headed red. Figured we could cut the thing off going north through
Nelson coming out behind it. As he shared his plans. I couldn't help
but to notice Javert going quiet. This was a guy who was more banter
than man. Then all of a sudden he wasn't feeling it anymore. Bad
sign. We kept sending updates to the local NWS office, and within minutes
there was a weather warning going out. I got one too, returned north
up the twenty five, hoping we'd get far enough before we struck the brunt
of the storm. With a bit of luck, we could get some more
accurate readings on the other side and still be home before midnight. But yeah,
no, we weren't that lucky. The storm picked up and we ended
up in the tail end of the northernmost edge. We got hit by the
rain first. I kept my eye on Reed's car, watching the rain drops
gather and did disappear with the tic tacking of my windshield wipers. Read and
Javert were arguing about the readings, about connection issues, about how the power
strip was acting up, overcharging the batteries. I was having trouble hearing them
over the radio. I could suddenly smell ozone again. You can smell it
just before it happens I bet Reed did too. The first lightning strike came
out of nowhere. Now I've seen bad weather, I've lived it, slept
in it. But this wasn't just bad weather. It was downright nefarious.
Not just rain and thunder, but something else. A split second, in
that single heartbeat where the strike lit up the sky and everything was quiet.
It's not a person alive that's quick enough to react, giving this eerie,
ethereal feel to it. As Reid's car kept sailing straightforward, but in that
light, I saw something, shadows cast across the pavement. Something Reed swerved
and the road took the wheel. He tried to bring it back, but
it was too late. One wheel dipped into a ditch, lurching the car
forward, spinning it around and nearly flipping it, ripping it off the road
and about twenty five feet into a nearby field. Made it look like a
goddamn bumper car. I stepped on the brakes, leaning my car into the
side of the road. I didn't even think about it. I grabbed my
radio and hurried out of the door. I called out for them to respond,
but they were doing the same right back to me. We screamed over
one another, in those chaotic first few seconds, in a garbled mess.
Finally I stopped to listen. Reid came through. Get back into your car?
What Get back into your goddamn car. I wasn't thinking straight. I
was heading out into the field with no cover. In a storm, it's
safer to be inside the vehicle. It can act as a sort of Faraday
cage. I was completely exposed out there. A quick turn of the heel,
and I was heading straight back to my car. I threw myself into
the passenger seat, and the moment I closed the door, the sky lit
back up. A single lightning strike reaching from the clouds and into the windshield
of Reed's car. And from that light I could see them. There must
have been a hundred people. Burn people, people with exposed bones, cracked
skin, missing limbs, all in various stages of decay and decomposition. They
were all over covering the street, circling Reid's car, or just standing there
in a white light, staring with dead eyes. And in the blink of
an eye they were gone. Thunder rumbled as the world turned dark. Javert
threw himself out of the car. The strike had cracked straight through the windshield
shattering it. I couldn't hear Javert over the radio, but I could see
him looking my way, pointing at the driver's seat, where Reid sat read
and wasn't moving. Lightning doesn't move like that. It hits the tallest point,
not the weakest. But this one wasn't following the rules. Javert bolted
for my car, rushing across the field. I left the passenger side door
open and crawled into the driver's seat, urging him on, come on,
I cried out, come on. He was sprinting at full speed with this
wild look in his eyes. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked
black. He didn't get far another strike, this one piercing straight through him.
I could see his muscles contract and burst as his jaw twisted at an
unnatural angle, and in that split second burst of light, they came back.
They circled him. I could see them across the field in the hundreds,
the lightning strike bringing out the image of their form, looking at Javert
with dead eyed stairs. But one of them was looking my way. I
didn't recognize him at first, but I couldn't help but to notice him.
He was the only one of them looking my way read. His eyes had
rolled back in his head, and there was a smoldering black spot stretching out
from his barrel framed chest, just as dead as the rest of them,
looking right at me. I was next. I could barely see as the
light faded and the figures faded from my eyes. My head shrieked from the
pressure as the thunder shook my car. The world looked gray. I think
I was blinded temporarily. Everything looked red. When I blinked, I couldn't
even see Chauvert lying out in the field. My first instinct was to take
cover. That's what you usually do when you're stuck in a storm. You
take shelter and you wait for it to pass. But this was different.
It hadn't worked for Reed, and its sure as hell wouldn't work for me.
I got out just seconds before lightning rocked my car, burning through the
engine block and scorching the pavement underneath. In a flash of light, I
saw them. They were all there. Javert too, his jaw still twisted
and bent, but now they were all looking at me, waiting for me.
I stumbled backwards, falling into a ditch by the side of the road.
I got my clothes covered in rain, water, stinging nettles, and
discolored sunflowers. The rain was relentless. My first thought was to get up
and run, but I couldn't get my legs to move. Instead, I
just curled into a ball, covered my eyes and tried to make myself as
small as possible. Strike after strike after strike, but it didn't reach me.
Now, with every flash, the figures came closer. By the third
flash, I was surrounded by the dead, shoulder to shoulder, packed like
sardines. They didn't say a word. All they did was come closer,
reaching for me. It felt like an eternity, every flash of light making
my heart skip a beat. It felt like minutes past, and every instant
where the ground was struck. I covered my ears and eyes, but there
was just no way not to feel it. It consumes your every sense.
You can taste it, smell it. It's so bright it burns through your
eyelids, It ripples through the hands who used to cover your ears. It's
such immense, ungodly power. I could feel them and, not having the
time to grasp me the smell of decay as a hand blinked in and out,
trying to strangle me. A flash of pain as someone tried to bite
my leg, but the flash was over before the dead teeth could pierce my
skin. I couldn't fight them off. There were too many, and it
was impossible to tell where they were coming from. I waved my arms around,
frantically, scrambling to protect myself. In a fleeting moment, I lugged
up. I expected to see the clouds moving and the storm bringing the rain
westward. But that's not what I saw. There was an eye up there,
and honest to God, I looking straight at me. In hindsight,
it must have been as large as a football field. It was such an
immense thing that I couldn't comprehend it. It hung there, parting the clouds,
and with every blink, another strike came thundering down looking for me.
I counted eighteen eighteen lightning strikes in the span of at most a matter of
minutes. It felt like I'd been there for hours, every strike lasting longer
than the previous. But as the rain passed me by, I was left
freezing and shuddering. We grasping hands stopped the biting, the tearing. I
was bleeding from cuts and bruises, but I was alive. When I finally
got back on my feet, there was nothing but cracked pavement, burnt grass,
and two bodies, one still in the driver's seat of his car,
the other left face down in the rain. It took me a couple of
minutes to call it in. I couldn't believe it. I just sat there
trying to breathe. I've been telling people about it ever since. What they
call it trauma, like it was all just a big accident waiting to happen.
Even people in the business refused to listen, no matter their relation to
Read and his company. A terrible tragedy is all they're ready to say,
as if a guy like Reid would mess up this bad. Lightning strikes do
not aim. It doesn't happen. I tracked it as long and as far
as I could, but from what I could tell, it dissolved somewhere over
the coast of Norway. I read something about swaths of gulls being pulverized into
rains of fathers in the fishing village over the northwestern coast. But that's where
the trail ends. I've never had a problem with storms until now. Now
I wake up in the middle of the night, imagining I just felt the
rumble of thunder. I freak out as sudden light. I can't bring myself
to go outside when there's an overcast. I just got this feeling that whatever
that was, it didn't like me getting away. Maybe I can tell the
next time it's near. I can kind of smell it. I've always kept
diaries ever since I was a child. I've documented my daily life in journals,
carefully labeled on the sides and covers so to keep them in order.
I'm on my one thousand and thirty third journal, and all of them I
kept in order on bookshelves. It's basically a ledger of my entire life,
or at least it was until my house burned down and I lost all of
them, all except for one that I never wrote. My father and I
were going through the wreckage. The burnt waters of the house had blackened and
charred. The smell of smoke and burning insulations still hung heavy in the air.
I looked through the pile of burned paper that had once been my journals.
I saw the family photos, all water damage from the fire hoses,
at least those not destroyed by the flames. Hey what's this, my father
said, Leaning down, we both saw the edge of something rectangular peeking around
the edge of the ruined He reached his hand through a destroyed part of the
wall and came back out with a dirty, smoke brown journal. Spatters of
what looked like dark ancient blood covered the surface. I saw it was labeled
one thousand and seventy seven. That is the one thousand and seventy seventh journal
I had started to write in since I was six. But that's impossible,
I said, more to myself than him. I never wrote that journal.
When the fire hit, I was filling out my one thousand and thirty third
journal. I knew this for a fact, because I wrote huge numbers and
sharpie on the front of each one. My father rolled his eyes. He
thought keeping a diary was stupid and only reserved for girls, and he had
often told me so. He flipped it open. It looks like you're handwriting,
he said, handing in to me, if i'll grind me under my
fingers. Its cover sprinkled with small patches of black mold and blood, as
well as darkened by smoke, yet all the pages were still legible. I
put it in my backpack and took it home with me. It was the
only thing that had survived the flames intact that I recovered, and yet I
know I never wrote it. I flipped it open to the first page,
seeing my own handwriting reflected back at me. I read the entries laid out
there with increasing horror. I read them all. April first, twenty twenty
five, Today the world ended. I'd driven across Arizona and New Mexico with
my fiance, Stephanie. She wanted to see the Grand Canyon, and I
always said I would take her. So when I made a couple million dollars
in stock options shortened the market. After the Chinese invasion of Taiwan, I
decided to quit my job and travel. All around us spanned endless desert.
The sun looked down like a blazing, lidless eye, withering everything in its
intense heat. Only cacti and desert shrubs stood on the great flat plane.
I turned the rady one, but only one station came through. There was
some am station talking about the recent Chinese invasion. China has lost an estimated
two million troops trying to take the island. The reporter said. In response
to the invasion Taiwan authorized air strikes and the three Gorgeous Damn. Yesterday evening
reports state that the Chinese Air Force has in fact successfully destroyed it, causing
flooding and likely millions more casualties among the civilian population. Taiwan cities are all
in flames. As I flipped the radio off, not wanting to hear any
more grisly news, I really need to use the bathroom, Stephanie said,
breaking my reverie. I looked over Rada, seeing her large blue eyes looking
at me. Small beats of sweat broke out, and a light skin her
blonde hair ran down past the shoulders in shimmering waves. Okay, why don't
I pull over right here, I offered. She shook her head. Oh,
I want a real bathroom, she said, I sighed. I haven't
seen a house or store in quite a while, I said, But as
if fate wanted to prove me wrong, a small wooden building appeared on the
horizon. A town sign stood in front of it, Devil's Creek, population
fifty two. The building looked like some kind of old timey general store that
had been renovated to have electricity and central air conditioning. An ancient man with
a face like a raisin, sat in a rocking chair outside, smoking a
pipe and reflectively staring off across the great empty desert. I glanced over to
see what he was looking at. In the distance, I saw roll after
roll of razor wire surrounding a massive fence. It had all sorts of signs
with skulls, as well as warnings about violating federal law by trespassing. We
pulled up to the store. The man finally looked over. His jellied eyes
reminded me of an old dog waiting for the needle. He was a small
man, no more than five feet if I had to guess. He wore
a straw hat and a shaded flannel shirt, and smelled like sweet pipe tobacco
Christ draws. He said, in his fluttering old man's voice. It's sure
it's hot out here today. I smiled, agreeing. What's that you're looking
at, I asked, pointing to the electrified fence guarding the apparently empty desert.
He gave me a serious look. That is where the bombs are kept,
boy, he said, the big ones, the H bombs, minute
man threes and B sixty ones. Well, so I hear people around town
talk. You know, I nodded. I wondered whether silos were Can I
use your bathroom, Stephanie asked hurriedly as she came up beside me. The
man nodded. Back of the store, young lady, he said in a
quavering voice. Then he returned to his pipe and his meditation. Let me
know if you need anything else. I decided to sit down next to the
old man. When I felt the first quiverings of an earthquake. It started
small. I stood there, not knowing what to do. The old man's
eyes widened and he dropped his pipe. Embers and blackened tobacco spilled out on
the ancient wooden porch. What in the blue blazes? He started to say,
when a scream of powerful engines cut him off. A burning chemical smell
filled the air. I looked over to the military site and to the ground,
pulling itself apart, secret sliding panels covered in dirt opened as enormous missiles
slowly gathered momentum, rising up into the air from hidden underground silos. Jets
of blue flames shot out of them over everything else in the area, Each
sixty or seventy feet tall. Within seconds, they began to move faster and
faster, lifting themselves skyward with a screeching of blue flames and smoke. Every
minute, more and more came out, dozens and dozens of missiles, firing
and rapid succession. Stephanie came out. I grabbed her hand and pulled her
to the car. We need to get the hell out of here, I
screamed over the cacophony. Her face had turned chalk white. She followed me
like a lost child. I pushed her into the passenger seat and got in,
turning it on and peeling out of there. If this is a nuclear
missile sight, I said, vomiting the words as quickly as I could in
the panic of the moment, Then there will probably be an enemy missile coming
to tarket it Soon, American missiles continued to streak the the air like fiery
dragons, and their way to battle. We drove as fast as my car
would go for the next twenty minutes, breaking one ten and then one thirty
miles per hour. I had a very bad feeling about this, and then
I saw it. The thing I had been dreading. Missiles began to drop
down from the sky, not going but now coming. I saw a streak
of white shoot across the sky in my rear view mirror. A sonic boom
shook the ground, and then the world exploded. Ah. I heard someone
say cut what. Then I realized it was my own voice. I opened
my eyes. I felt warm blood trickling down my face. My car was
flipped over. I saw the endless desert outside now upside down all around us.
Great suffocating plumes of smoke rose into the sky. He plotted out the
sun and turned everything as dark as night. I looked over at Stephanie.
She was still unconscious, or maybe she was dead, I couldn't tell.
She hung upside down her seat bye, biting deeply into her shoulder. Geez.
I groaned, trying to unbockle my seat belt without falling and smashing my
head. I mostly succeeded. I crawled out the shattered remains, and I
flipped over car. I rose my legs as wobbly as a baby. Deers
jee, A voice said softly from inside the car. He was so subtle
I could barely hear it. I knelt down next to the broken window and
saw Stephanie stirring. Ah. She spat a little blood, wiping her mouth.
Oh okay, yes, baby, I said, with tears in my
eyes, looking down the road with a mushroom cloud hung over us like the
blade of a guillotine. We're okay. Luckily we'd been camping prior to this,
so the car was filled with the sensuals. Inside the trunk, I
had a tent, sleeping bags, food, water, and toiletries. We
also had some knives, lighters, and lighter fluid. Stephanie filled her backpack
with as much as she could carry, still wiping blood out of her eyes
from a deep gash across her forehead. But overall, I felt like we'd
gotten fairly lucky. It certainly could have been much worse if we had still
been in the city. I shudder thinking about it. I wondered if any
city still stood in the USA. The mushroom cloud continued to grow. It
had a combination of bright streaks of fire and black plumes of smoke mixing in
with the scorching cap. Its cap looked like it would go all the way
to outer space. Soon, the stem of suffocating smoke shot upwards, seeming
to unspool itself from the inside as it rose. We walked down the dark
road in a burning world. Jets flew overhead, streaking across the sky.
The echoing wine of powerful engines followed them. Moments later, sonic boom after
sonic boom exploded across the dead desert. Where are we going? Stephanie finally
asked, after an hour of walking through this apocalyptic scene. We hadn't escaped
the black clouds that hung over the sky, though the smoke had started to
dissipate as we got further away. I looked back and saw a figure behind
us. It appeared to be a man casually walking down the road, but
his eyes seemed to be on fire. They shone with an inner luminosity,
lit up like the eyes of a jack o' lantern. Something seemed wrong with
the man, and not just because of his eyes. He walked in a
jerky, twisted way. His head, which had been looking down ratchet,
it up to look at me. A shudder ran down my spine. I
turned away, motioning for Stephanie to look behind us, but by the time
we looked back again, he had disappeared. Away from that, I finally
said, pointing to the mushroom cloud, did you see someone just now?
I think my eyes are plane tricks in me. I could have sworn I
saw someone following us. Maybe it's another survivor, she said, maybe.
I agreed, non committally, not telling her about the eyes. He had
been very far away, but I had definitely seen him. I didn't understand
where he had gone. There was certainly nowhere to hide unless more secret government
silos and tunnels ran under the earth. Here he had simply vanished, like
campfire smoke and a strong breeze. What do you think happened, Stephanie asked,
and she took a long drink of water. I think we all know
what happened, I said, bitterly. China started World War three. They
thought they could contain the fighting to Taiwan, but they miscalculated. Once the
three gorgeous damn got blown and millions of Chinese and the Yangze River drowned,
it must have escalated. I don't know who fired first. Were clearly the
US and China are at war. Maybe the war was over already, she
said, hopefully. I nodded. It might actually be. If it is
in all the cities have been hit here and in China and Taiwan, there
must be hundreds and millions of people dead already, maybe more. Stephanie didn't
say anything to this, but she seemed to go pale. We need to
stop soon. I'm tired. We've been walking for hours, Stephanie said.
After another few hours, I agreed. We hadn't seen a single car or
person in that time, except for the man with the eyes. My feet
gleamed at me with throbbing blisters and sharp pains. My cellphone and watch had
stopped working during the blast. Some electromagnetic pulse from the warhead must have disabled
all electronics in the area. Some neither of us knew how long we'd been
walking, with the sky covered in black smoke as far as the eye could
see, I didn't even know if it was day or night anymore. We
set up the tent. I crawled in, exhausted. I felt like I
must have walked for twelve hours. I took off my wet socks, got
into the sleeping bag, then instantly passed out. I awoke, suddenly,
confused. Something had scared me. Maybe it was in the dream, but
no, I still heard it, a scratching sound, light and insistent on
the outside of the tent. Stephanie still slept soundly next to me. I
shock her. She grouggly opened her eyes. I looked at my pistol next
to my pillow, grabbing it up. Its solid metal grip felt real and
powerful in my hands. But when I remembered the glowing eyes of the thing
and how it had vanished in an instant, like a puff of smoke,
it started to feel much smaller. What is she began to say. I
clamped my hand over her mouth. Her eyes went wide. I put my
finger to her lips. She nodded, and I slowly removed my hand.
Now I could tell she heard it too. It was like someone was running
a long, sharp fingernail over the outside of the tent, walking around it
in circles. Though I didn't hear any accompanying footsteps. It was too dark
to see any silhouettes or shapes through the thick fabric. We heard a low,
diseased breathing coming from outside. The rattling breaths seemed to choke on their
own fluids, like the gurgling gasps of a pneumonia patient. I couldn't take
it anymore. I grabbed the flashlight from next to the sleeping bag and flicked
it on with my arms crossed, my gun in one hand and the flashlight
in the other. I motioned for Stephanie to open the tent. She hesitated
for a long moment. After taking a deep breath, she ripped it open
in a single pull. Yet no one stood there. I looked out,
and the smoke black and starless sky shadows bounced and danced around the cacti and
cracked pavement of the street. I heard a very subtle sound from my right,
a slight shuffling of sand in a blur and with barely any sound.
The diminute of man with the fire in his eyes scampered towards me. His
shoulders and vertebrae crippled like those of a hunchback. His face only came up
to the level of my chest, but he seemed to straighten and grow as
he got nearer. There was a crackling, snapping sound coming from inside his
body. It sounded like his bones were breaking and knitting themselves back together.
By the time he reached me, he towered over me. This all happened
very quickly. In the space of less than a second. My vision became
filled with a hypnotizing, strobing white light that came from his head, but
I glimpsed the rest of him too. He had a mouth like an infected
sore. Pieces of his lips were rotted or torn away, and behind that
mutilated flesh beheld a gibbering, gnashing mouth. Twisted famberic teeth grew out of
the tops of his gums, intertwining with those growing from the natural spots.
These dozens of overlapping fangs each looked as sharp as a scalpel made to slicely
flesh like butter. His nose was eaten away. In its place, I
saw a patch of ragged necrotic tissue that oozed yellowish puss and blood. His
skin was as dark as obsidian and seemed to glow with a similar iridescence.
Hallo, there, hardener, the gnashing things said in a slow takes a
straw. I looked away from its inhuman eyes seen Stephanie, petrified in the
doorway of the tent. She held a long buck knife in one hand and
a canister of osy tear gas spray in the other. I opened my mouth,
but nothing came out. What do you want from us, Stephanie asked
in a quivering voice. The creature's mutilated cheeks parted, showing more clusters of
teeth growing out of every spot in his gums like a tumor. Everything.
He said in a slow drawl. I want everything. I raised a barrel
towards his head, my finger tight on the trigger. You want to rob
us? Is that it? I asked. The creature laughed, a tortured
sound like shattering bones and grinding metal. I don't give a damn about this
crappy look around. It ain't worth a damn to me. I want everything
from you and the girl. We square on that. I'm going to give
you three seconds to get out of my sight, I said, Before I
start. The creature's hand came up on a freakishly long arm. The arm
seemed to lengthen, breaking and regroan as it twisted towards me and fired.
As it smacked me hard on the head, I saw stars and went sprawling,
the pistol flying off and landing on the concrete a few feet away.
The abomination grabbed a screaming, crying Stephanie from the tent, carrying her under
one arm as if he were simply moving an irate toddler. He threw her
in front of him. I saw with horror, and my shot missed him.
I am the true king of this world, he hissed as he knelt
down over her. Aye and the endless void between galaxies and the spinning black
holes that rip apart whorlds ay am forever. Fire poured out of his hands
and arms like lava. As Stephanie lay on the ground, her eyes went
wide as the first of the flames bit into her skin. I saw a
chest and stomach caught fire as if it had been sprayed with gasoline. With
an animalistic strength, she jumped up, still burning, She tried to grab
the man in a bare hug. The fires spread to his body, but
he quickly pushed her away. The fire spread up and down her clothes,
into her hair. Her face began to melt as she gave an ear splitting
streak of pure agony. Drops of liquid fat and burnt, sizzling blood ran
from a crackling, blackening skin. I love to watch them dance, he
gurgled in a diseased, raspy voice. Stephanie jumped from a leg to leg,
putting her arms straight in front of her body to try and keep them
from the flames covered rung a torso with a fire seemed to have an inner
life spreading across a flesh, as if rivers of napalm flowed over a body.
I grabbed the gun, running over, I put it into the back
of the man's head and pulled the trigger. The fire had started to spread
across his chest, but he had no facial expression. He stood there,
grinning like a skull. Thick chunks of black flesh burst out in his destroyed
skull. I saw no blood or organs, with thousands of tiny dark worms
writhing and slithering. He fell forwards a few feet away. Stephanie also finally
collapsed, still twitching and screaming, and ran over to her. Pulling a
water bottle from my backpack. I poured it on her, but it was
like pouring a bottle of water on a bonfire. It sizzled and hissed as
it turned to steam, putting out a small portion along her chest for a
few moments within the fire flickered back up. She gave a choked death,
gasped seconds later, and stopped moving. Her body had become little more than
a blackened husk. By this point, I looked at the evil inhuman thing
that had done this to my horror. I saw his hands clenching and unclenching,
his legs twitching. The black worms had started to restitch his skull back
together, the tiny heads poking out through the wound and moving tissue around like
diligent little laborers. Sickened, I ran. The landscape had started to change.
Rocky cliffs now loomed overhead, dozens of feet high. I stumbled up
the rock faces and eventually found a small cave. I crawled in and with
my flashlight finish this journal. I know this will be my last diary,
my last will and testament, left in some rocky cave of a destroyed world,
because the true king of this world is on his way here, and
he loves to watch people dance. Have you ever experienced something that shock you
to your very core, something that makes you remember every single little detail of
your surroundings from that moment in time, even years after, I can remember
so vividly the moment I've realized something was wrong with me. I was in
my junior year of high school, sitting in class, just like any other
day. I remember the smell of the razors and cheap cologne that permeated off
my classmate who sat next to me. I remember the scratchy tag of my
T shirt and how I was resisting taking it off in the middle of class,
just to cut it off. I remember what my teacher, Missus Brown,
was talking about the fall of Constantinople. My mouth felt dry, and
I kept looking at the clock, counting down the minutes until I had lunch
so I could get a soda. The sound of a pen clicking behind me
was synchronized with the song that was stuck in my head. All those things
were going through my brain at once. My ADHD mind went a million miles
per hour. When it all came down to a crashing halt. When I
felt it at eleven twenty three, I felt what I can only describe as
a hand grabbing at the inner lining of my stock. It didn't necessarily hurt,
not at this point. That's not why I got so scared. You
see, not only do I have ADHD, I also have OCD that manifests
itself in the fear of anything growing or moving inside me. Even if I
think about the concept of blood moving in my body or a heart that is
beating in my chest, I have to think of something else. I've had
full blown panic attacks because of it. The closest term for this is tocophobia.
That's technically the fear of pregnancy. I'm a guy, so it's not
completely accurate, but it's really the closest term. I mean, I also
have a huge fear of pregnancy, not necessarily of me being pregnant, but
even though I knew I could never get pregnant, the thought of it made
me feel sick. I bet you can imagine the terror that overcame me as
I felt something moving inside me. I made an audible groan and grabbed my
stomach. The whole class turned to look at me. Even my teacher stopped
talking to ask if I was okay. I stood up and started to run
to the nurse's office without even acknowledging my teacher. My first thought wasn't thinking
that something was actually in my body. Even stomach aches and the feeling of
gurgling in my stomach made me feel this way before. I didn't have anything
on hand to help with the stomach ache. Unfortunately, however, the nurse
always did. I sprinted across the school, hoping and praying that my stomach
wouldn't make that awful feeling again. Before I got there, I turned the
corner into the nurse's office with my tennis shoes, squeaking in the process.
I saw the school nurse, Missus Kennedy, sitting on the couch in her
office reading a magazine. She looked up at me with a sweet smile that
quickly turned to worry. Sam, What is it? How can I help?
She said, as she stood up and hurried over to me, putting
her hand over mine with just grabbing my stomach tightly. It's it's my stomach.
Something gets wrong with my stomach, I mumbled with the red face.
She shuffled away over to a large medicine cabinet and she motioned for me to
sit down. She asked me questions about my stomach, asking if it was
pain, grumbling, cramps, nausea, et cetera. As she was asking
me what my symptoms were and digging through bottles, the feeling happened again.
However, this time it was different. It felt like fingers grazing against the
inside of my body. I screamed and wrapped my arms around my torso Missus
Kennedy ran over to me to comfort me. This seems a lot worse than
normal. Maybe we should call your parents, she said as she put her
hand at my back. They felt like some days I saw Missus Kennedy more
than my teachers. Any small element would distract me so badly from class that
I had to go see her, sometimes multiple times a day. She knew
at this point when something was really wrong. Within about thirty minutes, both
my parents were there with us. That may seem fast, but I'm an
only child and my parents are very aware of my tendencies. They know I
can spiral and like to be around if it happens. They kept asking me
where the pain was. I think they assumed by the way I wasn't responding
to questions, the pain must have been really bad. The reality was that
I just didn't know how to tell them what was going on. I got
so frustrated after they asked me over and over again that I just yelled at
them, something is inside me, Get it out, Get it out.
I left my shirt and was ripping at my stomach, leaving rednails, scratches
and cuts. My mom and dad ran to either side of me to grab
my arms. Missus Kennedy had seen me go pretty crazy, but this was
the worst I've ever gotten in front of her. My parents, however,
had seen a similar situation before, not exactly like this, but they didn't
skip a beat on trying to help me. Sam breathe, sweetie. Just
remember everything is in you for a reason. It's keeping you alive. Nothing
is going to hurt you, my mom said softly to me, trying to
calm down with the words. My therapist gave her ice cubes. Get him
ice cubes, she said to missus Kennedy. As I started to hyper ventilate,
Missus Kennedy grabbed a zip loc bag and started to fill it with ice
cubes. My mom went over to her and grabbed her an ice cube right
out of the bag, opened up my hand and put the ice cube in
it. This worked in the past to distract me. I knew that's what
she was doing, and trust me, I wanted it to work too,
But this was different. I kept trying to tell myself that it was just
a different feeling I hadn't felt before, that it wasn't possible. Something was
physically inside my body, but I couldn't help it. Everyone in the room
could see that this was getting intense. I think they assumed it was just
a mental breakdown and that nothing was physically wrong with my body. But I
didn't care. I just wanted help. My parents got me into the car,
with my mom even sitting in the back seat with me. She kept
trying to distract me with conversation when my mind was only on that awful feeling
in my stomach. We pulled up to the er and my mom guided me
in while holding both my wrists. I felt like she was walking me on
a leash, but I didn't fight it. I knew she was just trying
to stop me from scratching my stomach. We walked in and I spoke to
the receptionist. All I said was that I had a terrible pain in my
stomach. I didn't want to sound too crazy. I just needed a doctor
to look at whatever was going on. After giving the receptionist my name and
insurance information, we went to sit down. I was sitting in between my
parents, and I could see my mom lean back to try and mouth something
to my dad without me seeing. I didn't think much of it. I
was way more worried about other things. My dad then went up to the
receptionist. He pointed over to me and she looked a little concerned. I
saw her pick up the clipboard that I had my information on it, and
she started writing something else on it. I asked my dad what he did,
and he just said not to worry, and that he wanted to let
her know it was urgent. No more than ten minutes went by and I
felt a terrible moving sensation. I cringed and grabbed my stomach, immediately followed
by not just the feeling of her hand grabbing my insides, but also scratching
and pinching. I yelled out in pain as the other people in the waiting
room looked at me mortified. A doctor and a couple of nurses came running
over to me and helped me up, but I couldn't stand up. I
was in too much pain. They put me in a wheelchair and started to
head for a room. However, they didn't take me through the normal big
ear doors that went to the standard examination rooms. They took my parents and
I through a smaller door to the side that I had a pad lock on
it. We walked through a white hallway that was very quiet. The doctor
and nurses showed us to my room and helped me into my bed as I
was wriggling and wincing. I had one parent either side of me, patiently
waiting to stop my arms from scratching. The doctor was trying to ask further
questions, but he could tell it wasn't going anywhere. I knew that my
dad probably told that receptionist about my OCD tendencies that I needed to go to
the hide cord, not just to the standard side of the er. I
couldn't take it anymore and blurted out that something was inside my stomach and then
it was trying to get out. The doctor just looked at my parents for
a reaction, and they gave him a sad nod. It was like they
warned him that this could happen. The doctor didn't just think I was crazy.
My parents did too. The doctor took a deep breath and came up
to me. I knew I was about to hear some kind of dumb speech
about how this was just my OCD and everything was going to be okay.
As he came closer to me, I pulled on my shirt and he gasped.
Not only was my stomach scratched aplike crazy, but we saw movement.
It looked like when a pregnant woman can see a baby kicking, but this
was much stronger. It was stretching my skin. My parents stood up and
gasped, while the doctor looked frantic and unprepared. Damn, damn, damn,
damn, damn, the doctor said, as he backed out of the
room. Hang on, We're getting this taken care of. Just hang tight.
Seconds later, a nurse came in to gave me some painkillers. I
started to feel the pain slip away with something so much worse started to creep
in. I heard her voice, not my own, not some creepy sounding
creature, but the voice of a normal sounding man that I'd never heard before.
But that wasn't the scary part. The scary part was what he was
saying to me, Get me out, Get me out, Get me out.
It started in a normal tone, but slowly became more urgent and rushed,
then demanding. The voice would coincide with a movement inside me. It
was getting so loud that I was having a hard time hearing the people around
me. The doctor came in just a few minutes after I last saw him.
He was red and sweaty, like he'd just run a marathon. He
told me they needed a zoo, just a few tests and what was inside
me before taking action. I was trying so hard to pay attention to the
words coming out of his mouth, but all I could hear was the voice.
The voice stopped for just a second and changed what he was saying.
Now he was repeating, cut me out, cut me out, cut me
out now. I now knew this thing didn't just want out, but it
wanted out now. I begged the doctor to just get it out now,
but he wouldn't listen. The voice spoke up again, this is taking too
long. Don't be afraid. Get me out yourself. I think it could
feel me resisting him without realizing it. I was looking around the room for
something. It was like I didn't have control over my head or eyes anymore.
I knew the voice was looking for a knife, but I was trying
to ignore the feeling. I knew there weren't any knives around. I was
in a very safe place. Just as I had the feeling I was safe,
it was immediately taken away. The thought passed through my head that my
dad probably had a pocket knife on him. My heart sank. I knew
this thing could hear my thoughts. I knew what it would try to do.
The next thing I knew, I was on my feet leaping for my
dad my body it is luckily it's in pretty good shape for his age,
and had no problem putting me in my place. He got on top of
me and pinned me to the ground. All the while I could barely hear
my mom in the background yelling at my dad to be careful. My dad
knew something was going on and that I just needed to be on the ground
until I calmed down. My body tried to flail, but it wasn't successful.
The whole time. The voice in my head now yelling and screaming,
not saying any distinguishable words, but just having what felt like a tantrum.
What made my dad the most uncomfortable was the kicking feeling coming from my stomach.
After a couple of minutes, the voice calmed down and I felt in
charge of my body again. My dad slowly got up and attempted to help
me up. At this point, with an audience of hospital staff the lord,
it's like they were getting ready to take me somewhere for more tests.
Just as I stood up, I felt the voice take over and I lost
all sense of my own body. I felt like a shell of myself.
My dad gave me a soft, yet worried smile, and in that instance,
I grabbed him and reached into his pocket. My heart sank as I
felt his pocket knife. The room started to panic and about five people tried
to grab it from me. The last thing I remember is plunging the knife
into my stomach. I felt a blinding pain and everything went black. Several
hours later, I started to wake up. Everything was extremely blurry and fuzzy.
I could hear a faint voice telling me to relax. As the minutes
passed by, things started to get a little bit clearer. I looked around
and saw I was in a large room with a few other patients. A
nurse was going up to all the beds and checking in on them. I
tried to sit up a bit to get more comfortable. I moved my hospital
gown out of the way and saw a huge scar about six inches across.
Most of the scar looked very surgical, like what I'd imagine a sea section
surgery would look like, except where I remembered the knife going in. It
looked like a bunch of extra stitches had to be added where it went in.
It also looked pretty bruised. I can imagine that a dull ten year
old knife that was harshly shoved into a body really wouldn't clean cut through and
leave some damage. The feeling of shock from looking at my stomach was quickly
gone when I realized that meant whatever was in me was now gone. I
didn't hear the voice, I didn't feel a hand in my gun anymore.
I didn't see that vile kicking anymore. I felt like I could breathe.
I asked the nurse what they found, and she looked flush. Ah,
that's something that you are. Your doctor will talk to you once you eat
something and can speak clearly, she said, as she scurried off, looking
upset. Shortly after that, I was wheeled into a recovery room and my
parents came to see me. As they walked in, they had a very
similar look on their faces as the nurse did. They looked pale and didn't
want to look me in the eyes. I kept asking them questions about what
was going on. They said the doctor needed to discuss it with me,
and he wanted to make sure I wasn't feeling high from the anesthesia. While
we had the conversation. The doctor didn't come and see me for another ten
hours, which felt strange. And to add to the strangeness, my parents
were taking shifts hanging out with me. There was only overlap when they switched
and the other parent took over while the other one left the room. I
would understand if they weren't both with me for the whole time. I'm not
that needy, but they were only both in the room together for about an
hour. That was the hour before the doctor came to my room. Finally,
the doctor came in to talk to me. When he walked in,
the room was cold and quiet. It was evident he didn't feel the same
relief I was feeling. He seemed awkward, like it was taking way too
long to get over to me. He grabbed a chair and scooted it close
to me. Listen, Sam, I know this last twenty four hours has
been very challenging. I apologize for not explaining what happened during your surgery sooner,
but we all needed time to figure it out and quite frankly, process
what happened. We feel we have enough information to let you in on what
is going on. The silence filled the room if I lu like no one
was brave enough to break it, and I asked, with confusion, I
think it'll be easier if we just show you. The doctor, along with
my parents, helped me into a wheelchair and we started to make a way
across the hospital to an entirely different section. I couldn't believe all the things
running through my head and what we were about to see. It felt like
cruel and unusual punishment to leave me in anticipation and not just tell me what
I was about to see. When I went around the corner, I couldn't
process what I was looking at. I thought there were showing me a large
tumor or growth of some kind, or why would a tumor be in a
big incubation chamber with tubes connected to ivs and machines coming out of it.
As I got closer, I started to see human features on it. It
was mostly just a six foot lump of flesh, but I could see a
handsticking out of it. It was small, but what made it creepy because
it looked like a fully developed man's hand, just small. I could see
a patch of hair coming out of what I assumed was it head. It
had no discernible facial features, just a few teeth scattered in one section.
As I looked at it with disgust, coming to terms with this thing,
I was just in my body. I had a realization I wasn't feeling sick
at the thought of something being in my body. Sure, I was grossed
out that this particular thing was just in me, with the thought of bacteria
in my body didn't make me want to throw up. I thought about all
the blood pomping through my veins, and I felt normal. Not only was
the voice and kicking on, but my OCD was gone too. It was
just this thing trying to find its way out for years. As I was
staring at the creature, the doctor came and put his hand on my shoulder.
We believe this is your twin brother. I immediately looked up on my
parents, who looked very disturbed and upset. I let the doctor finish talking.
We believe that you absorbed him in the womb, and that he's been
living inside you your whole life. This is an extremely rare condition called fetus
and fetu. It seems he didn't quite have the best opportunity to develop normally.
That's why he looks the way he does. Despite his appearance, he
has all the organs he needs to survive. Looks like he's missing a lung
and his gall bladder, also a bit of his liver, but other than
that, it looks like he will live for at least a few years.
He won't be able to leave this room due to him needing a feeding tube
and a few other things that his body cannot do on its own. He
needs a lot of support just to live. Makes this situation extremely unique is
that your twin is still alive despite your body not sustaining him anymore, even
though we have him hugged up to a few ivs and machines. It is
unexplainable how he is living outside of your body. I was in complete shock.
I didn't want to believe it. I asked my mom why she never
told me I absorbed to my twin in the womb, and she said she
had no clue. It was never a sign when she was pregnant with me.
He also mentioned that sometimes, even in pregnancies, women will go their
whole pregnancy without even getting a belly. It's called a cryptic pregnancy. I've
always had a bit of a gut, but never anything big enough to cause
suspicion. I guess in my case, I had a fetus feed too,
and an experienced similar to cryptic pregnancy, even though it was in my stomach.
At least, that was the doctor's best guess. Although it all sounded
like BS to me, the doctor or my parents kept trying to explain more
and more details to me. I don't know why they didn't slow down a
little bit for my sake. How could they not tell I wasn't processing any
of this. I noticed something while they were trying to explain things to me.
He kept calling it he Now, listen, I'm not some kind of
asshole who won't respect someone who wants to be called a specific pronoun. I've
never been that kind of person. But this is where I draw the line.
Not just that, but this thing had a name. My parents named
it and said it was his birthday. While they told me all this information,
he didn't look happy about it. It seemed like they were forced to
do this nonsense, and now it was my turn to be convinced. I
could tell they were trying to force it. The doctor told me, despite
it not having a high probability for a long life, that we should still
try and give it all the love it deserves. Of course, the doctor
referred to it as a he, but I refuse to. This thing disgusted
me. This thing tried to kill me and ruined my quality of life for
so long, and now we're going to treat it like it's some kind of
prince. No. Absolutely not. Luckily, it seemed like it would never
leave the hospital, but my parents planned on going to visit it daily,
visiting it. Are you kidding me? It has no eyes, no ears,
It's probably miserable, and has no concert of people even being around it.
I'm refusing to I ever see this thing again or acknowledge its existence.
I could get in trouble for even talking about this. The hospital or anyone
involved has signed NDAs to not share any information about this until it officially dies.
This is because it's a medical anomaly and the first of its kind.
They want to do the proper research and how this all occurred before coming out
with a statement. I just have to get this all off my chest.
I feel like I'm the crazy one here when I know I'm not. I
don't care if I get in trouble. I'm scared that the doctors are trying
to force my parents into giving this thing a proper life. I think that's
why it took them so long to tell me. I think they scared my
parents into keeping it alive and guilting them, or even forcing them into being
its parents. I'm all for every life being important and all that, but
I have a feeling my parents are terrified of this thing, just like I
am. I'm convinced they gasped at my parents into believing this thing is my
brother. If there wasn't any sign of him while my mom was pregnant with
me, could this thing be something else. This all happened about two years
ago. It's still alive and they're still researching it. My parents continue to
visit it despite everything. My therapist told me that I'm probably just struggling with
jealousy now that I'm not an only child anymore and so much are my parents's
attention is on him now. But it's so much bigger than just jealousy.
Since this thing showed up and my OCD is pretty much gone, I've hardly
seen my parents. I know I'm not just jealous. There is something more
to this, I know it. Something just feels off about this whole thing.
What is this thing? Where did it come from? And what does
it want? I had a rough time as a kid. I suffered from
both hem and geomas and spotty hair loss, two conditions that would go away
the closer I got to my teenage years. But for those first few years
I was a social prior. I looked strange, which was enough to draw
unwanted attention. Some kids thought I had a kind of mange what others just
didn't like to look at me. My parents didn't make it easier for me,
forcing me to bring various creams that I had to apply during school hours.
I ended up trying to make my own fun. I made my own
friends in my head, and I played a lot of board games on my
own. My parents were going through a divorce and both swore off having any
more children, so I ended up as an only child. Most of my
made up friends were just the plaything. I could tell it was all just
for fun and that they weren't real. I didn't see them or hear them.
I made up little stories in my head, trying to imagine what they
would do if they were there. I could get really into it. I
had this one imaginary friend who always tried to cheat in games, so when
I played with him at the table, I'd move the pieces in a way
he would and thus cheat. Another friend was obsessed with lemonade, so I
always brought an extra glass for him. When I was seven years old,
there was a new friend. This one was different. I could really see
him. I knew he was just as fake as the rest of them,
as he only appeared when I was alone and playing. But he was strange.
I hadn't imagined him for a specific purpose. I didn't come up with
a name for him. I don't know anything about him. Even if I
would pretend not to know the cheetah and the lemonade enthusiast to try of conversation,
This one was a genuine mystery. He was scary. He looked like
a person, but sort of stretched at least seven feet tall, pale,
flaking gray skin. He was super thin and had this sort of hanging face,
like his skin was slouching. He reminded me of a wet towel hanging
off a rack, and his eyes well empty. There was nothing there.
He was super quiet and rarely moved. I'd usually forget he was even there
unless he made his little sound, a sort of teeth chatter. It was
like a tick, sometimes a single click. Other times he'd just stand there,
chattering excitedly, clack clack clack. At first, I just asked him
to go away. He didn't talk, and he didn't answer my questions.
No matter what I played, he refused to participate or even acknowledge me.
He just wanted to be there. Most of the time, he was a
nuisance. He'd scare me. I'd wake up to that noise of chattering teeth
at night, or he did click right next to my ear when I played
my board games. Over time, from scary to frustrating, he was just
being a bother. But there was that time in middle school that changed the
way I viewed him. There was a new kid in school. It was
an infamous bully, let's call him Ian. He'd been moved from another school
where it had been a menace. No one really knew what to do with
him, so they just sort of moved him around, and now it was
our turn to deal with him, and of course I was a clear target.
Ian started calling me scabs and it kind of caught on. The sick
dog of the class now had a name that others clung to, and it
wasn't a good one. But it didn't end there. One day after school,
he took things too far, spurred on my cheers and laughter from my
classmates. I was beaten, bloody. While I was beaten, the others
went inside to get some scissors. They were gonna cut my mangy hair.
When it was just me and Ian, I heard that teeth chattering noise again.
I could see the strange figure in the background. My first thought was
that he was there to mock me too, but to my surprise, it
had other plans. It leaned in, unhinged its massive jaw, and took
a bite out of Ian's ear, tearing it in half. There was instant
pandemonium. Ian turned around, not looking at me, but straight at his
assailant. He could see him too, blood and screams panic. Ian scrambled
like a scared dog, dripping over his own legs to get away. The
others came running back to but as they saw what had happened, they'd all
had a collective gasp. Seeing them step back was empowering. They turned and
ran, screaming and pointing. They hadn't seen what Ian and I had they
thought I'd done it. He took it, He took it into here.
The kids ran away, They ran like their heads were on fire. I
sat there for a moment, my body pulsing with bruises and shock. The
strange creature approached me. His teeth had stopped chattering, replaced with chewing,
slowly savoring a meal. For all the hell it had given me, this
was grotesque. My adrenaline had spiked, and I just said the first thing
that came to mind. Maybe it didn't really want to hurt me, Maybe
it was there for some other reason. Either way, I said what I
said. You're just a big softy, aren't you. I sniffled, You're
a big softy, Big softy. It wheezed back. It was less of
a voice and more of a throbbing wind. Its lips didn't move, Big
softy, It continued, M yeah you are. I nodded, that's you.
It leaneding close, inspecting me. It didn't breathe name, It hissed
free. I stared into those hollow sockets, waiting for something to happened,
a smile, a breath, anything, but no. I blinked, and
big softie it was no longer there. Sometimes violence solves things. While that
brawl didn't make me popular, it stopped kids from teasing me. Classmates began
using my regular name again. Sure there was still whispers and the occasional side
eye, but that was still an immense improvement. No one spoke about that
fight, though. I didn't want to get in trouble for the year,
and he didn't want to get in trouble for bullying me, So we kept
it to ourselves and never spoke of it again, and seemed fine with sitting
quietly and not talking to anyone about it. He changed, and Big Softy
well, he sort of disappeared. It's like he'd done his job and went
on his merry way. For a couple of years that followed, I thought
he just might have been a figment of my imagination. Maybe I was the
one who really bitty and and this whole thing was just a way to cope
with that trauma. It had to be something of the sort imaginary friends don't
affect the real world. Then again, giving him a name, even a
nickname, seemed to have encouraged him was something worse. Most of my afflictions
cleared up in high school, and I found a solid group of like minded
youths. Over time, all little dream friends faded from memory. The one
who cheated, the one who loved lemonade, a hundred others who I can't
even remember, the way they looked, the way they sounded, their names
and quirks. They all went away. But Big Softie stayed at my mind
realer than any of them. The hollow eyes, the chattering teeth. It
was strange how the most horrifying of all my imaginary friends turned out to be
the one who stuck around the longest. The time passed, high school turned
to college, college turned to work, and by the time I was twenty
seven I had a pretty cozy life going. But even then, despite not
having seen or heard that childhood friend of mine, Big Softie, still drifted
in my dreams every now and then. I wish I could end this story
here. It'd just be a strange anecdote about something that happened to me as
a kid. Sadly that's not the case. What began as an unusual child
of curiosity turned into a waking nightmare. In twenty nineteen, and I was
in a pretty good place. I was six months into a promotion that added
a flat fifteen percent of my salary, and I was finally getting back into
dating after a messy break up a couple of months earlier. Nothing serious,
but it felt good to shake off the cobwebs. I was coming home from
a long day of overtime and had to stop for gas, nothing I hadn't
done a hundred times before. I got myself a slim gym and told the
long haired man behind the counter that I wanted thirty on punt two. I
handed over my card and checked my phone for a moment, clack teeth turning
around nothing. I could feel my pulse spiking for no apparent reason. I
became hyper aware of my surroundings. You have had light and the faint whiff
of gasoline. That one noise brought me straight back to middle school. It
sent this cold spike straight into my head, as if I could picture that
hollowed out face in front of me. I snapped out of it with a
beat from the cash register. I thanked the cashier and headed for the door.
Just before I left, I turned back around to them, Excuse me,
but did you hear something strange just now? No, can't say I
did. Sorry, did you click your tongue or something. Can't say I
did, sir, I nodded, of course they didn't. The same sensation
came back to me on four different occasions, once when I was closing the
blinds in my bedroom, once when getting the mail at work, another time
when stuck in traffic, and once when I was about to answer a phone
call. I ended up missing it. It was such a strange reminder.
It had it come out of nowhere, and now it was starting to become
a daily annoyance for the life of me. I couldn't figure out where it
was coming from. There wasn't really a direction. It was just like in
my head. He was there everywhere, nowhere and inside clack, and yet
Big Softy was yet to be seen. I was having trouble focusing on work.
I couldn't push my intrusive thoughts out, and I ended up doing some
digging on social media, looking up all the acquaintances from work, folks I
hadn't seen or heard from in years. Some had started families, others had
moved far away from work or studies. There were a handful of them still
left in Minnesota. One face stood out to me, though. Ian turns
out he was still around. The moment I got home from work, I
went straight to my computer. I looked up Ian on some of the more
common social media sites. The man had no privacy settings. Most of it
was just nonsense pictures of him having beers with the boys, a couple of
nice cars, group pictures of random people with generic nicknames. This was a
man that wanted to express nothing more than being hashtag Friday Blest. But looking
a little closer, there are a few cracks in the facade. For example,
there are a couple more recent comments he'd made to a few friends of
his. God doesn't just send angels to protect you, he said in one
post. Sometimes he sends demons to test you. Looking a bit closer revealed
a lot more pain. That was Fredley parent Ian was taking medication for schizophrenia.
He was overcoming a drinking problem. He seemed to constantly be bouncing between
complete disregard for others and hysterical with regret for his actions. He could be
fighting for forgiveness in one post and bragging about stealing from work in the next.
The man was a mess, a complete mess, and that half missing
ear of his didn't do him any favors. No matter how many tattoos he
put on his neck to divert the attention. But one particular post caught my
attention. He was discussing lifestyle challenges with a local youth pastor and old acquaintance
we had in common, and they were at a disagreement. Ian spat out,
I don't deny my goddamn problems. I know what they look like,
I know their names. I see their teeth, see their teeth. Ah.
Furthermore, no one seemed to have seen him for a while. For
all intents and purposes, Ian had sort of fallen off the face of the
earth, leaving behind one last cryptic post. It's getting too real. The
post said, it's too close, and with that he posted nothing more.
I checked the dates my notes and made some deductions. The final post of
this was written the same day I first started hearing the teeth chattering noise.
Again. That couldn't be a coincidence. It just couldn't. I didn't find
out anything else about him, and the sound of teeth chattering with horrible timing,
was getting worse. Once I had to pull over in traffic to start
my heart from racing, I could have sworn I saw that hollowed out face
in my rear view mirror. I was so frustrated that I smacked my hands
on my dashboard so hard I got a bruise. By the time I got
home, I was nervous and stressed. I threw off my jacket, stormed
into the kitchen and cracked open a coke. I slammed the door shut so
hard I knocked one of the fridge magnets on to the floor. A little
blue sunflower who came with the place. Leaning back against the fridge, my
heart skipped a beat. Big Softy was right there, just a few feet
away, looking right at me. Clack clack, clack. I dropped my
can of coke as it hit the floor. I blinked. In the next
moment, I was alone again, clutching my chest. I picked the can
up, wiped up the spill with a couple of paper towels, try my
best to calm down. This was getting out of hand. I hadn't regained
my composure before there was another sound and knock on the door. It surprised
me. I wasn't expecting company. I lumbered over to the door, flustered
and shaky. I put my hand on the handle then stopped. Maybe there
was a reason I'd seen that thing. Maybe it wasn't just psychosis. What
if it meant something? Could it have something to do with whoever or whatever
was on the other side of the door. I can shoot you through the
door, A muffled voice said, Open. I froze, one hand on
the door handle, another hand on my phone. I was stuck. I
couldn't make myself move. I won't ask again Open. I didn't know what
to say. I turned the handle and carefully stepped back. Ian he looked
like he'd gone through hell to get here, un washed hair, unkempt beard,
and a shiny new handgun pointed at me. His hands were shaking.
He wasn't kidding around. His fingers trembled. He was trying to pull the
trigger. Ian I said reflexively, you what do you? Shut up?
He spat, just shut up. He raised the handgun, staring me down.
The sound of his own name shook him. It has to end,
I can't. His aim faltered. He looked away. A second later,
he pushed me back and entered my apartment, closing the door behind him.
He led me into the kitchen. There were still wet paper towels on the
floor from my spilled drink. Sit down, he said, pointing to a
chair. Keep your hands on the table. I did as he said.
There was a sudden quiet between us, as if he hadn't planned this far.
There was a clear uncertainty to his actions, which just made it worse.
I couldn't tell what he'd do next. I need you to to make
it stop, he said. It has to stop, It has to I
just can't. Don't tell me you can't. He raised his gun, stepping
closer. My whole body felt cooler. His blood rushed to my arms and
legs. Don't you tell me that, he repeated, Now make it stop.
Before I got a chance to say, you'll do anything, he sat
down across from me, gun still pointed in my direction. One wrong move,
a twitch, anything, and it'd be over my own. Forgot to
breathe. I know it's yours. It's been yours for always, he continued,
scratching his hair. But it's too much, it's gone too far.
So okay, I tried to click my thoughts. You're talking about him with
the teeth. Don't act like you don't know its name being groaned. Don't
you dare we looked at one another and said it in unison. Big Softy.
The moment we said it, I could see him emerging from the shadows
in the back of the kitchen. I tried my best, not a gasp,
but look his way. He's in my head every night. I hear
him all the time. He continued, a damn click, clacking right in
my ear, sometimes in my face, like he wants to take a bite.
I'm not controlling that, I said, carefully, picking my words.
I haven't seen him in decades. Even know how bad you missed up,
he said, squinting with disbelief. You named it. They saw. They
need to go off. They need a name, They need to be made
real. And you. He raised this gun, growing more determined by the
second you made him real, removed, this time to the bathroom. I
didn't have any say in the matter, having a gun pointed straight at me.
Somewhere off in the background, I could see the vague shape of Big
Softy moving soundlessly from one room to another. I can't control it, I
said, I have nothing to I don't care, but this is pointless.
There's nothing. I don't care. If you go away, his name goes
away. You don't know that. I was pushed through the bathroom door and
to the back of my shower. I tripped, coming down hard on my
tailbone. The ceramic tiles felt icy cold against my sweaty palms, and I
could smell a bit of chlorine from the cleaning supplies. He raised his gun
and this was it, Big Softy, I said, That's that's all I
did. I called it a goddamn nickname. I don't deserve to die for
that. He's resolved, faltered. He scratched his head again, groaning,
but more so I could see Big Softy just outside the room. Was he
getting closer? Big Softy? I said again, my eyes darting to the
door. I was a scared kid. It just slipped out. Don't you
dare put this on me? He said, don't you dare. I observed
the creature. It was approaching. Every time I said its name, it
got a little closer, looking ian dead in the eye. I took a
deep breath. This was it, Big Softy, I said, Big Softy,
Big Softy, What the hell? I kept repeating it over and over
and over. He might do something, he might not. Either way,
I had to try. But by the sixth time I said it, that
enormous, looming creature was inches behind Ian. For more so, it was
changing, not by a lot, but enough for me to notice it was
smiling. Ian raised his gun at me and pulled the trigger at the same
time I said the name for verse seventh and final time. The shot went
wild as an unhinged jaw came down on Ian's shoulder. There was a scream,
a spurt of blood on the bathroom mirror, a flailing arm hitting the
light switch, turning a gruesome scene into a shadow theater. Impossibly thin hands
wrapping around a throat, twisting his neck like a toothpaste cap, crunching,
ripping, chewing, teeth, teeth teeth, clack, clack clack, laughter,
other worldly, ethereal laughter. I have no idea how long it went
on. Ian didn't even have time to beg the handgun clattered to the ground.
It was just me and this thing alone in the dark bathroom. I
couldn't speak. I just curled up into a ball and tried my best to
ignore the viscera running into the train next to me. There was a slight
creaking sound as old knees bent. A hot breath in my face Big Softy
could breathe. It seemed nice name, it said. The voice was different,
real, tangible. I could hear vibrations in his throat. This was
no longer a figment of my imagination. Going it continued aye, I could
hear something getting dragged out of the apartment. I heard doors open and close,
and god knows how long I realized I was sitting there, shaking like
a dry leaf in the wind. My stomach turned at the idea of turning
on the light, but I had to. I got up and reached for
the light switch, almost tripping on the handgun and something slippery clinging to it
fingers. I flipped the switch and I broke. I won't go into detail
of what I saw. Most of the body was gone, not all of
it, but most of it. It was a blood trail leading into the
hallway, then disappearing just as it reached the front door. I'd brought that
thing into the world. I'd named it, I'd reinforced it, i'd believed
it called out to it, I'd made it real. All it had to
do was answer. You can't unlearn something, And even if I could,
I think it's too late. I think Big Softy got just enough of what
he needed to become something else. Entirely, he took a life, and
now he's got one of his own. Maybe we still have some kind of
connection. I don't know. I think we do where else he might have
just killed me too right then and there. Then again, there's no way
to tell. I've obsessed over this for years, looking through articles about mentions
of Ian. There were no search parties, no one came looking. Even
the people who missed him were reluctant to work with the police, and with
his history of schizophrenia, there was a higher likelihood of him just doing something
he shouldn't. But I knew better. Ian hadn't been schizophrenic. Big Softy
had just stuck to him and just tortured him so god knows how long decade.
Looking back at it, I think that was the plan all along,
to drive Ian to a point where he would try to kill me. It's
in their final moments that a person gets truly desperate, and that's what I
felt on that floor, desperation. I reached out to whoever would answer,
and I couldn't fathom the consequences. He's out there right now. He probably
looks like us walks like us and sounds like us. But wherever he is
and whatever he does, I don't want a part of it. I don't
know what to say. But if you meet a strangely tall man who does
that thing with his teeth, just know that there might be more to him,
a lot more. He is more than just a big softy. In
my tireless pursuit of answers, I found fresh questions of terror. Comfort is
an alien notion to me. I've always been afraid, always failing to still
my brains, ever wearing cogs. But from a young age I aim to
cease my minds endless worrying. I poured every ounce of my energy into becoming
an engineer. It has always eased my nerves to fix things. Of course,
nothing was ever enough. I needed absolute certainty, and I wasn't going
to find that on our little green rock. Naturally, I looked to the
stars. In the early two thousands, shortly after graduating from Cambridge University,
I moved to America and secured a job at NASA. I wanted to be
part of something bigger than me, an organization focused on exploring the deepest crevices
of the universe. The date was January second, twenty twenty three. It
was a day unlike any other. The office was filled with the excitable chatter
of my colleagues, folk who typically would have their heads silently buried in paperwork.
The air on this particular day, however, was filled with a jittery
magnetic energy. Connor You'll never guess what just leaked, Adam eagerly said,
motioning for me to follow. I shrugged and followed my friend out to the
office. What's happening, I asked, You're going to lose your mind,
my colleague replied. We made our way into one of the compound's main facilities,
a building which housed NASA's assembly line of rockets. I had a hunch
that Adam's exciting news might be related the d M fifty, the dozen minus
rockets. After all, the Baulky vessel was nearing completion. No low level
employees had been given any inkling as to what purpose the spacecraft would serve.
My colleague and I rounded the corner of the vessel and we found doctor Stanley
Jacobs talking to a few physicists. He was a graying, pale faced fellow
with chapped skin, the sort of man who had physically aged beyond his years.
He could have been sixty four or forty six. The wary faced man
groaned at the sight of Adam, but my friend didn't care. He was
fixated on the screen behind the physicist. It depicted various graphs and charts a
foreign language. To me. Everybody who's been biting Stanley's zero off after he
mistakenly forwarded an email to Jenny in accounting last year, Jacob's discovered an anomaly
at the edge of our galaxy. Adam gleefully whispered an unidentified phenomenon that vaguely
resembles a black hole, though its physical makeup is unlike anything previously discovered in
human history, and NASA has been intercepting frequencies from the other side using telescopic
data. They've created musical tones which sound like, well, who knows,
storms on unseen planets, forms of alien communication, a parallel version of our
reality. Perhaps this sounds like fiction. Why didn't we hear about it?
When Jacobs found the anomaly a year ago? I asked my colleague shrugged,
you know what the media is like this. This could be huge or it
could be nothing. But Jacobs is suggesting that it might be a tear between
universes. Hypothetically, I scoffed, though secretly my interest was piqued. Come
on, Connor, you're always talking about the mysteries of the universe. Well,
it turns out that there's more than one universe, Adam said, and
Frank heard that the planning and an expedition were the D fifty. I told
you something big was happening. Why else would they have contracted dozen minus.
It's unofficial, highly classified technology. My heartbeat started to quicken as I contemplated
what my friend had said. Parallel universes? I thought, could these distant
worlds? After the answer I've always wanted. The small group of physicists eventually
dispersed and Adam nodded his head at Stanley talked to him about the expedition.
He didn't want anything to do with me, but this could be your shot
to see space, my friend whispered, before walking away. May I help,
Doctor Jacobs asked overhearing us. I does the DM fifty expedition have any
openings for engineers? I asked the man's side. You shouldn't know about that,
but you're not the first person to ask. This day has been.
You're going to explore the anomaly, aren't you, I asked, eagerly,
interrupting the physicist. Did you hear something? Wait? Are you even an
engineer? You know, some government servant and a mission to shut down this
project? Are you? Doctor Jacobs asked, lifting an eyebrow. No,
I just need to be on that ship. Sir, you likely already have
plenty of engineers attached to the project, but we do so I wouldn't get
your hopes up, the man interjected, hacking his briefcase. I won't pretend
to be some indispensable genius, I said, but this is more than a
job to me. I don't really care about NASA. I just I've always
wanted answers to well everything. The man carefully examined me. What's your name,
doctor Jacobs asked, pulling a piece of paper out of his coat pocket.
Connor Bridges, I said, composing myself. The physicist nodded and scrupled
my name. There aren't any official openings, Connor, but I know that
look in your eyes. It's what guided me to this place too. It's
what prompted me to chase Harriet's eye. Harriet eye, I asked the man
solemnly nodded the name of the anomaly. My late daughter, Sorry, I
quietly replied. Jacobs cleared his throat. The DM fifty could always use an
extra engineer. My eyes glistened, and I immediately accepted the offer. I
couldn't quite wrap my brain around the idea of going to space now. Of
course, months after my voyage of terror, I tried to pretend it never
happened. After ten months of training, launch day arrived. Doctor Stanley Jacobs
and doctor Elizabeth Farrow, his research partner, had been developing the logistics of
the mission for the better part of two years. Our ste health vessel,
the DM fifty, would venture to the edge of the Milky Way, undetected
by the people of Earth, and we would send various automated research vessels into
Harry Eye. Given promising results, a manned mission would follow. It was
an airtight plan. The launch was a surreal experience. Sitting in a near
silent ship equipped with cloaking technology, we left Earth behind. Not a soul
on the ground watched. It was a week long journey. Using dozen minus
technology, we achieved the impossible. We not only traveled to the farthest reach
of the Milky Way, but we did so within an unthinkably fast time frame.
The reason for doctor Jacob's hurry would eventually become horribly clear. From within
the window of d fifty, the crew surveyed Harriet's Eye with doe eyed,
blissfully unaware faces, a gaggle of school children dazzled by the mysteries of space,
and as we approached, the eye grew from a blackened blemish on the
horizon into a ginormous wound that had splintered the very fabric of reality, a
hauntingly spectacular sight. The unman vessels were launched. Once we reached a suitably
near yet safe distance from Harriet's Eye. We watched as the tiny metallic blobs
jettison from d M fifty. Then, one by one, the three vessels
were swallowed by the blackened mouth. We found ourselves hovering in space, at
the edge of oblivion, waiting for the robotic explorers to return. The majority
of low level workers had nothing to do but twiddle thumbs. We couldn't proceed
until the data from the unmanned vessels had been retrieved and analyzed. Not quite
the adventure you imagine, mister Bridges, Stanley Jacobs asked, grinning. The
two lead physicists sat on the opposite end of the canteen table. I smiled
at the pair of them, was hurriedly finishing my mouthful of food. It
wasn't often that lowly crew members would have the opportunity to talk to the ever
elusive lead physicists. Actually, it's no different from a day in the office,
sitting around waiting for something to do, I said. Stanley laughed.
Well, it's just this tedious for Elizabeth and me too, right, But
I enjoy lunch breaks because I get to spend some time with people other than
him. Doctor Elizabeth Pharrows chirt. I hate to pry, but well,
have you made any progress? I asked. I won't pretend to understand the
physics of this expedition, but don't be so modest, Connor, Elizabeth said,
you're an engineer. I'm sure you understand more than you pretend to know.
He's a mysterious egg. Jacobs chuckled. Did you know that he twisted
my arm to get on this mission? He was almost as determined as me?
Almost? Elizabeth raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Yes, I seem to remember
him showing up quite late in training. Were you keen to see action?
Connor? The woman had kind eyes. Elizabeth was middle aged, possibly the
same age as Stanley. For the years had been kinder to a soft skin,
rosy cheeked face. She reminded me of my late mother. Something about
a velvety voice encouraged me to open up. It wasn't about the adventure,
doctor Pharaoh. I've just always been afraid, I said, I've always wanted
answers to unanswerable questions, and this phenomenon seems fundamentally juxtaposed to the reality which
surrounds it. Before either of the physicists could reply, our food trays slid
to the right as we did, and everybody cried in confusion as the bodies
were limply flung to the side of the unexpectedly leaning vessel. My temple connected
with the edge of the table, drawing blood, and I gripped either side
of the canteen bench onto my knuckles whitened. Dozens of dazed, injured workers
clambered to their feet. We all hurry to our respective stations, ready to
assess the damage. Though the ship corrected its balance, it continued to quake
uncontrollably, and as we ran to the engineering office, my crew members and
I shuddered at the sight of complete blackness beyond deem fifties windows. The stars
and planets had disappeared. Race for impact, a voice shrieked over the ship's
intercom. The ship's outer body groaned under the strainane of seismic pressure, and
I tumbled at the office's metallic floor. The other engineers and I clutched that
any fixed thing we could find, and we braced for our lives. As
DM fifty finally came to a blunt, jarring hold, everybody lay as still
as possible. Moments of pain echoed around the office. Light fixtures flicked unstably,
and various alarms sounded in a climatous cacophony. All personnel report to the
main bridge, her voice announced over the TURNOI. My fellow wounded engineers stumbled
weakly to the corridor outside our office, but we did not walk to the
main bridge. We speechlessly filled the corridor, and each of us stared out
of the window, and each of us stared out of the windows which lined
the walkway. Beyond DM fifty there lay a near colorless healthscape. The only
light stemmed from a luminous blue orb in the distance, a white dwarf.
One woman said, gasping, do they usually look like that? A man
asked. The edges of the orb seemed to dance erratically, and the ocean
beyond us ship was littered with tidal waves of crumbling rocks. Stray pieces clattered
against the windows of D fifty, and then I realized that one of the
larger distant rocks was a planet. It appeared to be cleanly split down the
middle, as if it were two halves of a cracked cocoanut shell. This
foreign place was not the Milky Way. The very laws of physics seemed to
contradict our reality. We entered Harriot's Eye. A man whispered, it's another
universe. Somebody muttered, all personnel to the main bridge. The tannoy voice
repeated, urgently, snapping out of the existential fever which had seized our bodies.
The engineering crew hurried through the walkways of the ship, and we joined
everybody in the main bridge area. Beyond the chatting crowd, I could see
Doctor Jacobs and Doctor Pharaoh standing sheepishly behind Captain Polton. Quiet The Captain bellowed.
The entire crew immediately complied. We tried to fixate on our bearded,
stern faced leader, but our eyes kept wondering to the swirling kaleidoscope of collars
and bombardment of rocks beyond the bridge's main viewpoint. An unidentifiable force has pulled
us into the anomaly, Captain Pulton said, we're working towards immediately returning home,
and we do not know what we might find here. The data has
not yet been retrieved from the un manned vessels, so these are uncharted waters.
Anxious murmuring resumed enough. The Captain showered before we attempt to enter the
anomaly again. We must deem DM fifty to be ship shape. I'll leave
that to our engineers. But time is of the essence, isn't that right,
doctor Jacobs? There was a disquieting tension between the lead physicist and the
captain. Doctor Jacobs cleared his throat. The anomaly is shrinking, we should
have told you, though. We have a limited window in which to explore
what lies beyond it. That's not all, Captain Polton growled. Stanley cleared
his throat nervously, but Elizabeth placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. We
have entered her dying universe, one that is collapsing on itself, she said,
prompting a gasp of horror from the crowd. The anomaly is our only
exit, and it will soon be closed for good. Doctor Jacobs sighed,
I believe that Harriet's eye might well be more than a rip in the lining
of reality. It might be the crunch point for this universe. All matter
in this reality will clyde here. Anarchy ensued. Crew members hurled abuse of
the physicists, and the few furious individuals lunged at Jacobs. The captain and
several security officers restrained the enraged crew members. We can't change what has been
done, Captain Bolton yelled, shoving the mob backwards. When we returned to
Earth, doctor Jacobs and doctor Pharaoh will stand trial for their crimes. Until
then, we have one objective, save every last person aboard this ship.
A crew worked tirelessly over the following hours, but things only worsened. We
were sitting ducks at the entrance to the anomaly, the ever closing seal between
two universes that became apparent as the ship's body began to wail painfully. The
onslaught of rocks aloudened against the metal work and reinforced glass panes. D M
fifty began to quake on a near constant basis, and whenever I had glanced
out of the ship's windows, I became acutely aware of a burgeoning light in
the distance, the sinister, swirling glow of a trillion galaxies converging the in
coming flurry of long dead planets and moons. The universe was collapsing, and
we were at the epicenter. I eventually slumped into my bunk bed at the
brink of exhaustion, but I found myself unable to shut my eyes. Eager
to busy myself, I switched to my terminal to run a few diagnostics for
the evening. The sooner we could give the captain the green light to go,
the better. I was surprised to find a notification in my inbox.
It was a day old video message from Adam. Hey Connor, I've been
bored out of my mind. I'm still upset that doctor Jacobs wouldn't let me
join the crew, so I decided to do some research on the Big Man.
I talked to Frank in it because he owed me a favor, and
he let me look at some of the transmissions that Jacobs has been deciphering.
NASA received signals from the anomaly that seemed communicative, Connor, and it was
a two way flow. Jacobs responded, he talked to something. You need
to ask him about that. The thought of receiving a message from alien life,
whether in our universe or another, had once filled me with such excitement.
But I was filled with the inexplicable dread by the idea of Jacob's communicating
with some unseen intelligence. It could have been the secrecy surrounding the communications hadn't
told anyone that he'd already found something sentient beyond Harriet's eye. Why my gut
instinct was to confront him. I slid out of bed, got dressed,
and left the engineering quarters. The ship was eerily quiet, and I walked
to the main laboratory. Other than the roar of space debris, which had
become a form of white noise, as expected, I found doctor Jacobs hunched
over at his desk and busying himself with work. The white glow of the
screen illuminated the man's gaunt, possessed face. He hardly looked human. Why
didn't you tell us, I asked, The expedition would never have been green
lit. Doctor Jacobs muttered, without looking up good I said, we never
would have faced such horror. Doctor Jacobs removed his glasses and eyed me with
disappointment. What happened to that young man who wanted answers? We're not going
to get any answers here, I said, certainly, not about that thing
you heard in the darkness. Stanley Jacobs froze, eyeing me for a few
seconds as droplets of sweat collected on his forehead brow. How did you know
about that? He whispered. He only spoke to me. I shivered.
He Stanley's frown lifted as he realized that I knew nothing. Go to bed,
mister Bridges, he said, returning his gaze to the laptop. What
were you hoping to find? I asked? The man scoffed another universe,
connor something greater than us, and I calculated that we had no more than
a couple of years before Harrot's eye would seal forever a couple of I stopped
him mid sentence. How long do we have before this reality collapses? Jacob's
months weeks days, Stanley whispered, fists clenching of their own accord. I
stormed across the lab and towed over the man, who quickly shrank into his
desk chair. What could we possibly learn in days, Stanley? You brought
us here to die, I barked. I wanted this to happen sooner,
he retorted, But the airheads and NASA had to plan carefully on official projects
are always messy, especially when the resulting countless deaths, I said, the
normally almost tore the ship in half. We might not even be able to
fix it. We might die. Don't you care? I have every faith
in you, doctor Jacob said, returning his gaze to the numbers on his
screen. And I have every faith in you, I replied. You're lucky
to even be here. The physicists snarled. As we continued the back and
forth discussion, our voices gradually raised. It was only after ten minutes of
running in circles that we realized we were competing not with each other, but
with the growing sound outside the ship. And when we turned our heads to
the laboratory windows, Stanley and I gasped in unison. The dying universe's void
was filling with light at an increasingly rapid pace, and d M fifty's trembling
foundations felt less stable with every passing second. No, this isn't right.
We should have time. Stanley breath as he cried, I still have so
much data to collect. I need to all personnel to stations. The voice
announced over the intercom. Flight to Harriet's Eye will commence in five minutes.
Brace for impact. We've barely run fifty percent of the necessary diagnostics, I
said, Who cares about the ship? Connor, Doctor Jacob's manically cried,
this is greater than anything in human history. This is what are you?
The whispy, disembodied voice rattled sharply around my skull, like a coin stuck
in a jar. It's me, I'm here, Stanley whispered. I did
as you asked. The physicist noticed my horrified expression, and he realized I'd
heard the voice too. He was in a special as he thought himself to
be. I became aware of the fact that all sound outside the ship had
seized. The terrifying convergence of galaxies continued beyond the window, but there was
quiet. Only that haunting whisper permeated the silence, a new land to conquer.
The voicest. Thank you for showing me the door. I want to
see her, doctor Jacob's wailed, throwing his arms outwards. You said i'd
see Harriet. She is still in the place of all dead things. Come
closer, let me show you, the chilling voice said. Outside the window.
Amidst the multi colored glare of approaching galaxies, I saw two forming bodies,
red gassy spheres of biblical proportions, And as black specs emerged from their
centers, I realized what they were, eyes of unfathomable enormity. I tried
to scream, but my quivering, narrowing throat was unwilling. Could it have
been strangled, perhaps by that paranormal deity. Black tendrils emerged from the abyss
of the universe's everneering edge. They curled forwards and took the shape of colossal,
godlike fingers, fingers that were reaching towards us. The ship suddenly lurched
forwards. The captain, who had looked upon the horror in the depths of
space, commenced our voyage into Harriot's eye. Thankful for the slightest hope,
I looked to the sobbing physicist beside me, Harriot, he cried, you
promised. With a thunderous clap, The tremendous, ear shattering sound of the
collapsing universe returned, as if a terrifying entity with eyes like blazing gateways to
Hell. We were roaring in fury at our attempted escape, whose devastrating fingers
soared towards our spacecraft, and D fifty began to jolt from side to side.
A trilliant swirling light soared towards our ship. As the universe's collapse quickened.
I screamed as I finally fathomed the horror of being crushed by a universe.
But then the pulling began, the pull of the shriveled near closed anomaly.
Blackness began to envelop our ship. We were entering Harriet's eye. As
Stanley and I stated ourselves against the near by desk, I closed my eyes
and thought of home, a little green rock that I had shunned for my
entire life. In that moment, it was the only thing I wanted.
Following an explosion of sound, everything stopped, all sound, all movement,
and when I opened my eyes, we were surrounded by life we had returned
to our universe. There were bright burning stars in the distance, fully formed
planets, serene tides of space had gladly carried us home, a long,
quiet journey home. I rushed to the laboratory window to eye the fading anomaly.
Did it close or simply fade from view? I still don't know.
Part of me believes in the darkened distance of space I might have seen those
terrible black tendrils slinking through the tear between realities, the hand of a god
fleeing its dying universe to claim another. Doctor Jacobs and doctor Farrow await trial
for what they did. I've been denied visitation privileges, but I need to
see them. I need to understand the last thing he said to me.
It lives. Hi. My name is Marshall and I was an investigator for
the Coastguard for over thirty years. Before I begin, I'm not going to
give any last names or overly personal information for the protection of myself and those
involved. As I write this using the first names my superior still feels like
sacrilege. However, following the events of this story, I had signed an
NDA pertaining to what was uncovered during the investigation. Given that are now staring
down the barrel of a nasty cancer diagnosis, I no longer care for my
career or life, but I don't want to hurt anyone else in the process.
Despite the danger of disobeying a federal NDA, I feel that people deserved
another truth about what lurks in their coastal waters. During my time as an
investigator for the Coast Guard, my days was spent stopping drug runners, hanging
around the docks, and yelling at drunk party boat captains. However, every
single serviceman or member of law enforcement has a couple of cases which they cannot
forget, no matter how desperate they are to do so. The S.
S. Napoli was one of those cases. It was nineteen ninety seven and
I had been an investigator for the Coast Guard for three years. I was
stationed in Portland where my partner John and I got the call. According to
our dispatch, there was a small cruise vessel which had veered into a restricted
commercial waterway. Having nothing better to do than not wanting to look too lazy
around our super periods, we made our way to our small patrol boat,
where we were met by one of the senior investigators named Eric John Marshall.
You're both late, Eric said as he stood in front of our boat with
his arms crossed. I didn't know this was going to be so serious,
John said, as we walked towards the boat. It's always serious. Eric
said as he stared daggers at John. This search has become a high priority
and we're just wasting time standing here, so move your asses. After glaring
at John for another second, Eric turned around and quickly made his way aboard
the boat. Screw me, John said, as he gave me a look
of dejection and annoyance. I was really hoping this would be a quick call.
I looked at John and gave him a shrug as I boarded this ship.
During my time being stationed in Maine, I had heard from several of
my colleagues that Eric had a reputation for being a buy the book's hard ass.
It was his way, or you were just in the way, my
friend Pete would tell me. I should have known that once Eric had become
involved in the investigation, that this was going to be more than a routine
stop. However, even with the knowledge of how Eric conducts his investigations,
we were all unprepared for the turn that this case would take. It took
us about twenty minutes to get to the site of the S S Napolis.
When we got there, we found that she had drifted into a sandbar and
had gotten stock. Despite this, we could hear the loud sputtering of the
engine, desperately clinging on for dear life as its rotors were being enveloped by
sand. Hello, this is the US Coast Guard, Eric stated over our
boat's pa. Turn off your engines and come out on top of your deck.
We waited for a minute before Eric repeated the message, This is the
US Coast Guard. Turn off your engine and come out, or we will
board your ship. Eric boomed over the loud speaker, clearly annoyed at the
lack of response. Screw this, Eric said, as he drew his pistol.
We're boarding now. Eric had John put down our anchor, and the
three of us boarded this ship. As soon as we stepped aboard, I
noticed several pile of clothes neatly folded along the deck's edges. Maybe they went
for a swim, John said sarcastically as he simultaneously avoided looking at Eric enough
clowning around. Let's go turn off the engine, Eric said. As his
words trailed off, John and I both looked in the direction where Eric was
staring and saw a limp hand holding a pistol on the ground. John,
get to our boat and call this in. We have one confirmed casualty.
Without saying a word, John quickly leapt from the napolis onto our ship and
made his way to the radio with his gun drawn. Eric motioned for me
to follow him, and we quickly breached the helm of the ship. When
we got inside, we found the heavily decomposed body of a man in his
mid fifties with an exit wound on top of his head. As Eric radio
John to relay the man's information, I stared mindlessly at the back wall of
the helm, which had become adorned with a man's dried blood and brain matter.
Marshall, Eric yelled, snapping me out of my days. Sorry,
sir, I said, as I regained my compo and started searching the pocket
to the man's pants for any identification. And it's okay, Eric said,
in a surprisingly understanding tone. Let's figure out who this man is and how
he got here. Reaching into his left front pocket, I found his wallet
and pulled out his ID, which caused a loose photo to fall in the
process. Who looks like his name was Wendell Kramer, I said as I
handed Eric the man's ID. As I went to put the man's wallet on
the table, I saw the small photograph and picked it up. In the
picture was Wendell and what appeared to be his wife and two older children as
they stood in front of the Billaggio in Las Vegas. Looks like he had
a family too, I said, as I handed Eric the photograph. Wife
and two kids. Eric said as he looked out the open doorway. How
many parts of clothing were there? Three? Sir John said as he made
his way into the helm, stopping just short of the corpse. Christ do
you think it could have been a murder suicide situation? John said as he
looked down at the man's body. I think that I need to see the
living quarters of the ship first before I have any theories. Eric said as
he walked past John. John, you're coming with me, Marshall. I
want you to see if we missed anything in the helm. Yes, Sir,
I said, as Eric and John made their way to the deck below.
As soon as Eric and John were out of sight, I quickly ran
out of the hall and threw up over the side of the ship. During
the first three years as an investigator, I'd only been part of one other
case involving a death, and it had happened earlier the same day. Never
before had I ever seen the effects of advanced decomposition on a dead body,
nor had I ever smelled the blending of the sea water and advanced rock before.
After composing myself, I made my way back into the helm and started
searching for any evidence. As I looked back at the wall behind the dead
body, I noticed that there had been a small circular glare of light at
head level. Turning around, I saw a VHS camera propped up onto a
shelf. Sir, I think I found a camera, I said over the
radio as I picked it up and pressed the eject button. There's a tape
inside of it too. Thank you for the update, Marshal Eric said,
come down below and bring the camera with you. Without any hesitation, I
put the tape back in the camera and made my way down the stairs to
the living quarters. John and Eric were sitting down at a table in a
small kitchen. Did you find anything down here, I said as I sat
next to John and put the camera on the table. Nothing to give any
probable cause. But we did find four suitcases belonging to two women and two
men, Eric said as he put two new double A batteries into the camera.
He also found batteries, John said, as Eric quickly smiled before going
back to his cold gaze. Are we going to watch the tape? I
asked as Eric turned the camera on, causing it to sound it startup jingle.
Of course, it's evidence and we have nothing else to go off of,
Eric said as he checked the time and the recording looks like there's about
an hour's worth of footage on air. John and I sat in anticipation as
Eric put the camera back on the table and hit play on the VHS recorder.
The first clips started off with a woman were in a black and white
striped bikini sunbathing on the deck of the ship, while two people could be
heard having a splash fight in the water. Hi, everyone, the man
said as he zoomed in on the sunbathing woman. Here is my beautiful and
not at all cranky Clara. Oh Wendell, stop that, the woman said,
playfully as she sat up. And this is my not at all annoying
husband. Ooh burn, the man said, laughing. Dad, I'm hungry,
yelled a boy in his mid teens as he climbed the ladder to the
deck, and can we please not have pork chops again? A younger girl
chimed in. The man then turned the camera to face himself, revealing himself
to be the same man that we found in the helm. Being a parent
is such a rewarding experience, window said sarcastically, as he was sprayed with
water. Hey cut that out. The video then cut to black before starting
clip two. Hey, assholes, the boy friend before said as soon as
the second clip began, Today I'm going to be pranking my dad by pushing
him overboard. Like hell you are, Connor, Wendell said, as he
grabbed the camera. You couldn't trick me if you tried. Yeah, Connor,
you'd have to be smart to do that, the young girl said as
she walked by the camera to sit at the kitchen table. Screw you,
Sam Connor said, in an annoyed tone. Hey be nice to your sister,
Wendell said sternly. Ah fine, Connor said, as he sat down.
Dinner's ready, Clara, Wendell called out, before giving an annoyed look
to the camera. The camera then went black again. As I watched these
clips, I couldn't help but think about the man whose lifeless body is lying
directly over our head. He doesn't get any easier. Eric said, what
I said as I snapped back to reality. This isn't the first time I've
had to go through footage like this, Eric said as he gave me a
sad look seeing someone's ghost, their memories, the life they've left behind.
Just try not to get too caught up in it. Remember, we need
to be here for them so they can rest knowing someone was able to tell
their story. Thanks, Sir, I said, as I looked down at
my hands. Eric nodded and clicked play on the camera, which started up
clip three. In this clip, it was now nighttime and the family was
staring at something off in the distance. Wendell, do you have the camera
ready, Clara said, in nervous excitement. You have to film this.
I just turned it on. I'm right behind you, Wendell said as he
approached his wife and kids. As he got behind them, the camera showed
four blue orbs of light hovering over the ocean. What are those things,
Dad Connor asked as he turned to face the camera. I I don't have
any idea, buddy, Wendell said, as he zoomed in on one of
the orbs. When he did, you could see that the orb was pulsating,
as if the mimic of the water below Wendel. I don't like this,
Clara said nervously. Yeah, that's all. Go downstairs and play some
board games, Wendell said, with clearly fake enthusiasm. As Wendell started to
blow the camera down, he quickly froze. Suddenly, a faint sound could
be heard off in the distance. Is that singing? John said as he
leaned towards the camera speaker. Come on, kids, let's get downstairs,
Wendell said, in a more concerned tone than before. The camera once again
cut to black, leaving us in pure disbelief. You all heard that,
right, John said, as he quickly looked at Eric than me. Yeah,
yeah, I think I heard something, I said before being cut off
by Eric. I didn't hear anything, Eric said as he pressed play on
the camera. Let's just keep watching, Dad, get the camera quick.
You need to see this, Sam yelled from the top deck. Winde then
ran up the stairs to see that the bright lights were much closer. Now,
what the hell, Wendell muttered under his breath as he stared at the
pulsating orbs. The singing from the third clip had become much more audible.
John then paused the recording and turned to face Eric. See don't you hear
the singing? John exclaimed, The orbs are harmonizing. Eric said nothing and
press play on the camera. The clip continued with Wendell filming the orbs.
Suddenly, the song that was being's sung began to shift. When Clara Knor
Sam the orbs sang. As they sang, it sounded as if they were
producing multiple octaves of sound at once, producing a rolling sound of harmonies had
a perfect pitch. As we listened to the track through the VHS, I
felt the hairs on my arm begin to stand up. Sam, honey,
let's go to bed. It's late, Wendell said, as he started to
walk towards his daughter. Sam, having either not heard her father or did
not care to listen to him, stayed perfectly still as she continued to stare
into the orbs floating ten feet above her head. Sam Window yelled, snapping
Sam out of the days Dad. Sam muttered groggily, It's okay, baby,
Window said, clearly shaken by what had just transpired. Let's get you
to bed. You were sleep walking again. The clip went to black,
and John pressed the play button with no hesitation. Eric and I looked at
each other as the clip began. Clara Connor Sam Window called out as he
left his bed and entered the living quarters. All around him, the sound
from earlier had gotten loud, to the point of causing the VHS's microphone to
start clipping. The blue light given off by the orbos that surrounded the boat,
causing rays of blue light to cast throughout the cabin. As Wendell panned
the camera around the room, he heard the faint sounds of talking above deck.
Hold on, I'm coming, Window yelled, as he ran up the
stairs. As soon as he reached the top deck and turned to face the
bow of the ship, he instantly froze. Clara Connor and Sam were standing
completely nude and facing the ocean. What the hell is going on? Window
yelled. As he made his way towards his family. He stopped and screamed
as four creatures began to rise in front of his family. As the skinless
humanoids began to tower over the three and began to unhinge their jaws and produced
two black tentacles which emitted the same light blue glow as the orbs. The
three of us and Wendell watched in horror as three of the creatures pressed their
tentacles over Clara, Connor and Sam's faces. As their tentacles latched onto their
faces, they appeared to suck away at their skin. Stay away from my
family, who freaks, Wendell cried out. As soon as he spoke,
the fourth creature began to shuffle towards him, walking as though their legs did
not match their autonomy. Wendell began to slowly back away as the creature made
a break towards him. The sudden speed of the creature caused me to flinch
as Eric sat stoically and John sat transfixed. Wendell quickly rushed to the helm
and slammed the door shut just as the creature was about to grab him.
Damn it, damn it, what are those things? Wendell muttered as he
tried to catch his breath while he locked the door. After a minute of
composing himself, Wendell pointed the camera towards the window and walked off to the
left side of the screen. From the hatch, we watched as the formerly
skinless creatures started to take on facial features from the family members, becoming twisted
versions of the loving family we had seen on TV. The placement of hair
and the creature's heads were matted and off center. Their mouths, which were
still unhinged, looked crooked and broken, and the creatures bulged from the skin
they adorned like a tight fitting suit. As soon as Wendell came back on
screen and looked out the window, he vomited at the abomination, before recoiling
due to a loud banging sound from the other side of the door. Wendell
looked up in horror as the face of the skinless creatures suddenly appeared from the
other side of the hatch window. It smiled at Wendell as he began to
bang its head furiously against the door. Take this, Wendell screamed as he
drew a pistol and fired three shots to the door. As the shots rang
out, the deafening scream of pain could be heard from the other side of
the door. Got you, Wendell cheered as he looked out the window.
As soon as he saw the scene outside, his pride had quickly soured the
dismay as he began to sob. I don't know how to live without you,
Wendell said as he stared down the pistol. I'm so sorry everyone.
I love you so so much. For anyone who finds this, my coordinates
is forty three point six to minus sixty nine point seven. If you see
blue orbs over the water run. As soon as he said this, Wendell
picked up the camera and placed it on the shelf beside the door, out
of sight of the camera. The sound of the engine wrong to life can
be heard as a single gunshot exploded through the mic, leaving just the sound
of the singing from behind the door. Suddenly, after several minutes, the
sound of banging resumed and a loud crash was heard off camera. After several
moments of shuffling, the creature that was behind the door appeared and stared directly
at the camera, causing John to let out a blood curdling scream. What
the hell? John screamed as he shot out of his chair. The sudden
reaction caused Eric and I to flinch as John began pacing around the cabin.
John, are you okay, Eric asked, as he got up its face.
John screamed, HiT's damn face. I know. I don't think I'll
ever be able to see that skinless freak. I said, what the hell
are you talking about? John said, as he stopped pacing and stared at
me. The creature, I said, in a confused tone. It didn't
have skin and was all muscle and tendon. It had my face, Marshal,
you didn't see my face, John pleaded. It smiled at me with
my own damn face. Eric shot a glance at John before giving me a
worried look, grabbed the camera. We need to leave now, Eric said,
but it had my face, Sir, John muttered between fits of crying.
Now let's go, Eric yelled. Eric stormed out of the cabin as
I helped an inconsolable John up the stairs and onto our boat. The right
back from the s s Napolis was tense and silence between John's constant whimpering.
As soon as we made it back to dark, two members of the Coast
Guard were waiting to escort John to our field office. As I was about
to get off the ship, Eric put his arm out to stop me.
Sir, I said, before being cut off. What I'm about to tell
you is extremely important, so I need you to listen, Eric said,
as he looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot. Of
course, sir, what is it? I asked. You didn't see anything
to day? Eric whispered. Of course, Sir, I won't tell anyone,
I replied. Eric just shook his head and stared at me. Even
if you saw something, you never saw anything, You never heard anything,
You know nothing. Eric continued. I'm only telling you this because I have
no choice. For those creatures you saw are sirens like from the Odyssey?
I asked, similar, Eric said, as it became slightly more relaxed.
We pray on those who allow themselves to be open to their calls. As
soon as you leave here, listen to your favorite album, or do something
to rid yourself of the mark. What about John, I asked, as
I watched them struggle to walk with his escorts. Watch over him, make
sure he doesn't do anything stupid, and hope that God's grace is in his
favor. Eric said as he pulled out a cigar and lit it. Now
go, You're dismissed, yes, Sir I said, as they gave a
salute and walked back to the office. For the next couple of hours,
they took Eric's advice and listened to some music and watched a late night Celtics
game on TV with my friend Pete and some other colleagues. Justice Bruce Baun
missed another two point shot. Eric burst into the office, whereas Marshall he
yelled, I'm right here, Sir I said wearily, as the guys who
are watching the game with me tried to distance themselves. Follow me now,
he yelled as he slammed the door and stood in the room confused for a
second before grabbing my coat and rushing for the door. Poor guy, he
said, as I rushed out of the room. As soon as I left
the office and Marshall was waiting for me holding an M sixteen. We have
a serious issue, Marshall, Eric said, as he handed me the keys
to the boat. What's wrong, I asked nervously as I eyed the assault
rifle. John stole one of our boats, and I think I know where
it's going. Eric said, as he began to briskly walk to the boat.
Where is he going? I asked, as I tried to catch up
the coordinates in that video. He's going back to the site where the incident
happened, Eric said, as he picked up his pace. Why would he
do that? He was terrified of those things, I asked as we neared
the boat. Just as we were about to board the boat, Eric turned
to look at me because he never listens. Marshall. He embraced the song,
and now they have a hold on him. Eric and I then boarded
the ship and sped off into the night towards where Wendell had reported the incident.
By the time we arrived near the location, it had been about an
hour since we had left the dock. Ahead of us, we saw the
footlights of a ship in the distance, and to my horror, a bright
blue orb hovering in the sky. Damn, he might already be too late,
Eric said as he turned the safety off the sixteen. What's the plan,
sir, I asked, as the floodlights came closer. We save John
if we can, and I shoot anything that's not human. Eric said as
he pulled air plugs from his pocket and handed them to me. As we
approached the side of the boat, I saw John standing on the bow,
nude and staring at the sky, while the orb above him was singing,
just as it had in the video. John, John, John, John,
What the hell are you doing? Eric yeld. John didn't respond,
John. If you don't answer me, I'm going to board this boat and
haul you off myself, Eric yeld as he prepared to disembark. Just as
Eric was about to board John's boat, the creature started to crawl from the
water onto his boat. Standing before John was one of the eight feet tall
skinless sirens. Oh damn, Eric said as he raised his rifle. Before
he could shoot the creature, John turned around and fired two shots from his
revolver at Eric, hitting him in the shoulder. As Eric laid bleeding on
the floor of our boat, John turned back towards the creature as his tentacles
exploded from his face and latched onto John's skin. As the creature began to
harvest John's skin, John started to moan with delight. Not wanting to see
John consumed, I grabbed a medical kit from the helm of our boat and
rushed over to Eric to stabilize his wounds. Don't worry about me, son,
Eric said, between gritted teeth, you need to take that thing out.
I nodded and carefully grabbed the M sixteen from beside Eric. Once I
had in my hands, I quickly spun around and fired several shots of the
creature. The creature turned around to look at me, and I saw that
half of its face now resembled my partner John, while the other half still
was primarily muscle. It snarled at me, showing off its various rows of
different sized teeth. When I was able to see this creature up close,
I realized that it looked like it was made of human beings stacked upon each
other. Its legs had different joints and knees that did not function. Its
hands had tens of fingers that didn't move. Its face had several jaws and
mouths of various sizes moving in unison. It was as if it was a
Russian nesting doll of flesh and bone. After a moment of staring me down,
the creature lunged for me. I quickly sprayed the rest of the magazine
into the creature. As I did, thousands of teeth and bone exploded from
his face and torso, and the creature fell forward into the sea. Staring
back at John, I saw him gasping on the floor of his boat,
drenched in blood and missing several layers of muscle and flesh from his face.
As he turned to look at me, he smiled before the creature, which
I thought I had killed, grabbed him by the legs and dragged him below
the surface of the water. Having no bullets left, I watched in horror
as the man I had worked with for the last three years was dragged down
to a watery hell. After a moment of standing, defeated and utterly dumbfounded,
my way over to Eric and handed him the rifle. You did,
good, son, he said, as he lit another cigar. But John's
dead, I replied, barely able to hold back tears. You did what
you could, Eric said, between puffs. Now let's get the hell out
of here. I wish I could say that I became Rambow and hunted down
the creature that killed my friend, but I didn't. I knew that John
was a dead man as soon as he set sail for those damned creatures.
But every day I think about all the ways I could have stopped him.
Eric and I would go on to work together on many unexplainable cases after this
one, but those are all stories for another day. For now, as
a former Coast Guard investigator, if you see blue orbs in the sky and
the open ocean, run like hell and don't ever listen to their song.