I keep thinking about all the things I've dived into in my pursuit for an identity. I remember a couple of years ago when I became a furry, and I just...whole hog. Or at least as whole hog as I was willing to go given my budget and my anxiety at getting found out that I was part of a fandom notorious for weird sex acts.
It never occurred to me to buy a fursuit, that felt like that one step too far, y'know? But I did commission art, roleplay in some channels as my fursona (a rat with cybernetic limbs for extra EDGE), start referring to myself as a furry, etc. I never really felt attached to the fandom too much, though. Never really made that extra push.
A few years before that it was LARP. Live Action Role Playing for those not in the know. And I gave to that with just as much, if not more, relish. It helped that this particular identity-defining activity was slightly more socially acceptable, at least among my peer group, so I didn't have to hide it from anyone. I was able to freely talk about my adventures as an elf wizard among my friends, both LARPers and non, without fear of weird looks or being abandoned by closest associates.
And then something else happened in my life, I'm not sure when, or how, or why but I made a discovery about myself. I don't know how else to put it, but it's weird to realize that you're transgender at post-30, and I found I was starting to dive into this just as much...when I had to take a step back and examine.
Being trans is not a fandom. It's not a fun activity that you share with your friends. It's an identity. And while I'd been seeking identity in those other activities, not all of which I've listed here, it never occurred to me that this would be the one that I found. And this has caused me no end of angst, as much as that word is sort of a joke these days, because I find myself wondering if it's real or not.
I feel like it's real. I want it to be real. But...what if it isn't? What if it's just another activity I've found, another bid for identity that I'm desperately clinging to until something else comes along and snaps up my attention? This is one of my greatest fears. I hate this feeling. I hate myself.
I think, when it comes down to it, real or not...the root of the problem is that I desperately just want to be anything other than myself. Because that's what all these things have in common, a desire to be something that I choose to be instead of what was thrust on me by random chance and biology. And I hate that because...if it's not real, what does that mean? Does that mean I can never really be happy? Does that mean I can never really be satisfied?
I wish this was an article with a nicely rounded out thesis and a good conclusion paragraph, but the truth is this is just my thoughts spilling out over the keyboard almost randomly while I have the inclination to let them out. I don't even know if it has a point.
Thursday, November 21, 2019
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
The Thing in the Dark
There was something in the dark, sitting on Claire's bed, staring at her with bright yellow eyes. It was vaguely humanoid, a head, two arms relaxed in its lap ending in hands that ended in fingers that were too long to be human. It seemed to have legs, or at least two appendages that protruded from what appeared to be a humanoid torso. It had a neck which terminated in a head, a head that was oddly shaped with hollow eyes and a wide, too wide, mouth filled with too many teeth.
Claire couldn't move, wasn't sure she should move, under that thing's gaze. It didn't blink, just sat on the end of her bed and watched her in the darkness, grinning. It didn't move for what seemed like forever, finally leaning forward and opening its mouth as if to speak. Claire feared that whatever the creature had to say would be the last thing she ever heard, and that when it was done telling her whatever secret it wanted to reveal to her that she would beg for the sweet mercy of a slow and painful death.
It didn't get the chance. I wasn't going to give it that chance. I burst from the closet, my good friend Ted behind me bellowing at the top of his lungs, and I swung the baseball bat I held in both clenched fists, an old-style solid wood Louiville Slugger, with all of the force my meager muscles could summon and cracked the monster on the side of the head just as it twisted its head in rage and alarm to face us.
There was a noise like a crash of thunder and my arms went numb from the force of the blow. When I looked up to see the creature it looked more annoyed than anything, and the solid chunk of broken wood that had once been a bat fell from my nerveless fingers. The noise that came out of my throat at that moment was something between a whimper and a gurgle as I fought back vomit.
I heard Ted curse behind me as he slammed into my back, his momentum making me stumble forward just in time for the monster to stand up. It reached out and wrapped a hand around my throat, choking off my cries as those over long fingers encircled my neck and cut off my air supply. It hissed and pushed both of us back with little effort, pinning me to Ted and Ted to the wall.
"You..." it hissed, dark slime dripping from its maw, "We've seen you, both of you."
It began to laugh as it squeezed and my eyes bulged. My left hand grasped at its wrist while the right dug into my pocket, trying desperately to grip onto the small object inside.
"Get it, man," Ted tried to whisper in my ear, "Stick him, c'mon!"
I rolled my eyes just in time for the creature to grab my other wrist with its free hand and pull my hand out of my pocket. It looked at what I held and laughed again, its gruesome chuckle full of derisive mirth.
"Dammit, Ted," I muttered, or would have. It actually came out as, "Gasp, wheeze,"
The monster held my wrist in an iron grip and locked its eyes on mine as it shook the pocket knife loose from my hand. The tiny blade hit the carpet with a dull thud.
"If the bat didn't do the trick, you thought a penknife would solve the problem?" it asked maliciously.
I gurgled a reply, Ted cursed and tried to push me off of him, and the creature just laughed again, "We are eternal," it began, a familiar, infuriating smugness creeping into the rasp of its voice, "We have been here since man first woke, and we will be here until the last of you dies. You are a fool, and more than that, you are a dead man."
I glared at it, rage filling my mind. I hated these things, these monsters, with their superiority complexes, playing games and thinking it's okay to use people as pawns. I'd rather have been at home, playing Xbox and getting baked with Ted, but I just couldn't stand to let these bastards keep winning.
Behind me, Ted was silent, in an uncharacteristic show of solidarity for my own forced muteness I assumed at the time. The thing holding me kept monologuing, and I kept staring at it with laser focused hate, so only Ted wasn't caught off-guard when Claire came up behind the monster and jammed the pointed end of the broken slugged into its spine.
It shrieked, not in pain but in rage, and backhanded the girl, launching her across the room and slamming her into the other wall, which caused a family photo to crack and fall off to the floor alongside her. The change in the creature's center of gravity gave Ted the wiggle room he needed, and he dived to the floor, grasping the penknife quickly and tossing it toward my free hand, already open.
I grinned as well as I could as it landed in my palm, and I brought it down on the monster's forearm just as it turned back to face me. This time, there was pain.
The wound, small as it was, sizzled and burned as I dug the two-inch knife into the meat of its arm, and it was forced to let go of me. I ripped the blade free and gasped for breath, while the monster cradled its wounded arm and looked at me with a combination of surprise and fear.
"What..." it hissed, "What sort of...what is that!?"
I brandished the knife and stepped forward, "Come find out," I said, taunting it.
Ted laughed, "Osmium, bitch!," he screamed, invalidating my badass moment, "400 dollars an ounce, but worth every fuckin' penny!"
Looking to Ted, then back to me, then down to the knife, the monster took a step back, "This isn't over," it said, fading into the shadows, "Not at all."
When it left, I dropped the knife, "Ted, check on Claire," I said, slumping back against the wall and slowly sliding to the floor, "Make sure she isn't dead. Fuck."
He did as I asked and I leaned my head against the wall. That was close, and we'd survived, but it hadn't been the plan. We'd have to be better prepared next time, though I wasn't sure how we could get more prepared than an osmium plated knife. Fuck, I hated this job, and I knew for sure it wasn't over. Creatures like that don't leave empty threats.
I closed my eyes, exhausted. The whole thing had happened over the course of maybe ten or fifteen seconds, but it felt like a year at least, "Ted," I said, my voice already thick, "Get her...get her to the hospital if she needs it. I'm just...I'm just gonna take a nap."
Ted said something back to me, but I didn't hear it. I was already starting to dream.
Claire couldn't move, wasn't sure she should move, under that thing's gaze. It didn't blink, just sat on the end of her bed and watched her in the darkness, grinning. It didn't move for what seemed like forever, finally leaning forward and opening its mouth as if to speak. Claire feared that whatever the creature had to say would be the last thing she ever heard, and that when it was done telling her whatever secret it wanted to reveal to her that she would beg for the sweet mercy of a slow and painful death.
It didn't get the chance. I wasn't going to give it that chance. I burst from the closet, my good friend Ted behind me bellowing at the top of his lungs, and I swung the baseball bat I held in both clenched fists, an old-style solid wood Louiville Slugger, with all of the force my meager muscles could summon and cracked the monster on the side of the head just as it twisted its head in rage and alarm to face us.
There was a noise like a crash of thunder and my arms went numb from the force of the blow. When I looked up to see the creature it looked more annoyed than anything, and the solid chunk of broken wood that had once been a bat fell from my nerveless fingers. The noise that came out of my throat at that moment was something between a whimper and a gurgle as I fought back vomit.
I heard Ted curse behind me as he slammed into my back, his momentum making me stumble forward just in time for the monster to stand up. It reached out and wrapped a hand around my throat, choking off my cries as those over long fingers encircled my neck and cut off my air supply. It hissed and pushed both of us back with little effort, pinning me to Ted and Ted to the wall.
"You..." it hissed, dark slime dripping from its maw, "We've seen you, both of you."
It began to laugh as it squeezed and my eyes bulged. My left hand grasped at its wrist while the right dug into my pocket, trying desperately to grip onto the small object inside.
"Get it, man," Ted tried to whisper in my ear, "Stick him, c'mon!"
I rolled my eyes just in time for the creature to grab my other wrist with its free hand and pull my hand out of my pocket. It looked at what I held and laughed again, its gruesome chuckle full of derisive mirth.
"Dammit, Ted," I muttered, or would have. It actually came out as, "Gasp, wheeze,"
The monster held my wrist in an iron grip and locked its eyes on mine as it shook the pocket knife loose from my hand. The tiny blade hit the carpet with a dull thud.
"If the bat didn't do the trick, you thought a penknife would solve the problem?" it asked maliciously.
I gurgled a reply, Ted cursed and tried to push me off of him, and the creature just laughed again, "We are eternal," it began, a familiar, infuriating smugness creeping into the rasp of its voice, "We have been here since man first woke, and we will be here until the last of you dies. You are a fool, and more than that, you are a dead man."
I glared at it, rage filling my mind. I hated these things, these monsters, with their superiority complexes, playing games and thinking it's okay to use people as pawns. I'd rather have been at home, playing Xbox and getting baked with Ted, but I just couldn't stand to let these bastards keep winning.
Behind me, Ted was silent, in an uncharacteristic show of solidarity for my own forced muteness I assumed at the time. The thing holding me kept monologuing, and I kept staring at it with laser focused hate, so only Ted wasn't caught off-guard when Claire came up behind the monster and jammed the pointed end of the broken slugged into its spine.
It shrieked, not in pain but in rage, and backhanded the girl, launching her across the room and slamming her into the other wall, which caused a family photo to crack and fall off to the floor alongside her. The change in the creature's center of gravity gave Ted the wiggle room he needed, and he dived to the floor, grasping the penknife quickly and tossing it toward my free hand, already open.
I grinned as well as I could as it landed in my palm, and I brought it down on the monster's forearm just as it turned back to face me. This time, there was pain.
The wound, small as it was, sizzled and burned as I dug the two-inch knife into the meat of its arm, and it was forced to let go of me. I ripped the blade free and gasped for breath, while the monster cradled its wounded arm and looked at me with a combination of surprise and fear.
"What..." it hissed, "What sort of...what is that!?"
I brandished the knife and stepped forward, "Come find out," I said, taunting it.
Ted laughed, "Osmium, bitch!," he screamed, invalidating my badass moment, "400 dollars an ounce, but worth every fuckin' penny!"
Looking to Ted, then back to me, then down to the knife, the monster took a step back, "This isn't over," it said, fading into the shadows, "Not at all."
When it left, I dropped the knife, "Ted, check on Claire," I said, slumping back against the wall and slowly sliding to the floor, "Make sure she isn't dead. Fuck."
He did as I asked and I leaned my head against the wall. That was close, and we'd survived, but it hadn't been the plan. We'd have to be better prepared next time, though I wasn't sure how we could get more prepared than an osmium plated knife. Fuck, I hated this job, and I knew for sure it wasn't over. Creatures like that don't leave empty threats.
I closed my eyes, exhausted. The whole thing had happened over the course of maybe ten or fifteen seconds, but it felt like a year at least, "Ted," I said, my voice already thick, "Get her...get her to the hospital if she needs it. I'm just...I'm just gonna take a nap."
Ted said something back to me, but I didn't hear it. I was already starting to dream.
Monday, May 16, 2016
Hunger
I scratch at the door, the smell of sweet flesh calling to me from inside. My limbs, no longer agile as they once were, weak with decay, pound the wooden surface, unable to find purchase. My mouth hangs open, fetid green slime oozing from my slackened jaw as I moan out wordless pleas. I'm so hungry it hurts. The pain is all encompassing, and the only thing standing between me and relief is a simple, two inch thick plank of wood, but I am not strong enough to break through. I try the handle, but my fingers won't close tight enough to open it.
It wasn't always this way, I know, but it's hard to remember anything before I woke up in the box, so deep under the earth. I don't know how I found the strength to claw free of the dirt, to pull my rotting body from the ground, but I did it. The hunger was so strong, and when I tasted the groundskeeper it was so sweet, and for a moment I could think. I heard screams, and looked to see someone else had witnessed my feast. I reached out, trying to assure them that the hunger was sated, I was alright, they didn't have anything to fear, but all that came out was a gurgling moan and a wet slapping noise as a hunk of the groundskeeper fell from my jaw and hit the pavement.
They ran, and I suppose I can't really blame them, and I followed. I just wanted to reassure them, but it didn't take long before I was hungry again. They ran into this building, the groundskeepers shed I think, and locked the door. A minute ago the groundskeeper joined me, and I'm not sure there will be enough to share. I can smell them in there, and I know they can hear me. I'm so, so hungry.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Milk Run pt. 5
The machine gun barked and spewed a rain of imaginary, digital ammunition. The minotaur's reaction was immediate, stopping in its tracks and throwing its arms up defensively. The construct absorbed the impact of the bullets, stepping back on one leg to brace itself. It roared in pain and frustration.
I grinned wide and advanced, pushing the creature backwards down the hallway. My grin disappeared, however, when the thing swatted at me with one massive hand. I fiddled with some code as fast as I could, raising the gun up to block the strike, watching as the heavy weapon transformed in my hand and became a massive riot shield. I grunted as I did my best to absorb the impact, but fell backwards onto my digital ass.
I scrambled as the monster reared back for another blow, and threw up my shield again. My arm went numb under the force, and I was reasonably certain my meat body was sporting a nosebleed. Thinking fast, I slammed my free hand to the ground and executed one of my programs, summoning forth a riot geared avatar next to me that began throwing out suppressive fire.
The minotaur howled and staggered back, giving me a moment to breathe. I rolled back and slapped my palm to the floor again, and summoned up another avatar, this time to the opposite side of the beast. Using the distraction to my advantage, I took another look around.
The data point was right behind it, and I grinned. All I had to do know was get to it. Grunting with effort, I burst forward in a blur of motion and slid between the monster's legs.
I reached the data point, a glowing orb made of digital light and code, and slammed my fists into it to begin the download. In a matter of moments, I had transferred the contents of the node into my brain, and then from my brain into the hard drive plugged into my cyberdeck. I grinned and jacked out.
Back in meatspace, I came to and yanked the cord out of the terminal, "Let's get out of here," I barked at Drex, "I've got what we came for."
She nodded, and together we headed out the window of the top floor, rapelling down the side of the building towards freedom and payday.
Johnson was at the agreed location and delivered as promised. It took all of my effort not to rip his skinny neck out, but I held back and we got paid.
About an hour later, Drex and I were sipping soykaf and wondering what to do with the money. She tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out a figure approaching carefully from one of the alleys nearby, dressed in a high-nuyen suit and a wide open greatcoat, his golden eyes locked in our direction and his mouth pulled up into a predatory grin.
When he got close enough, he extended his hand to us, "My name is Hans Brackhaus," he said in a thick German accent, "and I represent Saeder-Krupp. I'm here to offer you a job."
I curled my lip in a snarl, but Drex waved me off, "What kind of job?" She asked.
The German chuckled, "Smash and grab," he said, smiling and showing far too many teeth, "your standard milk run."
There is no such thing as a milk run, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar.
Friday, January 8, 2016
Milk Run, pt 4
I nodded to her and gathered my unholstered my pistol, handing it to her handle first, "We both know you can handle yourself without this, but for my peace of mind, take it," I told her. She did as I asked, and I bent down to pick up my damaged cyberdeck.
"There'll be more coming," I said as I inspected 'deck, the device that allowed me to jack into the Matrix and explore cyberspace in full VR. It was still usable. I cracked it open and began to make some quick fixes, sort of a mechanical first-aid, so I could try again.
"Is it slagged?" Drex asked me as she scanned the points of entry into the small office, her eyes focused down the sights of my pistol.
I shook my head and grinned at her, my Troll tusks protruding garishly, "Never," I said, and pulled the connecting cable free from it's sheath on the side of the 'deck, "Now keep your eyes open. I'm going back."
She nodded, and I plugged the cable into the datajack slot on the side of my head, firmly connecting my brain via a network of cybernetic cables to the computer in my lap, and began typing the commands to jack myself into full VR.
My vision faded away, abruptly replaced with streams of code as I adjusted my perceptions to virtual reality. It didn't take long before the visual representation flooded in, replacing code with a network of faintly glowing filing cabinets in an office building similar in shape to the one I was in back in meatspace, only far, far larger. This building was more akin to a massive warehouse filled with cabinets than a small records room. I gasped at the size of it, and shook my digital head. Now was not the time for wonder.
Quickly I assembled my persona, my online representation, and made sure I had everything that I'd need. Autosoft weaponry, maybe a few drone programs for backup, and now I was prepared for the inevitable intrusion countermeasures.
This was the fun part. In reality, decking is just hacking on steroids; sorting through lines of code and moving things around to make things more accessible, exploiting weaknesses in firewalls and the like. Seen through the lenses of VR, however, it's much more impressive as visual representations based on both the decker's and the target's imaginations are displayed, and since my mind was jacked directly to the computer system I was able to perform operations at the speed of thought rather than the speed of my typing fingers or clicking mouse.
I activated some of my autosoft programs, represented visually by a suit of Corp-issue body armor and a massive automatic weapon. I grinned, and my persona grinned in turn, and I began to stalk through the halls of the cyber-complex to find the data we'd been hired to find.
Last time it had seemed like a piece of cake, and so it followed this time. As before, I wandered the virtual warehouse looking at file numbers and names until I came upon the one I was looking for, displayed on one of the warehouse shelves seemingly 50 feet or so in front of me. I knew now, though, that as I entered this hallway and got closer to the file in question, I would be set upon by incredibly dangerous black intrusion countermeasures. I was prepared.
Right on schedule, it arrived, materializing in front of me, coming into focus as a giant, four-armed minotaur. It towered above me, almost too tall to be real which, of course, it wasn't. I leveled my assault rifle at the big bastard and grinned.
TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART 5
"There'll be more coming," I said as I inspected 'deck, the device that allowed me to jack into the Matrix and explore cyberspace in full VR. It was still usable. I cracked it open and began to make some quick fixes, sort of a mechanical first-aid, so I could try again.
"Is it slagged?" Drex asked me as she scanned the points of entry into the small office, her eyes focused down the sights of my pistol.
I shook my head and grinned at her, my Troll tusks protruding garishly, "Never," I said, and pulled the connecting cable free from it's sheath on the side of the 'deck, "Now keep your eyes open. I'm going back."
She nodded, and I plugged the cable into the datajack slot on the side of my head, firmly connecting my brain via a network of cybernetic cables to the computer in my lap, and began typing the commands to jack myself into full VR.
My vision faded away, abruptly replaced with streams of code as I adjusted my perceptions to virtual reality. It didn't take long before the visual representation flooded in, replacing code with a network of faintly glowing filing cabinets in an office building similar in shape to the one I was in back in meatspace, only far, far larger. This building was more akin to a massive warehouse filled with cabinets than a small records room. I gasped at the size of it, and shook my digital head. Now was not the time for wonder.
Quickly I assembled my persona, my online representation, and made sure I had everything that I'd need. Autosoft weaponry, maybe a few drone programs for backup, and now I was prepared for the inevitable intrusion countermeasures.
This was the fun part. In reality, decking is just hacking on steroids; sorting through lines of code and moving things around to make things more accessible, exploiting weaknesses in firewalls and the like. Seen through the lenses of VR, however, it's much more impressive as visual representations based on both the decker's and the target's imaginations are displayed, and since my mind was jacked directly to the computer system I was able to perform operations at the speed of thought rather than the speed of my typing fingers or clicking mouse.
I activated some of my autosoft programs, represented visually by a suit of Corp-issue body armor and a massive automatic weapon. I grinned, and my persona grinned in turn, and I began to stalk through the halls of the cyber-complex to find the data we'd been hired to find.
Last time it had seemed like a piece of cake, and so it followed this time. As before, I wandered the virtual warehouse looking at file numbers and names until I came upon the one I was looking for, displayed on one of the warehouse shelves seemingly 50 feet or so in front of me. I knew now, though, that as I entered this hallway and got closer to the file in question, I would be set upon by incredibly dangerous black intrusion countermeasures. I was prepared.
Right on schedule, it arrived, materializing in front of me, coming into focus as a giant, four-armed minotaur. It towered above me, almost too tall to be real which, of course, it wasn't. I leveled my assault rifle at the big bastard and grinned.
TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART 5
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Milk Run, pt 3
It's 2075. A lot has changed since the old days. Cybernetic enhancements are relatively commonplace, the rule of law has been largely replaced by corporate decree, men and women can cruise a fully VR Matrix or overlap their day-to-day with Augmented Reality. Despite all of that, some practices and traditions going back thousands of years are still in practice today.
When the Awakening brought magic back to the world in the early part of the 21st century, a lot of these traditions gained new life. Hermetic magic, shamanism, and ancient martial arts disciplines that fuse magic and physical combat all have new adherents. Drex was about to give the wageslave mercenaries that had fired on us a lesson in some of that.
She was standing now, and a malicious grin stretched across her face as she cracked her knuckles, "All right, boys," she said, her voice soft, "Who wants it first?'
The two of them looked dumbfounded to one another, then back to Drex, before reloading their guns without another word. I chuckled from my hiding spot, "Go for the guy on the left. I don't like the way he parts his hair."
Drex nodded and, still smiling, dropped into a fighting crouch as her whole body began to glow. Literally. She was emanating a soft, golden light in waves that made small bits of dust on the floor spin around in a thin vortex around her.
You'll have to take this next part on my word, because I didn't experience it myself, but later she described it to me.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the enhanced visuals usually provided by her cybereyes, and allowed her other senses to extend outward. She smelled the oil in the guns, the sweat on the mercs foreheads, and the powder in their ammunition. She felt the shifts in the air around her as they began to raise their weapons. She heard their fingers tense on the triggers. She could taste the pressure change as the miniature explosions that sent the bullets from the barrels went off. Then she moved.
Watching her was like watching ballet. She danced through the air as they began to fire, filling the air with leaden death. She twirled, spun, jumped, and dived over, under, and around their bullets as she made her way toward them.
After an instant that felt like an eternity she landed in front of Lefty, her eyes still closed, and snatched his gun from him by the still hot barrel. Absently, she brought it across her body, tossing it into Righty's face. There was crack as his nose broke and he staggered backward, but Drex wasn't nearly done yet.
Like flowing water she continued to move, her eyes still closed, as her free hand curled into a fist and found it's way into Lefty's windpipe. From where I was sitting, I could almost hear it crunch and collapse, and Lefty fell to the ground. Righty came at her, blood running freely and mixing with tears as it ran down his face, and swung his gun at her like a club. She dodged lightly, ducking down and coming back up so that her shoulder slammed into his extended elbow. Her hands came out of nowhere, one moving down and the other moving up, and using her shoulder as a fulcrum she snapped his arm nearly in half.
The glow faded as she opened her eyes. She smiled at me, "C'mon, Gavin. Let's get what we came for and get the frag out of here."
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4
When the Awakening brought magic back to the world in the early part of the 21st century, a lot of these traditions gained new life. Hermetic magic, shamanism, and ancient martial arts disciplines that fuse magic and physical combat all have new adherents. Drex was about to give the wageslave mercenaries that had fired on us a lesson in some of that.
She was standing now, and a malicious grin stretched across her face as she cracked her knuckles, "All right, boys," she said, her voice soft, "Who wants it first?'
The two of them looked dumbfounded to one another, then back to Drex, before reloading their guns without another word. I chuckled from my hiding spot, "Go for the guy on the left. I don't like the way he parts his hair."
Drex nodded and, still smiling, dropped into a fighting crouch as her whole body began to glow. Literally. She was emanating a soft, golden light in waves that made small bits of dust on the floor spin around in a thin vortex around her.
You'll have to take this next part on my word, because I didn't experience it myself, but later she described it to me.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the enhanced visuals usually provided by her cybereyes, and allowed her other senses to extend outward. She smelled the oil in the guns, the sweat on the mercs foreheads, and the powder in their ammunition. She felt the shifts in the air around her as they began to raise their weapons. She heard their fingers tense on the triggers. She could taste the pressure change as the miniature explosions that sent the bullets from the barrels went off. Then she moved.
Watching her was like watching ballet. She danced through the air as they began to fire, filling the air with leaden death. She twirled, spun, jumped, and dived over, under, and around their bullets as she made her way toward them.
After an instant that felt like an eternity she landed in front of Lefty, her eyes still closed, and snatched his gun from him by the still hot barrel. Absently, she brought it across her body, tossing it into Righty's face. There was crack as his nose broke and he staggered backward, but Drex wasn't nearly done yet.
Like flowing water she continued to move, her eyes still closed, as her free hand curled into a fist and found it's way into Lefty's windpipe. From where I was sitting, I could almost hear it crunch and collapse, and Lefty fell to the ground. Righty came at her, blood running freely and mixing with tears as it ran down his face, and swung his gun at her like a club. She dodged lightly, ducking down and coming back up so that her shoulder slammed into his extended elbow. Her hands came out of nowhere, one moving down and the other moving up, and using her shoulder as a fulcrum she snapped his arm nearly in half.
The glow faded as she opened her eyes. She smiled at me, "C'mon, Gavin. Let's get what we came for and get the frag out of here."
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Milk Run, pt 2
As quick as I could manage, which was pretty quick considering how much cyberware was lining my nervous system and musculature, I snatched Drex by the arm and hurled her in front of me and away, towards a large statue of a Greek warrior goddess that stood on the left side of the office we were in. I dove after her, hiding my bulk as well as I could behind the relatively small hunk of stone.
"What in the...!?", she shouted, before slapping at me ineffectually, "Are you totally whacked? What happened!?"
I grunted and reached into my coat, pulling out a small device, a round, flat thing about the size of a human palm. Like a hockey puck with buttons.
"They had Black ICE, Drex," I explained, pressing a few buttons on the device and sliding across the floor behind us, towards our attackers, "Intrusion countermeasures, the highly illegal and really, really nasty kind. I almost didn't manage to jack out in time."
I pointed to the back of my neck, where my cyberdeck, now ruined, would normally be plugged into the base of my skull. Wires still dangled from it, from where I had simply ripped them out of the deck instead of my head.
Johnson had told us this job would be simple. A smash and grab. A milk run. Go in, take out a few guards, and extract a file marked "Rutherford". He'd claimed it wouldn't be well protected, and we'd believed him.
"You're supposed to be the hot drek Decker, Gavin," Drex said, inspecting the cables briefly. I pushed her away idly, closing my eyes and switching to Augmented Reality.
"Not now, Drex," I muttered, opening my eyes and focusing on the picture-in-picture display that popped into the left side of my vision, taking up a quarter or so of my total view, "I have to concentrate."
The disk I had hurled at the guards behind us, two mundanes with machine guns and a wagemage, sprouted eight little legs and an eye stalk, then stood and scuttled over to our attackers unnoticed while they continued their assault. On the end of the eye stalk it had a small, but excellent, camera that was feeding into my commlink and filling the picture-in-picture display of my AR. I grinned and directed my little spider-bot towards the wagemage.
Our attackers finally took notice of us when the spider-bot leaped up a full eight feet and wrapped it's legs around the mage's head, enveloping it. The mage screamed and stumbled backward, reeling and spinning his arms, shouting for his allies to get the thing off of him. I allowed myself to finally laugh out loud when I sent the command to flip the kill-switch, shorting out the drone's systems and sending a several thousand volt shock through the wizard.
He dropped to the ground and shook violently, his body seizing. Drex took that as an opportunity. Smiling, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and stood, her whole body glowing as she dropped into a fighting stance.
PART 3 TOMORROW...
"What in the...!?", she shouted, before slapping at me ineffectually, "Are you totally whacked? What happened!?"
I grunted and reached into my coat, pulling out a small device, a round, flat thing about the size of a human palm. Like a hockey puck with buttons.
"They had Black ICE, Drex," I explained, pressing a few buttons on the device and sliding across the floor behind us, towards our attackers, "Intrusion countermeasures, the highly illegal and really, really nasty kind. I almost didn't manage to jack out in time."
I pointed to the back of my neck, where my cyberdeck, now ruined, would normally be plugged into the base of my skull. Wires still dangled from it, from where I had simply ripped them out of the deck instead of my head.
Johnson had told us this job would be simple. A smash and grab. A milk run. Go in, take out a few guards, and extract a file marked "Rutherford". He'd claimed it wouldn't be well protected, and we'd believed him.
"You're supposed to be the hot drek Decker, Gavin," Drex said, inspecting the cables briefly. I pushed her away idly, closing my eyes and switching to Augmented Reality.
"Not now, Drex," I muttered, opening my eyes and focusing on the picture-in-picture display that popped into the left side of my vision, taking up a quarter or so of my total view, "I have to concentrate."
The disk I had hurled at the guards behind us, two mundanes with machine guns and a wagemage, sprouted eight little legs and an eye stalk, then stood and scuttled over to our attackers unnoticed while they continued their assault. On the end of the eye stalk it had a small, but excellent, camera that was feeding into my commlink and filling the picture-in-picture display of my AR. I grinned and directed my little spider-bot towards the wagemage.
Our attackers finally took notice of us when the spider-bot leaped up a full eight feet and wrapped it's legs around the mage's head, enveloping it. The mage screamed and stumbled backward, reeling and spinning his arms, shouting for his allies to get the thing off of him. I allowed myself to finally laugh out loud when I sent the command to flip the kill-switch, shorting out the drone's systems and sending a several thousand volt shock through the wizard.
He dropped to the ground and shook violently, his body seizing. Drex took that as an opportunity. Smiling, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and stood, her whole body glowing as she dropped into a fighting stance.
PART 3 TOMORROW...
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Milk Run, pt 1
One of the first things you learn when you run the shadows is that there is no such thing as a milk run.
That's the thought that was going through my head as bullets whizzed by it, followed shortly by the sound of flaming, magical napalm slamming into the heavy wooden desk that my partner Drex and I were, up to that point, using as cover. I cursed out loud and attempted to roll away from the hunk of kindling that had once been the only thing standing between me and certain death, and tried desperately to find another place to cower.
Mr. Johnson was an elf this time, which should have been a sure sign that things were fragged from the start, but I didn't pay much mind to that. Besides, it was Drex who did all the talking, as usual.
"We want half up front," she had said, leaning in close so that her pink and blue dreadlocked hair dangled in front of her face, a cocky smile crossing her face, her cybereyes lighting up just a bit in the gloom of the nearly abandoned bar, "You say it's a milk run, so our success is damn near guaranteed. You lose nothing."
The elf in the sharp business suit and fashionable shades glowered at her from across the table, and huffed, "It's just the two of you, then?" he asked, "Don't 'runners usually come in bigger teams?"
Silently, I returned his glower. Mine was more impressive, the bulk of my seven foot frame and the heavy horns on my head adding to my intimidation factor. Johnson gulped and sat back about an inch. Some days it was good to be an troll.
Drex chuckled, pushing her hair out of her eyes and leaning back casually, crossing her arms over her chest, "Yeah, it's just the two of us," she said, "What you gotta understand, chummer, is that Gavin and I have more skill between us than most 'runner teams. We've got this."
I rolled my massive shoulders, flexing a bit and crossing my chromed arms over my barrel chest to emphasize her point.
She continued, "I've got the magic, he's got the tech. I've got guns, he's got those," she pointed to my arms, "And those say half up front or no deal."
Johnson curled his lip, and I could tell that beneath his tinted shades his eyes were bouncing between the two of us, "Fine," he spat after a moment, "I don't really have the time to be picky, anyway. Give me your credstick."
I slammed my hand, palm down onto the table, and grinned as I slid it across to Johnson, "No credstick," I said, trying to sound as stereo-typically trollish as possible, "Account number. Deposit now."
It was hard to keep up the act, but I'd had a lot of practice pretending to be dumb muscle. It helped lure Johnsons into a sense of superiority that often caused them to reveal more information than they intended to, as well as intimidating them into keeping up their end of any bargains we might make.
Drex tapped her ear, turning on her AR readout so she could keep an eye on our bank account, even as Johnson began to tap the numbers into the air, using his own Augmented Reality device. Within a few seconds, Drex smiled, "Good. Thanks Mr. J," she said, and hopped off of the barstool, "We'll see you here tomorrow evening with the data. Don't be late."
PART 2 TOMORROW...
That's the thought that was going through my head as bullets whizzed by it, followed shortly by the sound of flaming, magical napalm slamming into the heavy wooden desk that my partner Drex and I were, up to that point, using as cover. I cursed out loud and attempted to roll away from the hunk of kindling that had once been the only thing standing between me and certain death, and tried desperately to find another place to cower.
Mr. Johnson was an elf this time, which should have been a sure sign that things were fragged from the start, but I didn't pay much mind to that. Besides, it was Drex who did all the talking, as usual.
"We want half up front," she had said, leaning in close so that her pink and blue dreadlocked hair dangled in front of her face, a cocky smile crossing her face, her cybereyes lighting up just a bit in the gloom of the nearly abandoned bar, "You say it's a milk run, so our success is damn near guaranteed. You lose nothing."
The elf in the sharp business suit and fashionable shades glowered at her from across the table, and huffed, "It's just the two of you, then?" he asked, "Don't 'runners usually come in bigger teams?"
Silently, I returned his glower. Mine was more impressive, the bulk of my seven foot frame and the heavy horns on my head adding to my intimidation factor. Johnson gulped and sat back about an inch. Some days it was good to be an troll.
Drex chuckled, pushing her hair out of her eyes and leaning back casually, crossing her arms over her chest, "Yeah, it's just the two of us," she said, "What you gotta understand, chummer, is that Gavin and I have more skill between us than most 'runner teams. We've got this."
I rolled my massive shoulders, flexing a bit and crossing my chromed arms over my barrel chest to emphasize her point.
She continued, "I've got the magic, he's got the tech. I've got guns, he's got those," she pointed to my arms, "And those say half up front or no deal."
Johnson curled his lip, and I could tell that beneath his tinted shades his eyes were bouncing between the two of us, "Fine," he spat after a moment, "I don't really have the time to be picky, anyway. Give me your credstick."
I slammed my hand, palm down onto the table, and grinned as I slid it across to Johnson, "No credstick," I said, trying to sound as stereo-typically trollish as possible, "Account number. Deposit now."
It was hard to keep up the act, but I'd had a lot of practice pretending to be dumb muscle. It helped lure Johnsons into a sense of superiority that often caused them to reveal more information than they intended to, as well as intimidating them into keeping up their end of any bargains we might make.
Drex tapped her ear, turning on her AR readout so she could keep an eye on our bank account, even as Johnson began to tap the numbers into the air, using his own Augmented Reality device. Within a few seconds, Drex smiled, "Good. Thanks Mr. J," she said, and hopped off of the barstool, "We'll see you here tomorrow evening with the data. Don't be late."
PART 2 TOMORROW...
Friday, August 14, 2015
Second Chances
It was late, almost three in the morning, and in the dark a large black Hummer sat idling in front of a middle-sized apartment building. Sitting in the truck, nervously tapping on the steering wheel, Kim Howard leaned forward to look out the windshield at the window of one of the 4th floor apartments.
"Hurry the hell up, guy," he muttered, moving his hands to fiddle with the radio while in the back seat the reporter, Alex, jotted something down onto a sheet of yellow notebook paper.
"He'll be out shortly," Alex said, trying to reassure the tense professional killer in the driver's seat, "Just give it a couple more minutes."
It had been a long night up to that point, and in lieu of snapping at his friend he instead chose to remain silent, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes. There were here to gather some of Ethan's crap before hitting the road. They were on the run, each of them having had encounters with things that were beyond possibility, and they had apparently attracted some attention as a result.
Kim growled impatiently, pushing his long black hair out of his face, "I can't take this anymore," he said, "I'm going to get him." He checked to make sure the gun in his lap was loaded for the fifteenth time since they had parked, and made to open the door when Alex tapped him on the shoulder and pointed.
"Look," he said, as Ethan made his way towards the car, waving one hand. The other had a large satchel in it, probably filled with a bunch of his personal effects. Kim set the gun back down and gripped the steering wheel as Ethan got back into he passenger seat.
"Sorry," Ethan said, straightening the gear on his lap while Kim started the car back up, "I really didn't want to leave any of this behind."
Before either Kim or Alex could say a word, the windows of the fourth floor shattered and blossomed with flames as a massive explosion ripped through the building. The three men could feel the concussion of the blast in their chests as debris began to fall around them.
The hitman's thoughts moved quickly, going over everything that had happened that night in an instant. Ethan's apartment was just blown to pieces, each of them had been attacked that night in places where only the three of them frequented, and Kim's only worldly possession was the Hummer that they now sat in.
"Fuck," he said, quickly opening the door to the Hummer and rolling out. Alex and Ethan looked around, still surprised by the explosion, but didn't move.
"What?" Alex managed to mutter right before the truck exploded in a ball of flame. Kim rolled onto his back, his eyes wide with horror as he looked at the conflagration that had, until a moment ago, been his only home and his only two friends.
"FUCK!" he shouted, and slammed his fists against the concrete until they began to bleed.
* * * *
Across the street, hidden in an alley, James Garrett shook his head. This wasn't how this was supposed to go down. They weren't ready yet, they didn't know the full extent of the evil that surrounded them. He dropped his cigarette, grinding it into the pavement with the tip of his cowboy boot, and then cracked his knuckles. This was going to hurt.
A lot.
* * * *
Time stopped, congealing around the building, the burning hunks of steel, and the distraught assassin in the middle of the street. Without knowing why, Kim found himself standing up, watched as the blood on the pavement ran in rivers back onto, and then into, his hands. He watched as the skin closed back up, even as he went through the motions of slamming them to the ground again, this time in reverse. He hardly noticed when his mind began to rewind similarly.
* * * *
The hitman's thoughts moved quickly, going over everything that had happened that night in an instant. Ethan's apartment was just blown to pieces, each of them had been attacked that night in places where only the three of them frequented, and Kim's only worldly possession was the Hummer that they now sat in.
"Fuck," he said, quickly opening the door to the Hummer, but he stopped for a fraction of a second to turn back to the others. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like it was the right thing to do.
"Get out!," he shouted, diving out of the truck quickly, "Bomb!"
The others registered the imperative, and moved their asses, rolling out of the Hummer just in time for it to go up in a massive blast of flame. Ethan was thrown a few feet, his shirt catching on fire, and Alex slammed his head on the pavement in his attempt to dive out of the way, but in the end the three of them were alive.
Kim moved over quickly to put out Ethan's shirt, and for reasons he couldn't quite grasp, he looked up towards the alleyway. Slowly, clapping his hands like a comic book super villain, a man dressed head to toe like something from an old Western movie approached them from the darkness. Kim noticed immediately that he had twin trails of blood running from his nostrils.
"Good evening, boys," he said, his voice not even remotely matching his outfit, "I think it's time I finally introduced myself."
"Hurry the hell up, guy," he muttered, moving his hands to fiddle with the radio while in the back seat the reporter, Alex, jotted something down onto a sheet of yellow notebook paper.
"He'll be out shortly," Alex said, trying to reassure the tense professional killer in the driver's seat, "Just give it a couple more minutes."
It had been a long night up to that point, and in lieu of snapping at his friend he instead chose to remain silent, leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes. There were here to gather some of Ethan's crap before hitting the road. They were on the run, each of them having had encounters with things that were beyond possibility, and they had apparently attracted some attention as a result.
Kim growled impatiently, pushing his long black hair out of his face, "I can't take this anymore," he said, "I'm going to get him." He checked to make sure the gun in his lap was loaded for the fifteenth time since they had parked, and made to open the door when Alex tapped him on the shoulder and pointed.
"Look," he said, as Ethan made his way towards the car, waving one hand. The other had a large satchel in it, probably filled with a bunch of his personal effects. Kim set the gun back down and gripped the steering wheel as Ethan got back into he passenger seat.
"Sorry," Ethan said, straightening the gear on his lap while Kim started the car back up, "I really didn't want to leave any of this behind."
Before either Kim or Alex could say a word, the windows of the fourth floor shattered and blossomed with flames as a massive explosion ripped through the building. The three men could feel the concussion of the blast in their chests as debris began to fall around them.
The hitman's thoughts moved quickly, going over everything that had happened that night in an instant. Ethan's apartment was just blown to pieces, each of them had been attacked that night in places where only the three of them frequented, and Kim's only worldly possession was the Hummer that they now sat in.
"Fuck," he said, quickly opening the door to the Hummer and rolling out. Alex and Ethan looked around, still surprised by the explosion, but didn't move.
"What?" Alex managed to mutter right before the truck exploded in a ball of flame. Kim rolled onto his back, his eyes wide with horror as he looked at the conflagration that had, until a moment ago, been his only home and his only two friends.
"FUCK!" he shouted, and slammed his fists against the concrete until they began to bleed.
* * * *
Across the street, hidden in an alley, James Garrett shook his head. This wasn't how this was supposed to go down. They weren't ready yet, they didn't know the full extent of the evil that surrounded them. He dropped his cigarette, grinding it into the pavement with the tip of his cowboy boot, and then cracked his knuckles. This was going to hurt.
A lot.
* * * *
Time stopped, congealing around the building, the burning hunks of steel, and the distraught assassin in the middle of the street. Without knowing why, Kim found himself standing up, watched as the blood on the pavement ran in rivers back onto, and then into, his hands. He watched as the skin closed back up, even as he went through the motions of slamming them to the ground again, this time in reverse. He hardly noticed when his mind began to rewind similarly.
* * * *
The hitman's thoughts moved quickly, going over everything that had happened that night in an instant. Ethan's apartment was just blown to pieces, each of them had been attacked that night in places where only the three of them frequented, and Kim's only worldly possession was the Hummer that they now sat in.
"Fuck," he said, quickly opening the door to the Hummer, but he stopped for a fraction of a second to turn back to the others. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like it was the right thing to do.
"Get out!," he shouted, diving out of the truck quickly, "Bomb!"
The others registered the imperative, and moved their asses, rolling out of the Hummer just in time for it to go up in a massive blast of flame. Ethan was thrown a few feet, his shirt catching on fire, and Alex slammed his head on the pavement in his attempt to dive out of the way, but in the end the three of them were alive.
Kim moved over quickly to put out Ethan's shirt, and for reasons he couldn't quite grasp, he looked up towards the alleyway. Slowly, clapping his hands like a comic book super villain, a man dressed head to toe like something from an old Western movie approached them from the darkness. Kim noticed immediately that he had twin trails of blood running from his nostrils.
"Good evening, boys," he said, his voice not even remotely matching his outfit, "I think it's time I finally introduced myself."
Monday, August 10, 2015
Mugging the Monster
The alley is dark, mostly, illuminated only by a bare bulb on the side of one of the buildings just above a service access door. It's perfect for the predator's needs, out of the way and isolated just enough that any potential screams will be unheard by passersby.
He grins, pulling the girl he's with tighter to him. She's drunk, this little black-haired beauty, but that's fine by him. He prefers them more alert, usually, but a certain amount of booze adds to the flavor of the kill, adds spice to the blood. She mutters something, but he doesn't hear it. He's not really paying attention to her, after all. Too busy trying to make sure the alley is really empty.
When they finally reach the end of the alleyway, he moves in to kiss her. She returns his false affection with fervor, reaching down to fumble at his pants. He pulls away, laughing, and uses one arm to pin her against the wall. She looks offended, and says something to that effect, but he still isn't listening. He's caught up in the blood lust now.
The predator smiles at her, and her eyes go wide as his four inch fangs slide into view. Something about her demeanor changes then, but he's too far gone to notice. He moves in for the kill, snapping her head to one side and lunging for her neck, and that's when he finally hears her. He hears her chuckle right before he's thrown across the alley.
Slamming against the opposite wall, the predator feels the bones of his ribs snap and break with the force of impact, and blood spurts from his mouth. He licks it away with a growl, calling on something inside him to knit the bones back together as he stands. He looks up at her, and it's finally time for his eyes to widen.
The girl is floating now, a foot and a half above the ground, and a blue aura of pure power surrounds her. Here eyes are gone, replaced by twin orbs of shining blue fire, and a smile crosses her face. The vampire hisses and lunges at her, determined now to kill this witch before she can embarrass him further. His limbs move, and he calls on unholy speed, but he can't reach her. The alley seems...wider than he remembers it being.
Panic blossoms in his breast as the girl just laughs at his efforts. An amused look crosses her face, and finally he's able to clear the gap between them. His hands extend into vicious claws, and he laughs out loud as they dive towards her belly. The beast's laughter ends abruptly as pain explodes from his back again, and he coughs up blood as something rips it's way out of his chest cavity.
He has just enough time to register his own blackened heart in front of him, in the grip of his own gore soaked claw as it erupts out of his chest. Then there is darkness as he turns to ash before the small, once-again innocent looking girl.
She chuckles and pulls a cell phone out of her pocket, flipping it open and hitting the speed dial, "Bagged another vampire," she says, "They're going to notice soon. I'll see you at home."
He grins, pulling the girl he's with tighter to him. She's drunk, this little black-haired beauty, but that's fine by him. He prefers them more alert, usually, but a certain amount of booze adds to the flavor of the kill, adds spice to the blood. She mutters something, but he doesn't hear it. He's not really paying attention to her, after all. Too busy trying to make sure the alley is really empty.
When they finally reach the end of the alleyway, he moves in to kiss her. She returns his false affection with fervor, reaching down to fumble at his pants. He pulls away, laughing, and uses one arm to pin her against the wall. She looks offended, and says something to that effect, but he still isn't listening. He's caught up in the blood lust now.
The predator smiles at her, and her eyes go wide as his four inch fangs slide into view. Something about her demeanor changes then, but he's too far gone to notice. He moves in for the kill, snapping her head to one side and lunging for her neck, and that's when he finally hears her. He hears her chuckle right before he's thrown across the alley.
Slamming against the opposite wall, the predator feels the bones of his ribs snap and break with the force of impact, and blood spurts from his mouth. He licks it away with a growl, calling on something inside him to knit the bones back together as he stands. He looks up at her, and it's finally time for his eyes to widen.
The girl is floating now, a foot and a half above the ground, and a blue aura of pure power surrounds her. Here eyes are gone, replaced by twin orbs of shining blue fire, and a smile crosses her face. The vampire hisses and lunges at her, determined now to kill this witch before she can embarrass him further. His limbs move, and he calls on unholy speed, but he can't reach her. The alley seems...wider than he remembers it being.
Panic blossoms in his breast as the girl just laughs at his efforts. An amused look crosses her face, and finally he's able to clear the gap between them. His hands extend into vicious claws, and he laughs out loud as they dive towards her belly. The beast's laughter ends abruptly as pain explodes from his back again, and he coughs up blood as something rips it's way out of his chest cavity.
He has just enough time to register his own blackened heart in front of him, in the grip of his own gore soaked claw as it erupts out of his chest. Then there is darkness as he turns to ash before the small, once-again innocent looking girl.
She chuckles and pulls a cell phone out of her pocket, flipping it open and hitting the speed dial, "Bagged another vampire," she says, "They're going to notice soon. I'll see you at home."
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Doors.
Doors. Doors lead to everywhere, and to nowhere.
Don't look at me like that, you know what I'm talking about, you've seen it!
It doesn't matter anyway. They know that I know, and it won't be long now before they come for me. What do you mean you don't know what I'm talking about!? You were there!? You saw what happened to Erika!
Fine, fine, I'll explain it again. The Shadow People, they've been hunting. You don't remember? Well, THINK, you piece of shit! It can't be just me!
They probably made you forget. Again. It's okay, I suppose. No, I don't know why I remember. It doesn't matter, they'll make you forget again anyway.
They live in the City, y'see. You know, the Empty City? This is basic stuff, guy, get it together. The Empty City is where the Shadow People live and that's where they take people. It's the center of it all. The...the Nexus of it all. It's where They gather, the players. The ones in charge of this whole thing.
See, it's all a big Game to them, right? And us, normal people, that is...we're the pieces. We're pawns, no, we're worse than pawns...chess metaphors are old hat anyway. We're like checkers. They move us around and add and subtract from the board, and every once in awhile one of us gets to get a nice fancy crown but it doesn't matter because they control it all and we don't even know the rules and goddamn it they are LAUGHING at us, don't you GET IT!?
DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, YOU CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!
Fine, fine...so, the Shadow People. They hide in the cracks and crevices of the world, in the shadows and the dark. They come through Doors, any door can be a Door, and they come to our world from the Empty City, a place of eternal twilight where everything is just...off. It's like a...a shadowy reflection of our world.
They take people. They took Erika, and They're gonna take me, next. I know. Because I remember Them.
What do you mean, I'm babbling! You asked me what happened, and I TOLD YOU! Stop writing things down, it's not helping!
No, I don't think there are monsters in my closet. I'm not stupid, and I'm not insane, I'm...fuck you. Fuck you.
No, sit the fuck down. I'm not done yet. I saw Them take a man off of the street a few weeks ago. I saw Them take him in the middle of a busy street and I'm the only one that saw it happen. A week after that, I watched them following a little boy home from school. That one was worse.
See, as soon as I realized They were hunting this kid I decided to follow them. I followed them all the way to this kid's front yard. I saw his parents come out of the house and wave to him. I saw Them envelop him, cover him head to toe like some immense black sheet. I heard him SCREAM for them, and I watched them look confused for moment before going back into the house.
They don't remember. I asked them. They don't remember him. He's gone. Like he never existed. And I'm next.
What are you doing, I said SIT DOWN! No, no I don't want you to check the closet for monsters, the fuck is wrong with you!?
Anyway, that wasn't the end of it. You and I, we went to Erika's house last week. We went to hang out, maybe have a few drinks. Well, I wanted a few drinks. They were already there. You saw Them. You pointed to Them. You shouted for us to run. We didn't get far, did we. No, They ate her all up, took her to the City, probably to make her one of Them.
Sit. Down. You asked, and now I'm telling. I'm here to save your ass, even though by all rights I should have just run. I saw Them coming here. They are after you, too, now. Get away from the goddamned closet! What are...
Why the fuck do you keep...oh, I get it. Yeah, sure. Open the Door. That's the deal, right? Give Them people to leave you alone? Huh, I should have thought of it first. I'm coming Erika.
Don't look at me like that, you know what I'm talking about, you've seen it!
It doesn't matter anyway. They know that I know, and it won't be long now before they come for me. What do you mean you don't know what I'm talking about!? You were there!? You saw what happened to Erika!
Fine, fine, I'll explain it again. The Shadow People, they've been hunting. You don't remember? Well, THINK, you piece of shit! It can't be just me!
They probably made you forget. Again. It's okay, I suppose. No, I don't know why I remember. It doesn't matter, they'll make you forget again anyway.
They live in the City, y'see. You know, the Empty City? This is basic stuff, guy, get it together. The Empty City is where the Shadow People live and that's where they take people. It's the center of it all. The...the Nexus of it all. It's where They gather, the players. The ones in charge of this whole thing.
See, it's all a big Game to them, right? And us, normal people, that is...we're the pieces. We're pawns, no, we're worse than pawns...chess metaphors are old hat anyway. We're like checkers. They move us around and add and subtract from the board, and every once in awhile one of us gets to get a nice fancy crown but it doesn't matter because they control it all and we don't even know the rules and goddamn it they are LAUGHING at us, don't you GET IT!?
DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, YOU CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!
Fine, fine...so, the Shadow People. They hide in the cracks and crevices of the world, in the shadows and the dark. They come through Doors, any door can be a Door, and they come to our world from the Empty City, a place of eternal twilight where everything is just...off. It's like a...a shadowy reflection of our world.
They take people. They took Erika, and They're gonna take me, next. I know. Because I remember Them.
What do you mean, I'm babbling! You asked me what happened, and I TOLD YOU! Stop writing things down, it's not helping!
No, I don't think there are monsters in my closet. I'm not stupid, and I'm not insane, I'm...fuck you. Fuck you.
No, sit the fuck down. I'm not done yet. I saw Them take a man off of the street a few weeks ago. I saw Them take him in the middle of a busy street and I'm the only one that saw it happen. A week after that, I watched them following a little boy home from school. That one was worse.
See, as soon as I realized They were hunting this kid I decided to follow them. I followed them all the way to this kid's front yard. I saw his parents come out of the house and wave to him. I saw Them envelop him, cover him head to toe like some immense black sheet. I heard him SCREAM for them, and I watched them look confused for moment before going back into the house.
They don't remember. I asked them. They don't remember him. He's gone. Like he never existed. And I'm next.
What are you doing, I said SIT DOWN! No, no I don't want you to check the closet for monsters, the fuck is wrong with you!?
Anyway, that wasn't the end of it. You and I, we went to Erika's house last week. We went to hang out, maybe have a few drinks. Well, I wanted a few drinks. They were already there. You saw Them. You pointed to Them. You shouted for us to run. We didn't get far, did we. No, They ate her all up, took her to the City, probably to make her one of Them.
Sit. Down. You asked, and now I'm telling. I'm here to save your ass, even though by all rights I should have just run. I saw Them coming here. They are after you, too, now. Get away from the goddamned closet! What are...
Why the fuck do you keep...oh, I get it. Yeah, sure. Open the Door. That's the deal, right? Give Them people to leave you alone? Huh, I should have thought of it first. I'm coming Erika.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Hitman
It was too hot for a suit, but that didn't deter him. A well dressed man is a happy man, he thought, and in his line of work it paid to look professional, even in the damp heat of a South American micro-nation. He sighed, and looked around the small hotel room, wincing at the accomodations his employer had set him up with, and turned to look out the window, making sure he had a good line of sight. He straightened his tie and made sure that his long black hair was securely tied back behind his head, and with that done Kim popped open the briefcase he had brought with him and smiled.
Carefully he removed the pieces of the Remington 700 rifle and laid them on the bed, making sure that every piece was in its proper place. Satisfied, he began to put it together, like a giant LEGO construction, each piece sliding into place with a click. When he was done, he grinned again, the massive weapon filling him with joy. It wasn't that he was a psychopath, though he had been accused of that more than once, he just took pride in his work.
He sighed again, checking his watch. The time was near. He moved across the room and set up the gun on the windowsill, taking care to extend the bipod legs so he could rest it comfortably, and slid open the window just enough to allow the barrel to poke out. He shifted, getting himself comfortable as well, and looked down the scope, waiting for his target to come into sight.
While he waited, the assassin let his mind drift back a bit, to the day he'd been hired for this job. He'd met his contact, a thin, bespectacled bastard with a sweating issue, at the baggage claim at LaGuardia. They sat down on a set of plastic chairs, and the weasel had insisted on trying to look everywhere at once while they spoke.
"He will be coming in a grand parade, for his birthday," the weasel had said, his thick accent making him irritating to listen to, "You will perform your job when he reaches the high point of this hill." Weasel pointed to a photograph taken from the window of the motel, "You'll be staying in this room, and we've already determined that this will be the best place to take your shot."
Kim chuckled to himself, not bothering to ask why they needed him if they already had the job planned out. It wasn't in his nature to turn down a milk run. Still, he had his own plans on how to perform the job. Professional pride and all.
"This is El Presidente," Weasel had said, handing him a picture of what looked like an anthropomorphic pig wearing a general's uniform, "He is your target. One shot, to the head, quick and clean."
Kim flashed back to reality, gritting his teeth and looking through the scope. The sun was high in the sky, and he had to adjust a bit to compensate for glare from the hood of the car that was coming over the hill, but he was soon able to line up his shot. Sure as told, there was El Presidente, waving from the back of the car that Weasel was driving for everyone to see. Kim grinned and checked the wind, just to make sure.
There was a loud crack, and then the screaming started, as Weasel's head snapped back and bits of rotten brain and blood showed El Presidente. The car veered off to the side, slamming into a fire hydrant and causing a ruckus. Kim laughed and started packing up his things.
Weasel had handed him the picture, and for the first time Kim noticed something off about the little bastard. His hands, or at least the hand that had gripped the photo, were black. Not dark, not brown, but black. The assassin normally made a point to respect the wishes of employers who didn't want to be looked at, but he couldn't help it this time. He looked the weaselly bastard right in the eye and saw him for what he really was.
"I really, really, fucking hate zombies," he muttered to himself as he walked out of the hotel, pulling his satellite phone out and dialing quickly. When the voice on the other side answered, he grinned, "Got him," he said,
"Fuckin' rot bastard paid in advance, can you believe that?" he chuckled again, "Fine, fine, just get me home."
Carefully he removed the pieces of the Remington 700 rifle and laid them on the bed, making sure that every piece was in its proper place. Satisfied, he began to put it together, like a giant LEGO construction, each piece sliding into place with a click. When he was done, he grinned again, the massive weapon filling him with joy. It wasn't that he was a psychopath, though he had been accused of that more than once, he just took pride in his work.
He sighed again, checking his watch. The time was near. He moved across the room and set up the gun on the windowsill, taking care to extend the bipod legs so he could rest it comfortably, and slid open the window just enough to allow the barrel to poke out. He shifted, getting himself comfortable as well, and looked down the scope, waiting for his target to come into sight.
While he waited, the assassin let his mind drift back a bit, to the day he'd been hired for this job. He'd met his contact, a thin, bespectacled bastard with a sweating issue, at the baggage claim at LaGuardia. They sat down on a set of plastic chairs, and the weasel had insisted on trying to look everywhere at once while they spoke.
"He will be coming in a grand parade, for his birthday," the weasel had said, his thick accent making him irritating to listen to, "You will perform your job when he reaches the high point of this hill." Weasel pointed to a photograph taken from the window of the motel, "You'll be staying in this room, and we've already determined that this will be the best place to take your shot."
Kim chuckled to himself, not bothering to ask why they needed him if they already had the job planned out. It wasn't in his nature to turn down a milk run. Still, he had his own plans on how to perform the job. Professional pride and all.
"This is El Presidente," Weasel had said, handing him a picture of what looked like an anthropomorphic pig wearing a general's uniform, "He is your target. One shot, to the head, quick and clean."
Kim flashed back to reality, gritting his teeth and looking through the scope. The sun was high in the sky, and he had to adjust a bit to compensate for glare from the hood of the car that was coming over the hill, but he was soon able to line up his shot. Sure as told, there was El Presidente, waving from the back of the car that Weasel was driving for everyone to see. Kim grinned and checked the wind, just to make sure.
There was a loud crack, and then the screaming started, as Weasel's head snapped back and bits of rotten brain and blood showed El Presidente. The car veered off to the side, slamming into a fire hydrant and causing a ruckus. Kim laughed and started packing up his things.
Weasel had handed him the picture, and for the first time Kim noticed something off about the little bastard. His hands, or at least the hand that had gripped the photo, were black. Not dark, not brown, but black. The assassin normally made a point to respect the wishes of employers who didn't want to be looked at, but he couldn't help it this time. He looked the weaselly bastard right in the eye and saw him for what he really was.
"I really, really, fucking hate zombies," he muttered to himself as he walked out of the hotel, pulling his satellite phone out and dialing quickly. When the voice on the other side answered, he grinned, "Got him," he said,
"Fuckin' rot bastard paid in advance, can you believe that?" he chuckled again, "Fine, fine, just get me home."
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Journal
8/5/**
They told me that I need to write while I'm in here. Okay, fine. I'll write. They said that it would be cathartic, that after such a traumatic incident it would help to get my feelings out on paper. They just think I'm crazy, and they want written proof. Doesn't matter. I know what happened. I know what I saw.
8/6/**
This place is like Hell. They say it's not a prison, that I'm safe here, but that's bullshit. I see the way the orderlies look at me. I'm not crazy goddamn it.
8/12/**
So today was therapy day. Dr. Stinson wasn't very happy that I haven't been journaling every day. I don't give a fuck, but he said they might think I'm a 'problem' if I don't do as I'm told. So here I am, writing some more. Fuck this place. Fuck the orderlies, and fuck you, too, Doctor. I know you read this.
8/13/**
I watched it rip her open. They think I did it, that I'm either making up the story or that I'm crazy and that's why I'm in here, but damn it I know what happened and I'm not crazy. Sheila...fuck.
8/14/**
We were on the road, on the way to visit her mother in the old folks home. That's when we saw it, on the side of the road. I know we both saw it, because she pointed it out to me. That's how I know it was real, see? She. Showed. Me.
The Faceless Man.
Everyone thinks I'm making him up, or that I got it from the Internet and it's all part of some complicated, guilt-based delusion, but I saw it tear her open and pull out her guts I saw it pick her apart rip her open tear them out I saw it I saw it I saw it
8/15/**
They tell me when to eat, they tell me when to sleep, they tell me when to shit. I hate this place. I wish I could burn this place to the ground and piss on the ashes. I want to go home. I want to see my wife.
But I can't do either of those things. Not anymore.
8/16/**
We drove past him. We didn't think for a moment to stop for him. We were smart, see? Everyone knows that you don't stop and pick up hitchhikers, that's how so many goddamned horror movies start. You especially don't stop for suit-wearing, literally faceless ones. Didn't matter.
He caught up to us, and he tore her apart and played inside her skin while I watched. When they found me I was a gibbering wreck, covered in piss and shit and vomit and blood and not all of it was mine, not even most of it was mine.
And now I'm in here and he's still out there.
8/17/**
Therapy again. Dr. Stinson said he thinks my delusions are just getting worse, so he upped my medication. He also tried to take my journal away. I told him to go to Hell. He wanted me to have it now he wants to take it away? What kind of shit is that? Fuck him. At least he won't be reading it any more.
Which means he won't know that I spit the medication into the toilet. Fuck them and their drugs. They just want me to be a zombie so I won't fight them so much when they try and make me do things. Fuck them.
8/18/**
I don't know why he picked us. It couldn't have been random. It...it just couldn't have been random.
8/19/**
I think he's coming back for me. I think he wants to finish what he started. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I feel it. I see him in my dreams. He doesn't speak, he can't speak, he doesn't have a mouth. But I feel him. I feel him and it hurts.
8/20/**
One of the orderlies found my journal today. He was making fun of me, reading it out loud and laughing. He stopped laughing though, when he got to the Faceless Man. His face went white as a sheet and he shoved the book back into my hands, then he toddled right the fuck off like his pants were on fire.
He knows something.
8/21/**
That orderly came to me today. His name is Donald. He told me he's seen him, too, and that he doesn't think I'm totally crazy. Then he wandered off again. I tried to find him later, but the nurse told me that he went home early today.
I wish I could go home early.
8/22/**
They searched my room today, trying to find the journal, but they didn't find it. They looked right at it but they didn't find it. I wasn't even hiding it. They shook me down and tried to find it on me. They yelled in my face and told me they were gonna find it and when they screamed at me they didn't have faces anymore and what the fuck is happening?
8/28/**
I wasn't going to write anymore. I told myself that. But I couldn't put it off forever. I'll never get to tell a soul, not one who would believe me anyway, so I need to get this on paper.
He's here. In the hospital. I know he is, because he's staring at me with his eyeless face. And he killed Donald. I can feel it. I don't know what he's going to do to me, but at least I'll be with her again.
*/*/**
BLOOD SO MUCH BLOOD I FEEL HIS BLOOD IN ME
RED SO MUCH RED I LOVE THE RED I LOVE IT
WE'LL DANCE AND WE'LL LAUGH AND NO ONE KNOWS
I CAN'T STOP CRYING AND I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING AND THEY WON'T STOP BLEEDING
They told me that I need to write while I'm in here. Okay, fine. I'll write. They said that it would be cathartic, that after such a traumatic incident it would help to get my feelings out on paper. They just think I'm crazy, and they want written proof. Doesn't matter. I know what happened. I know what I saw.
8/6/**
This place is like Hell. They say it's not a prison, that I'm safe here, but that's bullshit. I see the way the orderlies look at me. I'm not crazy goddamn it.
8/12/**
So today was therapy day. Dr. Stinson wasn't very happy that I haven't been journaling every day. I don't give a fuck, but he said they might think I'm a 'problem' if I don't do as I'm told. So here I am, writing some more. Fuck this place. Fuck the orderlies, and fuck you, too, Doctor. I know you read this.
8/13/**
I watched it rip her open. They think I did it, that I'm either making up the story or that I'm crazy and that's why I'm in here, but damn it I know what happened and I'm not crazy. Sheila...fuck.
8/14/**
We were on the road, on the way to visit her mother in the old folks home. That's when we saw it, on the side of the road. I know we both saw it, because she pointed it out to me. That's how I know it was real, see? She. Showed. Me.
The Faceless Man.
Everyone thinks I'm making him up, or that I got it from the Internet and it's all part of some complicated, guilt-based delusion, but I saw it tear her open and pull out her guts I saw it pick her apart rip her open tear them out I saw it I saw it I saw it
8/15/**
They tell me when to eat, they tell me when to sleep, they tell me when to shit. I hate this place. I wish I could burn this place to the ground and piss on the ashes. I want to go home. I want to see my wife.
But I can't do either of those things. Not anymore.
8/16/**
We drove past him. We didn't think for a moment to stop for him. We were smart, see? Everyone knows that you don't stop and pick up hitchhikers, that's how so many goddamned horror movies start. You especially don't stop for suit-wearing, literally faceless ones. Didn't matter.
He caught up to us, and he tore her apart and played inside her skin while I watched. When they found me I was a gibbering wreck, covered in piss and shit and vomit and blood and not all of it was mine, not even most of it was mine.
And now I'm in here and he's still out there.
8/17/**
Therapy again. Dr. Stinson said he thinks my delusions are just getting worse, so he upped my medication. He also tried to take my journal away. I told him to go to Hell. He wanted me to have it now he wants to take it away? What kind of shit is that? Fuck him. At least he won't be reading it any more.
Which means he won't know that I spit the medication into the toilet. Fuck them and their drugs. They just want me to be a zombie so I won't fight them so much when they try and make me do things. Fuck them.
8/18/**
I don't know why he picked us. It couldn't have been random. It...it just couldn't have been random.
8/19/**
I think he's coming back for me. I think he wants to finish what he started. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I feel it. I see him in my dreams. He doesn't speak, he can't speak, he doesn't have a mouth. But I feel him. I feel him and it hurts.
8/20/**
One of the orderlies found my journal today. He was making fun of me, reading it out loud and laughing. He stopped laughing though, when he got to the Faceless Man. His face went white as a sheet and he shoved the book back into my hands, then he toddled right the fuck off like his pants were on fire.
He knows something.
8/21/**
That orderly came to me today. His name is Donald. He told me he's seen him, too, and that he doesn't think I'm totally crazy. Then he wandered off again. I tried to find him later, but the nurse told me that he went home early today.
I wish I could go home early.
8/22/**
They searched my room today, trying to find the journal, but they didn't find it. They looked right at it but they didn't find it. I wasn't even hiding it. They shook me down and tried to find it on me. They yelled in my face and told me they were gonna find it and when they screamed at me they didn't have faces anymore and what the fuck is happening?
8/28/**
I wasn't going to write anymore. I told myself that. But I couldn't put it off forever. I'll never get to tell a soul, not one who would believe me anyway, so I need to get this on paper.
He's here. In the hospital. I know he is, because he's staring at me with his eyeless face. And he killed Donald. I can feel it. I don't know what he's going to do to me, but at least I'll be with her again.
*/*/**
BLOOD SO MUCH BLOOD I FEEL HIS BLOOD IN ME
RED SO MUCH RED I LOVE THE RED I LOVE IT
WE'LL DANCE AND WE'LL LAUGH AND NO ONE KNOWS
I CAN'T STOP CRYING AND I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING AND THEY WON'T STOP BLEEDING
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
The Back Room
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've never written fan fiction before. I thought I'd take a crack at it with this story. Hopefully you find it enjoyable, and hopefully you get it. If it's lost on you, I'm sorry, but to tell you what it's based on would kind of ruin it.
There's a faint squishing noise as you peek around the corner, just in time to see the man finish adjusting the head of one of the animatronic suits. He starts, and turns to face you.
"Oh, hello, hello!" he says, smiling wide as you step further into the room. It's dark, and it's hard to see exactly what it is he's wiping off of his hands, "I wasn't expecting you! You really should knock before you come in!"
Quickly, well...as quickly as he can considering the weight of the thing, he grabs the man-sized stuffed bear under the arms and tries to lift it. He grunts and struggles, then looks up at you with an embarrassed expression, "Uh, little help here?" he pleads. You roll your eyes but move to assist him.
The bear is heavy, heavier than it ought to be even considering the thick metal endoskeleton and all of the wiring inside, but together to two of you manage to lift it and set it back on the rack next to the others. It sits there, slumped over, the whole band looking dejected and unloved, "They smell bad," you say, idly, "Like mildew or something."
The man puts his purple cap back on and grins, a little too wide you think, "Uh, yeah, I was just trying to clean that one," he says, giving a nervous chuckle, "Darn things get so filthy, covered in kid-spit and having pizza jammed into their mouths. They're a heck of a job to clean."
You know you shouldn't look closer. You know you aren't going to like what you see. But you do it anyway, "I don't think that's pizza," you say, leaning closer to the bear, sniffing and trying to get a better look. You can almost see something...leaking out of it's opened mouth. Something red, that stains the fur.
"Oh, yeah," the man with the purple cap says hurriedly, ushering you away from the thing, "Ole Freddie here's had so much pizza, ha ha, I wouldn't be surprised if it's rotten pepperoni and sauce you're smelling!"
There's a faint squishing noise as you peek around the corner, just in time to see the man finish adjusting the head of one of the animatronic suits. He starts, and turns to face you.
"Oh, hello, hello!" he says, smiling wide as you step further into the room. It's dark, and it's hard to see exactly what it is he's wiping off of his hands, "I wasn't expecting you! You really should knock before you come in!"
Quickly, well...as quickly as he can considering the weight of the thing, he grabs the man-sized stuffed bear under the arms and tries to lift it. He grunts and struggles, then looks up at you with an embarrassed expression, "Uh, little help here?" he pleads. You roll your eyes but move to assist him.
The bear is heavy, heavier than it ought to be even considering the thick metal endoskeleton and all of the wiring inside, but together to two of you manage to lift it and set it back on the rack next to the others. It sits there, slumped over, the whole band looking dejected and unloved, "They smell bad," you say, idly, "Like mildew or something."
The man puts his purple cap back on and grins, a little too wide you think, "Uh, yeah, I was just trying to clean that one," he says, giving a nervous chuckle, "Darn things get so filthy, covered in kid-spit and having pizza jammed into their mouths. They're a heck of a job to clean."
You know you shouldn't look closer. You know you aren't going to like what you see. But you do it anyway, "I don't think that's pizza," you say, leaning closer to the bear, sniffing and trying to get a better look. You can almost see something...leaking out of it's opened mouth. Something red, that stains the fur.
"Oh, yeah," the man with the purple cap says hurriedly, ushering you away from the thing, "Ole Freddie here's had so much pizza, ha ha, I wouldn't be surprised if it's rotten pepperoni and sauce you're smelling!"
You let him push you backward. The man doesn't take his hand off of you at first, and looks back at Freddie, letting out another nervous chuckle. At this point you're certain he's hiding something, but you really aren't sure how much you want to know. Finally his hands drop, and he turns back to face you.
"So, uh, what did you need?" he asks you.
You cock your thumb behind you, "Fred sent me back here," you say, referring to the owner/manager, "He said one of the moms is freaking out, thought she saw her kid come this way."
The man's eyes widen, and then quickly narrow, darting around, "She did, did she?" he asks, looking behind you suddenly, "Yeah, I think I saw a kid come this way. He might have found his way into the Safety Room. Why don't we check in there?"
You nod, just ready to be done, to find the little snot-nose and get him back to his mother so you can get back to making pizzas and maybe finish your shift, "Sure," you say, "Lead the way."
The weasel with the purple hat nods and makes his way towards the Safety Room, right past the racks of animatronics. You shrug and follow, but not before stopping to look at Freddie and the gang again. That's when you spot it.
It isn't on Freddie, like you thought at first, but on Chica the Chicken. You would have noticed it earlier if you had been paying more attention. Dark red sticks out like a sore thumb against the bright yellow of the chicken costume. It sure as hell doesn't look like old pizza sauce, but you lean in closer just to be sure, and that's when you hear it.
"Help...me..." it says, a faint voice from...inside the chicken suit, "I want...my...mommy..."
Your eyes widen and your mouth opens to say something, to call for help, but you aren't faster than the Purple Man. The knife slides neatly between your ribs and stops just short of your heart, "Just had to be curious, didn't you?" he hisses from behind you as your vision starts to blur, "That's fine, I know just what to do with curious kids. Wanna help me put on a puppet show?"
"So, uh, what did you need?" he asks you.
You cock your thumb behind you, "Fred sent me back here," you say, referring to the owner/manager, "He said one of the moms is freaking out, thought she saw her kid come this way."
The man's eyes widen, and then quickly narrow, darting around, "She did, did she?" he asks, looking behind you suddenly, "Yeah, I think I saw a kid come this way. He might have found his way into the Safety Room. Why don't we check in there?"
You nod, just ready to be done, to find the little snot-nose and get him back to his mother so you can get back to making pizzas and maybe finish your shift, "Sure," you say, "Lead the way."
The weasel with the purple hat nods and makes his way towards the Safety Room, right past the racks of animatronics. You shrug and follow, but not before stopping to look at Freddie and the gang again. That's when you spot it.
It isn't on Freddie, like you thought at first, but on Chica the Chicken. You would have noticed it earlier if you had been paying more attention. Dark red sticks out like a sore thumb against the bright yellow of the chicken costume. It sure as hell doesn't look like old pizza sauce, but you lean in closer just to be sure, and that's when you hear it.
"Help...me..." it says, a faint voice from...inside the chicken suit, "I want...my...mommy..."
Your eyes widen and your mouth opens to say something, to call for help, but you aren't faster than the Purple Man. The knife slides neatly between your ribs and stops just short of your heart, "Just had to be curious, didn't you?" he hisses from behind you as your vision starts to blur, "That's fine, I know just what to do with curious kids. Wanna help me put on a puppet show?"
Monday, August 3, 2015
Head Games
drip drip drip
The severed head in my refrigerator stared at me, unblinking, a thin film covering it's sightless eyes. A puddle had formed under it, on the second rack, where the gore had dripped through the bars that made up the cage-like upper shelf. I stared at it, unsure what to do, shocked at what I had found. I opened and closed my mouth, as if I wanted to say something but couldn't form the words.
drip drip drip
I had no idea how the grisly trophy had gotten there. I knew, or hoped at least, that I hadn't put it there. I didn't recognize the face, or what was left of it at this point. Whatever had put this thing in my icebox had torn the face from it, shredded the skin of the cheeks, forehead, and chin. It appeared to have been clawed open, ripped apart. The eyes, though, had been left intact. I was just starting to wonder why when they began to move.
I jumped back, letting out a shriek as the dead eyes tilted to look at me, and the jaw began to work. There were no lungs to create suction, thereby stimulate the vocal chords, and so the thing was silent, and its lips had been torn off, making lip-reading an impossibility, so I had no way of knowing what it wanted to communicate. I didn't care, though. I slammed the refrigerator door in its face just as it began to fall over onto its side, the working of its jaw levering it over.
drip drip drip
I moved over to the couch, not far from my kitchen, and sat down, staring at the refrigerator in stunned silence. In my mind, I could still hear the dripping sound. I tried to figure out what to do next, but nothing was coming to my brain. Unable to sit still for too long, I stood and begun pacing the room, back and forth, never taking my eyes off of that damned refrigerator.
thump thump thump
A new sound, a sound that made me stop moving and made my eyes widen in horror and disbelief. The thing was trying to get out. It was pushing itself, somehow, against the inside of the fridge door. I almost panicked, and began my pacing anew, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. It never occurred to me to just leave.
thump thump thunk
The scream that came out of me was not the most manly thing I had done in my short life, but it certainly felt like the most urgent. The sound had changed again, this time because the undead head had completed its task. The refrigerator door swung open and the thing hit the ground with a wet noise. It rolled onto its back, back to its front, and again, and I realized it was trying to roll towards me. I did what any sane man would do. I kicked it.
I've never played soccer, and I haven't played kickball since I was a boy, but I walk around a lot and as a result I think I have pretty strong legs. So when I kicked this thing, I fully expected it to fly like a rubber ball, go bounding down my kitchen floor and into my living room where I would then kick it again, and again, until I could send the fucking thing right out the front door and back to hell where it belonged. I pulled my foot back and gave it my best. It bit me.
crunch crunch crunch
Shrieking, I dropped to the floor as the thing gnawed on my shin, right above the foot. It was stuck on good, and the bite hurt like a bastard, Wildly, I shook my leg, attempting to dislodge the monster, but it didn't do any good. Instead, the fucker just bit harder. I screamed again, and tried to get to my feet.
crunch crunch crunch
The bastard had torn through my jeans at this point, and was starting to tear at my flesh, but I managed to stand and hobble over to the fridge. Grinning like mad, I opened the door and set my foot down between it and the refrigerator. Tears streamed down my face, and I laughed a bit. I couldn't help it. This was fucking insane.
whack whack whack
Three times I slammed the door on the severed head, and three times I heard what was, at the time, the most satisfying noise I'd ever encountered, but the thing didn't let go. It bit harder. So I did it again.
whack whack CRACK
New pain shot through me, and I once again fell to the floor. I had managed to dislodge the thing, but when I looked at it, laying there on it's side, it wasn't hard to notice the hunk of my flesh dangling from its jaw, and I could see a thin sliver of bone between the thing's teeth. I winced, and forced myself to keep my eyes on the zombie cranium, "What the fuck do you want!?" I screamed at it, "What do you want to tell me!?"
thump thump thump
The thing was trying to move again, laying on it's side and trying to roll. It looked like it was trying to get back onto its stump. It used the piece of bone for leverage as I sat there, bleeding, and watched it struggle. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it succeeded.
skritch skritch skritch
I couldn't tell exactly what it was up to at first, and I'm pretty sure that at this point I was in shock from the pain, but it didn't take long for me to figure it out. It was writing, using a mix of my blood and its own for the ink, and that piece of my bone for a pen. I laughed, longer and louder than I think was appropriate for the situation, and tried to stand. Failing that, I simply crawled over to it. The message it wrote for me in my own blood was clear to see.
IT'S IN THE HOUSE
The severed head in my refrigerator stared at me, unblinking, a thin film covering it's sightless eyes. A puddle had formed under it, on the second rack, where the gore had dripped through the bars that made up the cage-like upper shelf. I stared at it, unsure what to do, shocked at what I had found. I opened and closed my mouth, as if I wanted to say something but couldn't form the words.
drip drip drip
I had no idea how the grisly trophy had gotten there. I knew, or hoped at least, that I hadn't put it there. I didn't recognize the face, or what was left of it at this point. Whatever had put this thing in my icebox had torn the face from it, shredded the skin of the cheeks, forehead, and chin. It appeared to have been clawed open, ripped apart. The eyes, though, had been left intact. I was just starting to wonder why when they began to move.
I jumped back, letting out a shriek as the dead eyes tilted to look at me, and the jaw began to work. There were no lungs to create suction, thereby stimulate the vocal chords, and so the thing was silent, and its lips had been torn off, making lip-reading an impossibility, so I had no way of knowing what it wanted to communicate. I didn't care, though. I slammed the refrigerator door in its face just as it began to fall over onto its side, the working of its jaw levering it over.
drip drip drip
I moved over to the couch, not far from my kitchen, and sat down, staring at the refrigerator in stunned silence. In my mind, I could still hear the dripping sound. I tried to figure out what to do next, but nothing was coming to my brain. Unable to sit still for too long, I stood and begun pacing the room, back and forth, never taking my eyes off of that damned refrigerator.
thump thump thump
A new sound, a sound that made me stop moving and made my eyes widen in horror and disbelief. The thing was trying to get out. It was pushing itself, somehow, against the inside of the fridge door. I almost panicked, and began my pacing anew, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. It never occurred to me to just leave.
thump thump thunk
The scream that came out of me was not the most manly thing I had done in my short life, but it certainly felt like the most urgent. The sound had changed again, this time because the undead head had completed its task. The refrigerator door swung open and the thing hit the ground with a wet noise. It rolled onto its back, back to its front, and again, and I realized it was trying to roll towards me. I did what any sane man would do. I kicked it.
I've never played soccer, and I haven't played kickball since I was a boy, but I walk around a lot and as a result I think I have pretty strong legs. So when I kicked this thing, I fully expected it to fly like a rubber ball, go bounding down my kitchen floor and into my living room where I would then kick it again, and again, until I could send the fucking thing right out the front door and back to hell where it belonged. I pulled my foot back and gave it my best. It bit me.
crunch crunch crunch
Shrieking, I dropped to the floor as the thing gnawed on my shin, right above the foot. It was stuck on good, and the bite hurt like a bastard, Wildly, I shook my leg, attempting to dislodge the monster, but it didn't do any good. Instead, the fucker just bit harder. I screamed again, and tried to get to my feet.
crunch crunch crunch
The bastard had torn through my jeans at this point, and was starting to tear at my flesh, but I managed to stand and hobble over to the fridge. Grinning like mad, I opened the door and set my foot down between it and the refrigerator. Tears streamed down my face, and I laughed a bit. I couldn't help it. This was fucking insane.
whack whack whack
Three times I slammed the door on the severed head, and three times I heard what was, at the time, the most satisfying noise I'd ever encountered, but the thing didn't let go. It bit harder. So I did it again.
whack whack CRACK
New pain shot through me, and I once again fell to the floor. I had managed to dislodge the thing, but when I looked at it, laying there on it's side, it wasn't hard to notice the hunk of my flesh dangling from its jaw, and I could see a thin sliver of bone between the thing's teeth. I winced, and forced myself to keep my eyes on the zombie cranium, "What the fuck do you want!?" I screamed at it, "What do you want to tell me!?"
thump thump thump
The thing was trying to move again, laying on it's side and trying to roll. It looked like it was trying to get back onto its stump. It used the piece of bone for leverage as I sat there, bleeding, and watched it struggle. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it succeeded.
skritch skritch skritch
I couldn't tell exactly what it was up to at first, and I'm pretty sure that at this point I was in shock from the pain, but it didn't take long for me to figure it out. It was writing, using a mix of my blood and its own for the ink, and that piece of my bone for a pen. I laughed, longer and louder than I think was appropriate for the situation, and tried to stand. Failing that, I simply crawled over to it. The message it wrote for me in my own blood was clear to see.
IT'S IN THE HOUSE
 |
| art by j-hoff |
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Revenge
My eyes open. It’s dark, but despite that I can see clearly. I’m surrounded by
wood and cloth and dirt. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. I
flail in the dark, fists slamming against the walls of my coffin, fingernails
torn from their roots as I scrabble against the lid. It feels hopeless and I
lay still and let my mind wander, remembering.
My eyes open. It’s dark, but despite that I can see clearly. I’m surrounded by trees and empty air. I don’t say a word, a slow smile creeping across my rotted face as I watch him sitting at his couch with a TV dinner. I clench and unclench my fists, loosening the dirt matted to them as I stalk forward with grim intent, and I remember.
My eyes open. It’s dark, but despite that I can see clearly. I’m surrounded by trees and empty air. I don’t say a word, a slow smile creeping across my rotted face as I watch him sitting at his couch with a TV dinner. I clench and unclench my fists, loosening the dirt matted to them as I stalk forward with grim intent, and I remember.
My eyes open. It’s dark, and I can barely see anything. I’m
surrounded by the smell of death, and the alley walls on either side of me feel
like they’re closing in. My breath comes in ragged gasps, but my lungs can’t
catch any air. I’m choking on my own blood. I fall to the ground, next to the
little girl. There are tear stains on her cheeks, but her eyes are glazed over.
Back in my coffin, I can feel the rage bubble up inside me. My vision clouds over, becoming a red haze as I pound against the lid again. This time, I hear the wood crack, and feel chunks of dirt fall through and into my mouth. I’m incapable of caring. Again and again I bash against the roof of my prison until at last in breaks open and I’m covered in the soil of my own grave. I begin to dig upward, and slowly start to pull myself out of this hell.
In front of the house, I stop and stare at the front door, my thoughts a jumble. For a moment I forget where I am, why I’m here. It doesn’t take long for me to pull my mind back together. I whisper her name under my breath, barely audible between the night wind and my own mounting anger.
In the alley, I try and twist my head to face him, try to break my eyes away from the little girl’s dead, unblinking stare. It hurts, especially when I feel the ragged cut across my throat tear open a little further with the strain of it. I look up and his eyes meet mine as he adjusts his badge. He says words to me, but I can’t hear them through the pain and the sound of my gurgling throat. Finally, my vision begins to swim and the last thing I see before I lose consciousness completely is his grinning face as he wipes the handle of the knife and lays it in my slackened hand.
I finally pull myself out of my grave. I try to take a deep breath, but the air catches in my damaged throat. I scrabble at it with yellowed fingernails, removing the stiches and putty placed there by someone to hide the jagged cut. There is no pain. I look up towards the sky, at the moon, and in my mind I hear my killer’s name. I know his name, though I don’t know how, and almost on instinct I know where to find him. My face splits in a rotten smile and I begin to shuffle on atrophied, rotten feet in the direction of his home.
I slam my body against the front door, the red haze once again obscuring my sight and my mind, and I hear the wood begin to splinter. Inside, I imagine that my murderer starts suddenly, and I can hear his voice behind it.
Back in my coffin, I can feel the rage bubble up inside me. My vision clouds over, becoming a red haze as I pound against the lid again. This time, I hear the wood crack, and feel chunks of dirt fall through and into my mouth. I’m incapable of caring. Again and again I bash against the roof of my prison until at last in breaks open and I’m covered in the soil of my own grave. I begin to dig upward, and slowly start to pull myself out of this hell.
In front of the house, I stop and stare at the front door, my thoughts a jumble. For a moment I forget where I am, why I’m here. It doesn’t take long for me to pull my mind back together. I whisper her name under my breath, barely audible between the night wind and my own mounting anger.
In the alley, I try and twist my head to face him, try to break my eyes away from the little girl’s dead, unblinking stare. It hurts, especially when I feel the ragged cut across my throat tear open a little further with the strain of it. I look up and his eyes meet mine as he adjusts his badge. He says words to me, but I can’t hear them through the pain and the sound of my gurgling throat. Finally, my vision begins to swim and the last thing I see before I lose consciousness completely is his grinning face as he wipes the handle of the knife and lays it in my slackened hand.
I finally pull myself out of my grave. I try to take a deep breath, but the air catches in my damaged throat. I scrabble at it with yellowed fingernails, removing the stiches and putty placed there by someone to hide the jagged cut. There is no pain. I look up towards the sky, at the moon, and in my mind I hear my killer’s name. I know his name, though I don’t know how, and almost on instinct I know where to find him. My face splits in a rotten smile and I begin to shuffle on atrophied, rotten feet in the direction of his home.
I slam my body against the front door, the red haze once again obscuring my sight and my mind, and I hear the wood begin to splinter. Inside, I imagine that my murderer starts suddenly, and I can hear his voice behind it.
“What the fuck?” he says as he makes his way toward me, most
likely grabbing a weapon as he nears the door. I remain undeterred as I slam
against the door again, and my smile broadens as I feel the wood begin to sag.
I call to my mind the image of that little girl’s stare, and remember that this
isn’t my vengeance alone.
His voice wavers a bit, and I imagine he is pointing the gun, most likely his service pistol, a nine millimeter semi-automatic, “I’m a cop, Goddamnit!” he shouts, “Back the fuck off and I won’t plug you! I’m armed!” The murderer’s words might have some meaning if he hadn’t already killed me.
His voice wavers a bit, and I imagine he is pointing the gun, most likely his service pistol, a nine millimeter semi-automatic, “I’m a cop, Goddamnit!” he shouts, “Back the fuck off and I won’t plug you! I’m armed!” The murderer’s words might have some meaning if he hadn’t already killed me.
I take a step back, letting his fear and uncertainty bubble
over. I can almost taste it. He doesn’t know why he knows what’s coming, but he
can feel it, and I’m enjoying every second of it. Only for a moment though, as
I once again slam myself full force into the door, snapping it off of its
hinges. I hear him cry out in alarm.
In the dark, I know he can’t see my face. He doesn’t need to, though, because he can smell the grave on me, can feel the rage and the hate radiate off of my corpse. I take a step forward so he can see me better, so he can see the smile, the impossibly wide grin that splits my face nearly in two. I lean my head back so that the bloodless mess of my throat is plainly visible to him.
He fires the pistol I knew he would have, one, two, three shots in quick succession, all of them striking true. I feel the bullets pass through me, slide through my organs, stomach, heart, lungs. I laugh and step forward. He aims again, firing one more shot. This one passes through what’s left of my brain and I stagger back, my neck cracking as the force of it slams by skull back. I smile again and lift my head to look at him, black ichor and rotted brain slime dripping down my face.
It takes great effort, but I manage to choke out words for the first time since I awakened, “You’ll…have…to…do…better…” I gasp as I lurch towards him, death in my eyes. I hear the gun clatter to the floor as he drops it from nerveless fingers.
In the dark, I know he can’t see my face. He doesn’t need to, though, because he can smell the grave on me, can feel the rage and the hate radiate off of my corpse. I take a step forward so he can see me better, so he can see the smile, the impossibly wide grin that splits my face nearly in two. I lean my head back so that the bloodless mess of my throat is plainly visible to him.
He fires the pistol I knew he would have, one, two, three shots in quick succession, all of them striking true. I feel the bullets pass through me, slide through my organs, stomach, heart, lungs. I laugh and step forward. He aims again, firing one more shot. This one passes through what’s left of my brain and I stagger back, my neck cracking as the force of it slams by skull back. I smile again and lift my head to look at him, black ichor and rotted brain slime dripping down my face.
It takes great effort, but I manage to choke out words for the first time since I awakened, “You’ll…have…to…do…better…” I gasp as I lurch towards him, death in my eyes. I hear the gun clatter to the floor as he drops it from nerveless fingers.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Pica
I don't usually do two in one day, but this one came to me all of a sudden and I couldn't resist the urge to just get it down.
I couldn't ask for a much better life. I’m fit, in my prime,
and I have an awesome job. I have a beautiful wife, and our first child is on
the way. I’m happy.
Sure, it’s been difficult at times. Mood swings are common, but not unmanageable. She uses the bathroom a lot. She has trouble sleeping sometimes. I know though, that in the end, all the trouble will be worth it.
Sure, it’s been difficult at times. Mood swings are common, but not unmanageable. She uses the bathroom a lot. She has trouble sleeping sometimes. I know though, that in the end, all the trouble will be worth it.
Yeah, sometimes she has funny cravings, but that’s normal,
right? Almost every pregnant woman has that weird urge to eat pickles and ice
cream, or just want to chug lemon juice or something like that. So Melanie
wanted to eat dirt, who am I to stop her? She's my wife and I want to keep her happy. I did a little research, and yeah, it’s
not common, but it isn't exactly unheard of.
And okay, maybe it got weirdly specific. She started asking
for fresh grave dirt, and I’ll admit I looked at her funny, but I've never been
one to tell my wife “no”. A happy wife makes for a happy husband, know what I
mean?
I couldn't be happier. She’s three months pregnant, and I
can already see and feel my little guy moving around in there. And, yeah, just
this week she started asking for rotten meat, but that’s only because my little
guy is growing so fast!
I’ll admit, I am a little concerned, though. I’m not sure
where to get the meat. Every time I’ve brought her something, be it week old
steak from the dumpster outside of Denny’s or that box of chicken wings I found
in the trash by the bar, the one with all the flies on it, she tells me it’s “too
fresh”.
Yeah, yeah, I know Melanie’s funeral was four months ago,
what about it? Sure, it was depressing, but do you think I’m gonna let
something like that get in the way of our happiness? No, sir.
We’re gonna name him James, after her father.
Guilt
It knows.
It knows what I did. I didn't mean to hurt her, and I didn't think anyone would find out, but it knows and now it’s here and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.
I can hear it scratching at the door. I can smell it’s sulfur stink from across my bedroom. I can feel the dread clutching at my heart like a vise. It knows.
We were at the park, alone together. Just she and I and the
stars. She said no, but I didn't listen. She screamed and I hit her and she
fell and there were rocks and there was blood and she stopped screaming but I
didn't stop.
I buried her deep, far out where no one would find her. The police came, I cried and told them I didn't know and they believed me.
It doesn't believe me. It knows what I did. It knows and now it’s here and now I have to pay.
I buried her deep, far out where no one would find her. The police came, I cried and told them I didn't know and they believed me.
It doesn't believe me. It knows what I did. It knows and now it’s here and now I have to pay.
My heart stops in my chest at the same moment the sound of
its claws dragging on the door stop, and starts again suddenly when I hear it
breathing, feel the hot air on the back of my neck. It’s here.
It knows.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Crawling
The bathroom was bare except for the toilet, the sink, and the mirror that he now stared into, studying his reflection for signs of movement beneath his skin. He could feel them crawling, wriggling beneath his skin. It had begun a few days ago, a slight irritation, almost an itching sensation that hadn't really bothered him, but as it increased in frequency and intensity he found that he couldn't take it anymore.
He turned the hot water on, letting it flow into the sink and letting the small room fill up with steam from the nearly scalding hot water, never taking his eyes off of his reflection even as the mirror began to fog up and obscure it. He had been awake for well over forty-eight hours, and it was beginning to show in the bags beneath his eyes and his tangled, messy hair.
It didn't take long for the steam to irritate them, and he began to feel them move again. First it was that tingling, itching feeling, and then he could feel the pain explode throughout his body. It was most intense in one specific place, however, and he resisted the urge to double over and scream so that he could keep his eyes locked on his reflection as he did what he had to do.
Slowly, very slowly and with the utmost care he lifted the bright, clean straight razor to his left eye, gritting his teeth as he dragged a horizontal line across the center of it, bisecting it cleanly. He hardly felt it, even as his vision lost depth. Finally, he moved his gaze away from the mirror and turned it down into the sink, watching as the fluid dripped from his ruined orb into the porcelain basin.
His hands shook now, freely, as he dropped the razor to the floor. His left socket burned as he felt the wriggling there, and he watched as something dropped out of it and into the sink. Quickly he slammed his right hand down into the basin, getting it wet with hot water and eyeball fluid as he smashed the spider that had crawled out of his head.
Looking into the mirror again, he smiled as the rest of its family began to wriggle free of their prison inside his skull.
He turned the hot water on, letting it flow into the sink and letting the small room fill up with steam from the nearly scalding hot water, never taking his eyes off of his reflection even as the mirror began to fog up and obscure it. He had been awake for well over forty-eight hours, and it was beginning to show in the bags beneath his eyes and his tangled, messy hair.
It didn't take long for the steam to irritate them, and he began to feel them move again. First it was that tingling, itching feeling, and then he could feel the pain explode throughout his body. It was most intense in one specific place, however, and he resisted the urge to double over and scream so that he could keep his eyes locked on his reflection as he did what he had to do.
Slowly, very slowly and with the utmost care he lifted the bright, clean straight razor to his left eye, gritting his teeth as he dragged a horizontal line across the center of it, bisecting it cleanly. He hardly felt it, even as his vision lost depth. Finally, he moved his gaze away from the mirror and turned it down into the sink, watching as the fluid dripped from his ruined orb into the porcelain basin.
His hands shook now, freely, as he dropped the razor to the floor. His left socket burned as he felt the wriggling there, and he watched as something dropped out of it and into the sink. Quickly he slammed his right hand down into the basin, getting it wet with hot water and eyeball fluid as he smashed the spider that had crawled out of his head.
Looking into the mirror again, he smiled as the rest of its family began to wriggle free of their prison inside his skull.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Untitled Old Story
I had never taken a life before. I'd never thought that I'd need to.
The creatures that shared my mindscape laughed in malicious glee even as I stared in rapidly growing horror at the ever expanding puddle beneath the face-down body of my best friend. I could feel them grinning behind my eyes, waiting for me to ask the question that I knew only they would have the answer to.
Shuddering, I closed my eyes and tried to push them away, but it didn't do any good. I could see them in the darkness then, as i did whenever I tried to shut them out. Disembodied heads, piranha-like, floating there and watching me with their glowing green eyes, their hideous faces split open in ever-present rictus grins revealing jagged teeth that dripped with bile.
I was past wondering if I was crazy. I had seen the truth, seen the madness behind my friend's eyes as the Other overtook him. Despairing, knowing I had no other choice, I asked them.
"What do I do now?", I asked aloud, though I knew that I didn't need to. They could hear me think. It was a small comfort, however, to pretend that they existed outside of me rather than within. Their reply was instant.
"Wait," they hissed, "He isn't done yet."
I opened my eyes to discover that they were right. The thing that had once been like a brother to me was even now struggling to lift itself from the floor, the caved in side of its face bubbling as its jaw worked. It was trying to speak. It looked at me, its one good eye rolling up to face me, and I think it tried to say my name. It didn't have enough face left to make words, so instead it just gurgled at me.
Slowly, tears stinging my eyes, I lifted the hammer again, and before it could try to say anything else I brought it down. I didn't stop swinging until all I was doing was pounding hunks of wet bone and brain matter into the floor. It shrieked as it finally died, a hideous, inhuman noise that left my ears bleeding.
I could still hear them laughing in my head.
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