u/4THEB3TTERG00D

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few more edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the brownie box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his gluttonous sights set on an abysmal frozen delicacy. A Tombstone Supreme Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he swats them away, picking up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the journey, he thinks he can barely see something in the distant darkness. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows hold firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night. A physical object, blending into the shadows.

He takes an earbud out. What is that? He strains to hear over the rumbling motors of the few cars bustling along the nearby highway. Some… accompanying noise? As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly, alone in the dark.

Just like that, it becomes clear. A faint auditory fuzz. Buzzing & chirping, like a fax machine. As he passes the woman, maybe fifteen feet away from her, he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises are coming from her. Even though he couldn’t clearly see her face in dark, he knew the sounds were made by her lips. An uncomfortable mimicry. She wasn’t even stopping to take a breath, she just… kept going, repeating the same sound over, as if on a loop. The whole time, as he crosses her field of sight, she doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even turn her head to follow his gaze.

Uneasy, he picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that her eyes linger on him, even as the breadth between them widens.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters to himself.

He knew her head didn’t rotate, that she was posing dead still, like a statue. Still, that prickling sensation on the back of his neck stayed constant. Somehow, he just knew she was watching him.

“Even then,” he thought, “my mind might just be playing tricks on me…”

He passes beneath the light of the immediate next street lamp, now about twenty-five feet away, & looks back at her. Her position was the same, unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the following streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, no changes. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Shrugging, he pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors one last glance back at her, before bolting. She’s now strolling briskly in his direction, calculated & confident. She doesn’t even stay on the road. She’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline towards him, inhumanly fast. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than his mobile home.

“Holy shit," he mutters, “what the fuck?! Who is this bitch?”

He quickly rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. Now out of the residential neighborhood, he crosses onto the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination.

“Security Cameras and lights,” he pants frantically, “I just need to go where the people are. They’ll help me.”

He looks back, momentarily grateful. He can’t see her following him anymore. He begins to pad slightly slower, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip at his ankles & thighs. His pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him. Their smooth, fluid movements sets off alarm bells in his mind. The way they stare seems innately predatory. He can’t quite make out their faces, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that descends just below their noses. Something that leaves their eyes exposed. The expressions on their faces are uncanny. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush, like they’d been exerting far too much energy for their bodies to handle.

To the contrary of his aching limbs, he gains momentum again. Sometimes in nature, carnivores try to surround their prey & block off the exits. They close in for the kill, leaving no chance of escape. He was going to take his before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smack from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crosses the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping over his own feet, he unsteadily threw himself into the unlocked glass doors. With a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath. He’s done it.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, no one in the road, or on the sidewalk. No normal people, no silver helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry,” he wheezes.

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the shop. The shelves are like claustrophobic mazes. He grits his teeth & pushes on, edging further into the recesses of the small convenience store. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a cup of kool-ade powder, & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set across the aisle, on the refrigerator section. Looking both ways first, like he’s crossing the street, he takes a deep breath and makes his way to the brightly lit aisle, cold air hitting his exposed skin like a refreshing blanket. As he shuffles ahead, he accidentally bumps into an unsuspecting older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the Nickleback cover of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” playing in his earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & the electric guitar solo in his ear ends abruptly.

“Battery low, Power off,” the voice in his earbud says. The chaotic thrum of the bass is replaced by a familiar, horrifying resonance.

Macabre, disjointed beatboxing, human vocal cords attempting to replicate a machine. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There she is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. Her skin is bright pink, like a lobster. She’s blushing as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't gasp for air, doesn’t breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair in exhaust. She just stands there, painfully still, wide enough to block the entire aisle. She’s built like a pit-bull, square, and solid. Her lips are pulled back in a chimp-like sneer, rotten teeth gritted together so hard that they crackle and chip, her jaw visibly straining from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what she, or rather, it was wearing. It had on normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. It looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against a horrendous contraption on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of silver duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were it’s once brown eyes. They bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, scarlet streaks dripping from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears. Small rivers that ran all the way under her chin. Down her neck.

He was frozen in fear for a moment, sheer panic drowning his senses like a rat in a river. What was this thing?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled to his feet & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“Huh.”

“What is that thing?!”

He points at the deranged creature, and the old woman glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his. She stares at the end of the aisle, mouth agape.

“See?”

“See what?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?!”

He turns to assess the old woman. Was she blind? Senile? She looks dumbfounded, but dreadfully sound-minded

“You don’t see her?” He gasps.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing. In the brief period he’d glanced away for, it had moved substantially closer. Now merely five feet away, more details were noticeable. The antenna that jutted from the tape on top of its head. The two pulsating buttons on its left temple that looked more like flesh than plastic. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting from its skull, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking his items. He just left the basket of miscellaneous goods tipped over on the floor, & ran. He tried to call 911, but his phone died too. Once outside, he had one singular goal.

Make it home alive.

Even though he didn’t look back, he knew he could hear it starting to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He refused to look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & for it, was turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared to do the same.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple times, he gained a sparing distance. Other times, the thing was so close, he felt it brush him with its fingertips. Once, he swore he heard more sets of footsteps, like the pack had rejoined to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat and his labored breath, he couldn’t be sure. The entire time, beneath his strenuous effort, he knew he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal cords were worn out, fried, straining to continue their hellish anthem, but on they did.

A round trip that would usually take thirty minutes, wound up being complete in twenty-five. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it was just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them and locking his windows. The tears welled up almost as hard as the stomach bile rose to his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his entire body. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch, huffing as he tried to plug his dead phone in.

Finally. He was safe. He was home again. He barely had time to wipe his forehead in relief, when he saw something start to move out from under his table.

Soon after, a neighbor called 9-1-1. He reported seeing the neighborhood trailer trash run past his house in the middle of the night, followed by frantic, blood curdling screams. When the police arrived, all they found was a door busted off its hinges, and the top of a human skull. It had been sliced off with machine precision, scalp still intact, in a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the demolished door of the camper.

The detective picked up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Hey guys, it’s ya boy Mikey. Thanks to everyone who checked out the unpolished version of this story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing it, and I hope this flows a little better. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few more edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the brownie box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his gluttonous sights set on an abysmal frozen delicacy. A Tombstone Supreme Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he swats them away, picking up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the journey, he thinks he can barely see something in the distant darkness. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows hold firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night. A physical object, blending into the shadows.

He takes an earbud out. What is that? He strains to hear over the rumbling motors of the few cars bustling along the nearby highway. Some… accompanying noise? As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly, alone in the dark.

Just like that, it becomes clear. A faint auditory fuzz. Buzzing & chirping, like a fax machine. As he passes the woman, maybe fifteen feet away from her, he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises are coming from her. Even though he couldn’t clearly see her face in dark, he knew the sounds were made by her lips. An uncomfortable mimicry. She wasn’t even stopping to take a breath, she just… kept going, repeating the same sound over, as if on a loop. The whole time, as he crosses her field of sight, she doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even turn her head to follow his gaze.

Uneasy, he picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that her eyes linger on him, even as the breadth between them widens.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters to himself.

He knew her head didn’t rotate, that she was posing dead still, like a statue. Still, that prickling sensation on the back of his neck stayed constant. Somehow, he just knew she was watching him.

“Even then,” he thought, “my mind might just be playing tricks on me…”

He passes beneath the light of the immediate next street lamp, now about twenty-five feet away, & looks back at her. Her position was the same, unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the following streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, no changes. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Shrugging, he pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors one last glance back at her, before bolting. She’s now strolling briskly in his direction, calculated & confident. She doesn’t even stay on the road. She’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline towards him, inhumanly fast. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than his mobile home.

“Holy shit," he mutters, “what the fuck?! Who is this bitch?”

He quickly rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. Now out of the residential neighborhood, he crosses onto the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination.

“Security Cameras and lights,” he pants frantically, “I just need to go where the people are. They’ll help me.”

He looks back, momentarily grateful. He can’t see her following him anymore. He begins to pad slightly slower, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip at his ankles & thighs. His pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him. Their smooth, fluid movements sets off alarm bells in his mind. The way they stare seems innately predatory. He can’t quite make out their faces, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that descends just below their noses. Something that leaves their eyes exposed. The expressions on their faces are uncanny. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush, like they’d been exerting far too much energy for their bodies to handle.

To the contrary of his aching limbs, he gains momentum again. Sometimes in nature, carnivores try to surround their prey & block off the exits. They close in for the kill, leaving no chance of escape. He was going to take his before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smack from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crosses the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping over his own feet, he unsteadily threw himself into the unlocked glass doors. With a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath. He’s done it.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, no one in the road, or on the sidewalk. No normal people, no silver helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry,” he wheezes.

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the shop. The shelves are like claustrophobic mazes. He grits his teeth & pushes on, edging further into the recesses of the small convenience store. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a cup of kool-ade powder, & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set across the aisle, on the refrigerator section. Looking both ways first, like he’s crossing the street, he takes a deep breath and makes his way to the brightly lit aisle, cold air hitting his exposed skin like a refreshing blanket. As he shuffles ahead, he accidentally bumps into an unsuspecting older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the Nickleback cover of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” playing in his earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & the electric guitar solo in his ear ends abruptly.

“Battery low, Power off,” the voice in his earbud says. The chaotic thrum of the bass is replaced by a familiar, horrifying resonance.

Macabre, disjointed beatboxing, human vocal cords attempting to replicate a machine. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There she is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. Her skin is bright pink, like a lobster. She’s blushing as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't gasp for air, doesn’t breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair in exhaust. She just stands there, painfully still, wide enough to block the entire aisle. She’s built like a pit-bull, square, and solid. Her lips are pulled back in a chimp-like sneer, rotten teeth gritted together so hard that they crackle and chip, her jaw visibly straining from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what she, or rather, it was wearing. It had on normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. It looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against a horrendous contraption on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of silver duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were it’s once brown eyes. They bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, scarlet streaks dripping from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears. Small rivers that ran all the way under her chin. Down her neck.

He was frozen in fear for a moment, sheer panic drowning his senses like a rat in a river. What was this thing?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled to his feet & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“Huh.”

“What is that thing?!”

He points at the deranged creature, and the old woman glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his. She stares at the end of the aisle, mouth agape.

“See?”

“See what?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?!”

He turns to assess the old woman. Was she blind? Senile? She looks dumbfounded, but dreadfully sound-minded

“You don’t see her?” He gasps.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing. In the brief period he’d glanced away for, it had moved substantially closer. Now merely five feet away, more details were noticeable. The antenna that jutted from the tape on top of its head. The two pulsating buttons on its left temple that looked more like flesh than plastic. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting from its skull, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking his items. He just left the basket of miscellaneous goods tipped over on the floor, & ran. He tried to call 911, but his phone died too. Once outside, he had one singular goal.

Make it home alive.

Even though he didn’t look back, he knew he could hear it starting to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He refused to look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & for it, was turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared to do the same.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple times, he gained a sparing distance. Other times, the thing was so close, he felt it brush him with its fingertips. Once, he swore he heard more sets of footsteps, like the pack had rejoined to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat and his labored breath, he couldn’t be sure. The entire time, beneath his strenuous effort, he knew he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal cords were worn out, fried, straining to continue their hellish anthem, but on they did.

A round trip that would usually take thirty minutes, wound up being complete in twenty-five. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it was just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them and locking his windows. The tears welled up almost as hard as the stomach bile rose to his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his entire body. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch, huffing as he tried to plug his dead phone in.

Finally. He was safe. He was home again. He barely had time to wipe his forehead in relief, when he saw something start to move out from under his table.

Soon after, a neighbor called 9-1-1. He reported seeing the neighborhood trailer trash run past his house in the middle of the night, followed by frantic, blood curdling screams. When the police arrived, all they found was a door busted off its hinges, and the top of a human skull. It had been sliced off with machine precision, scalp still intact, in a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the demolished door of the camper.

The detective picked up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Hey guys, it’s ya boy Mikey. Thanks to everyone who checked out the unpolished version of this story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing it, and I hope this flows a little better. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few more edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the brownie box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his gluttonous sights set on an abysmal frozen delicacy. A Tombstone Supreme Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he swats them away, picking up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the journey, he thinks he can barely see something in the distant darkness. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows hold firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night. A physical object, blending into the shadows.

He takes an earbud out. What is that? He strains to hear over the rumbling motors of the few cars bustling along the nearby highway. Some… accompanying noise? As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly, alone in the dark.

Just like that, it becomes clear. A faint auditory fuzz. Buzzing & chirping, like a fax machine. As he passes the woman, maybe fifteen feet away from her, he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises are coming from her. Even though he couldn’t clearly see her face in dark, he knew the sounds were made by her lips. An uncomfortable mimicry. She wasn’t even stopping to take a breath, she just… kept going, repeating the same sound over, as if on a loop. The whole time, as he crosses her field of sight, she doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even turn her head to follow his gaze.

Uneasy, he picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that her eyes linger on him, even as the breadth between them widens.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters to himself.

He knew her head didn’t rotate, that she was posing dead still, like a statue. Still, that prickling sensation on the back of his neck stayed constant. Somehow, he just knew she was watching him.

“Even then,” he thought, “my mind might just be playing tricks on me…”

He passes beneath the light of the immediate next street lamp, now about twenty-five feet away, & looks back at her. Her position was the same, unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the following streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, no changes. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Shrugging, he pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors one last glance back at her, before bolting. She’s now strolling briskly in his direction, calculated & confident. She doesn’t even stay on the road. She’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline towards him, inhumanly fast. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than his mobile home.

“Holy shit," he mutters, “what the fuck?! Who is this bitch?”

He quickly rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. Now out of the residential neighborhood, he crosses onto the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination.

“Security Cameras and lights,” he pants frantically, “I just need to go where the people are. They’ll help me.”

He looks back, momentarily grateful. He can’t see her following him anymore. He begins to pad slightly slower, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip at his ankles & thighs. His pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him. Their smooth, fluid movements sets off alarm bells in his mind. The way they stare seems innately predatory. He can’t quite make out their faces, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that descends just below their noses. Something that leaves their eyes exposed. The expressions on their faces are uncanny. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush, like they’d been exerting far too much energy for their bodies to handle.

To the contrary of his aching limbs, he gains momentum again. Sometimes in nature, carnivores try to surround their prey & block off the exits. They close in for the kill, leaving no chance of escape. He was going to take his before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smack from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crosses the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping over his own feet, he unsteadily threw himself into the unlocked glass doors. With a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath. He’s done it.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, no one in the road, or on the sidewalk. No normal people, no silver helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry,” he wheezes.

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the shop. The shelves are like claustrophobic mazes. He grits his teeth & pushes on, edging further into the recesses of the small convenience store. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a cup of kool-ade powder, & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set across the aisle, on the refrigerator section. Looking both ways first, like he’s crossing the street, he takes a deep breath and makes his way to the brightly lit aisle, cold air hitting his exposed skin like a refreshing blanket. As he shuffles ahead, he accidentally bumps into an unsuspecting older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the Nickleback cover of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” playing in his earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & the electric guitar solo in his ear ends abruptly.

“Battery low, Power off,” the voice in his earbud says. The chaotic thrum of the bass is replaced by a familiar, horrifying resonance.

Macabre, disjointed beatboxing, human vocal cords attempting to replicate a machine. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There she is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. Her skin is bright pink, like a lobster. She’s blushing as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't gasp for air, doesn’t breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair in exhaust. She just stands there, painfully still, wide enough to block the entire aisle. She’s built like a pit-bull, square, and solid. Her lips are pulled back in a chimp-like sneer, rotten teeth gritted together so hard that they crackle and chip, her jaw visibly straining from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what she, or rather, it was wearing. It had on normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. It looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against a horrendous contraption on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of silver duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were it’s once brown eyes. They bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, scarlet streaks dripping from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears. Small rivers that ran all the way under her chin. Down her neck.

He was frozen in fear for a moment, sheer panic drowning his senses like a rat in a river. What was this thing?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled to his feet & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“Huh.”

“What is that thing?!”

He points at the deranged creature, and the old woman glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his. She stares at the end of the aisle, mouth agape.

“See?”

“See what?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?!”

He turns to assess the old woman. Was she blind? Senile? She looks dumbfounded, but dreadfully sound-minded

“You don’t see her?” He gasps.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing. In the brief period he’d glanced away for, it had moved substantially closer. Now merely five feet away, more details were noticeable. The antenna that jutted from the tape on top of its head. The two pulsating buttons on its left temple that looked more like flesh than plastic. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting from its skull, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking his items. He just left the basket of miscellaneous goods tipped over on the floor, & ran. He tried to call 911, but his phone died too. Once outside, he had one singular goal.

Make it home alive.

Even though he didn’t look back, he knew he could hear it starting to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He refused to look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & for it, was turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared to do the same.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple times, he gained a sparing distance. Other times, the thing was so close, he felt it brush him with its fingertips. Once, he swore he heard more sets of footsteps, like the pack had rejoined to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat and his labored breath, he couldn’t be sure. The entire time, beneath his strenuous effort, he knew he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal cords were worn out, fried, straining to continue their hellish anthem, but on they did.

A round trip that would usually take thirty minutes, wound up being complete in twenty-five. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it was just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them and locking his windows. The tears welled up almost as hard as the stomach bile rose to his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his entire body. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch, huffing as he tried to plug his dead phone in.

Finally. He was safe. He was home again. He barely had time to wipe his forehead in relief, when he saw something start to move out from under his table.

Soon after, a neighbor called 9-1-1. He reported seeing the neighborhood trailer trash run past his house in the middle of the night, followed by frantic, blood curdling screams. When the police arrived, all they found was a door busted off its hinges, and the top of a human skull. It had been sliced off with machine precision, scalp still intact, in a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the demolished door of the camper.

The detective picked up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Hey guys, it’s ya boy Mikey. Thanks to everyone who checked out the unpolished version of this story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing it, and I hope this flows a little better. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

I’ve only been writing and posting my work for a short period, and u/The_Republique has been just constantly so supportive of this community, I see him commenting and boosting like, I’m not even joking, almost every story that gets posted to r/TalesfromtheCreeps. Dude is everywhere at once, and now, one of his best stories has been immortalized in our favorite religious catalogue (#CultCast), and I say, brother deserves it.

Every story of his that I’ve read has been a banger, and he engages with other people’s work constantly. It genuinely makes me happy to see good shit get recognized, and it’s super encouraging for us smaller writers to see it and go, “wow, the stories we write actually get seen and read, this shit matters.” Just makes my whole day, really neat in general to see new stories get realized, and who knows, those new stories may even become classics someday.

Just overall, I wanted to congratulate our MVP for making it. It was super cool to be at work yesterday and hear “we have a story by the Republique, his link will be in the description” and go, “holy shit, I know that guy. I know this story!” And then hear the boys reaction to it. u/The_Republique, bruh, if you’re reading this, cudos dude, they couldn’t have picked a nicer guy to throw into a grab bag episode, I hope they cover more of your work in the future.

Me personally, I hope they cover your April Submission Easter story next, I think that’s my favorite one from your rolledex

I’ve only been writing and posting my work for a short period, and u/The_Republique has been just constantly so supportive of this community, I see him commenting and boosting like, I’m not even joking, almost every story that gets posted to r/TalesfromtheCreeps. Dude is everywhere at once, and now, one of his best stories has been immortalized in our favorite religious catalogue (#CultCast), and I say, brother deserves it.

Every story of his that I’ve read has been a banger, and he engages with other people’s work constantly. It genuinely makes me happy to see good shit get recognized, and it’s super encouraging for us smaller writers to see it and go, “wow, the stories we write actually get seen and read, this shit matters.” Just makes my whole day, really neat in general to see new stories get realized, and who knows, those new stories may even become classics someday.

Just overall, I wanted to congratulate our MVP for making it. It was super cool to be at work yesterday and hear “we have a story by the Republique, his link will be in the description” and go, “holy shit, I know that guy. I know this story!” And then hear the boys reaction to it. u/The_Republique, bruh, if you’re reading this, cudos dude, they couldn’t have picked a nicer guy to throw into a grab bag episode, I hope they cover more of your work in the future.

Me personally, I hope they cover your April Submission Easter story next, I think that’s my favorite one from your rolledex

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few more edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the brownie box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his gluttonous sights set on an abysmal frozen delicacy. A Tombstone Supreme Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he swats them away, picking up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the journey, he thinks he can barely see something in the distant darkness. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows hold firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night. A physical object, blending into the shadows.

He takes an earbud out. What is that? He strains to hear over the rumbling motors of the few cars bustling along the nearby highway. Some… accompanying noise? As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly, alone in the dark.

Just like that, it becomes clear. A faint auditory fuzz. Buzzing & chirping, like a fax machine. As he passes the woman, maybe fifteen feet away from her, he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises are coming from her. Even though he couldn’t clearly see her face in dark, he knew the sounds were made by her lips. An uncomfortable mimicry. She wasn’t even stopping to take a breath, she just… kept going, repeating the same sound over, as if on a loop. The whole time, as he crosses her field of sight, she doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even turn her head to follow his gaze.

Uneasy, he picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that her eyes linger on him, even as the breadth between them widens.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters to himself.

He knew her head didn’t rotate, that she was posing dead still, like a statue. Still, that prickling sensation on the back of his neck stayed constant. Somehow, he just knew she was watching him.

“Even then,” he thought, “my mind might just be playing tricks on me…”

He passes beneath the light of the immediate next street lamp, now about twenty-five feet away, & looks back at her. Her position was the same, unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the following streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, no changes. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Shrugging, he pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors one last glance back at her, before bolting. She’s now strolling briskly in his direction, calculated & confident. She doesn’t even stay on the road. She’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline towards him, inhumanly fast. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than his mobile home.

“Holy shit," he mutters, “what the fuck?! Who is this bitch?”

He quickly rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. Now out of the residential neighborhood, he crosses onto the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination.

“Security Cameras and lights,” he pants frantically, “I just need to go where the people are. They’ll help me.”

He looks back, momentarily grateful. He can’t see her following him anymore. He begins to pad slightly slower, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip at his ankles & thighs. His pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him. Their smooth, fluid movements sets off alarm bells in his mind. The way they stare seems innately predatory. He can’t quite make out their faces, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that descends just below their noses. Something that leaves their eyes exposed. The expressions on their faces are uncanny. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush, like they’d been exerting far too much energy for their bodies to handle.

To the contrary of his aching limbs, he gains momentum again. Sometimes in nature, carnivores try to surround their prey & block off the exits. They close in for the kill, leaving no chance of escape. He was going to take his before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smack from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crosses the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping over his own feet, he unsteadily threw himself into the unlocked glass doors. With a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath. He’s done it.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, no one in the road, or on the sidewalk. No normal people, no silver helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry,” he wheezes.

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the shop. The shelves are like claustrophobic mazes. He grits his teeth & pushes on, edging further into the recesses of the small convenience store. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a cup of kool-ade powder, & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set across the aisle, on the refrigerator section. Looking both ways first, like he’s crossing the street, he takes a deep breath and makes his way to the brightly lit aisle, cold air hitting his exposed skin like a refreshing blanket. As he shuffles ahead, he accidentally bumps into an unsuspecting older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the Nickleback cover of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” playing in his earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & the electric guitar solo in his ear ends abruptly.

“Battery low, Power off,” the voice in his earbud says. The chaotic thrum of the bass is replaced by a familiar, horrifying resonance.

Macabre, disjointed beatboxing, human vocal cords attempting to replicate a machine. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There she is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. Her skin is bright pink, like a lobster. She’s blushing as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't gasp for air, doesn’t breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair in exhaust. She just stands there, painfully still, wide enough to block the entire aisle. She’s built like a pit-bull, square, and solid. Her lips are pulled back in a chimp-like sneer, rotten teeth gritted together so hard that they crackle and chip, her jaw visibly straining from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what she, or rather, it was wearing. It had on normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. It looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against a horrendous contraption on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of silver duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were it’s once brown eyes. They bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, scarlet streaks dripping from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears. Small rivers that ran all the way under her chin. Down her neck.

He was frozen in fear for a moment, sheer panic drowning his senses like a rat in a river. What was this thing?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled to his feet & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“Huh.”

“What is that thing?!”

He points at the deranged creature, and the old woman glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his. She stares at the end of the aisle, mouth agape.

“See?”

“See what?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?!”

He turns to assess the old woman. Was she blind? Senile? She looks dumbfounded, but dreadfully sound-minded

“You don’t see her?” He gasps.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing. In the brief period he’d glanced away for, it had moved substantially closer. Now merely five feet away, more details were noticeable. The antenna that jutted from the tape on top of its head. The two pulsating buttons on its left temple that looked more like flesh than plastic. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting from its skull, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking his items. He just left the basket of miscellaneous goods tipped over on the floor, & ran. He tried to call 911, but his phone died too. Once outside, he had one singular goal.

Make it home alive.

Even though he didn’t look back, he knew he could hear it starting to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He refused to look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & for it, was turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared to do the same.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple times, he gained a sparing distance. Other times, the thing was so close, he felt it brush him with its fingertips. Once, he swore he heard more sets of footsteps, like the pack had rejoined to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat and his labored breath, he couldn’t be sure. The entire time, beneath his strenuous effort, he knew he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal cords were worn out, fried, straining to continue their hellish anthem, but on they did.

A round trip that would usually take thirty minutes, wound up being complete in twenty-five. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it was just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them and locking his windows. The tears welled up almost as hard as the stomach bile rose to his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his entire body. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch, huffing as he tried to plug his dead phone in.

Finally. He was safe. He was home again. He barely had time to wipe his forehead in relief, when he saw something start to move out from under his table.

Soon after, a neighbor called 9-1-1. He reported seeing the neighborhood trailer trash run past his house in the middle of the night, followed by frantic, blood curdling screams. When the police arrived, all they found was a door busted off its hinges, and the top of a human skull. It had been sliced off with machine precision, scalp still intact, in a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the demolished door of the camper.

The detective picked up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Hey guys, it’s ya boy Mikey. Thanks to everyone who checked out the unpolished version of this story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing it, and I hope this flows a little better. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his sights set on a frozen delicacy. A supreme Tombstone Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he picks up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the trip, he thinks he sees something. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows held firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night.

He takes his earbuds out. What was that noise? He strains and only hears the few cars on the nearby highway. As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly in the dark.

Just like that, there it is. The faint auditory fuzz he could've sworn he heard. The sounds of buzzing & chirping, like the a fax machine. As he passes her, maybe fifteen feet away, she watches him, & he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises were coming from her, & even though he couldn’t clearly see her face moving from the dark, he knew the sounds were mimicry made by a human voice, repeating perfectly on a loop. He picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters. He didn’t see her head rotate to watch him, just her eyes, but even then, his mind could’ve just been playing tricks on him. He goes through the light of the immediate next street lamp & looks back at her. He was now about twenty-five feet away. She was staying still, her position unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the next streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, nothing. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding, & pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors a last glance back, just before he bolts. She’s strolling briskly towards him, calculated & confident. She’s not even on the road, she’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than to his mobile home.

“Holy shit! I need to get somewhere with fucking cameras & lights," he thinks.

He rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. He was now out of the neighborhood, on the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination. He looks back, momentarily grateful to see she’s not visibly behind him anymore. He begins to slow slightly, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip his ankles & thighs, & his pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him predatorily. He can’t make out their faces clearly, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that went down just above their mouths that exposed their eyes. Something was… off. Uncanny about their expressions. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush.

To the contrary of his body, he speeds up again. Some predators try to surround their prey & block off the exits. He was going to take his chance before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smacked from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crossed the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping, he threw himself into the unlocked glass doors, & with a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, in the road, on the sidewalk. No normal people, no one with helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry.”

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the store. The shelves are like a thin maze. He grits his teeth & pushes on. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a case of kool-ade & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set on the refrigerator section. A pizza & some butter. Looking both ways like he’s crossing the street first, he makes his way to the brightly lit, freezing cold aisle. As he does, he bumps into an older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the sound of his reactivated earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & his earbud runs out of battery. As soon as it does, he hears that sound again. The person imitating a robot. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There it is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. She’s bright pink, like a lobster. Flush as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair. She just stands there, wide enough to block the entire aisle, & built like a bulldog. Her lips are pulled up in a sneer, & her teeth look rotten, gritted together so hard that her jaw visibly strained from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what it was wearing. She was wearing normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. She looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against something horrendous on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were her eyes. They were bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, & from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears ran streams of blood across her blushed skin as well, dripping all the way under her chin. & down her neck. He was frozen for a moment from sheer panic. What was this?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled up & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“What?!”

“What is that?”

She glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his, at the end of the aisle.

“What?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?”

He momentarily turns to assess the old woman. She looks dumbfounded.

“You don’t see her?” He breathes.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & a little flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing, & it’s moved closer. Now merely five feet away, more details become noticeable. The antenna on top of its head. The two pulsing buttons on the side of its left temple. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking the items with him. He just dropped everything & ran out the door. He tried to call 911, but his phone ran out of battery too. Once outside, he didn’t look back, but he did hear it start to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He wouldn’t look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & got turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple of times, he got some good distance, others, the thing was almost close enough to brush him with its fingertips. At some points, he swore he heard other footsteps, like the pack of them were coming back to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat, he couldn’t have been sure. The entire time, he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal chords were worn out, & they strained to continue droning, but on they did.

A round trip that wound up usually being thirty minutes was done in twenty-five this time. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it could've been just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them too. The tears were welling up almost as hard as the stomach bile in his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his calves. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch & tried to plug his phone in. That was the last thing he did before he realized someone was under his table.

That night, his neighbor reported seeing him run into his camper, & then a few minutes later, screaming. When the police arrived, all they found was the top of his skull, scalp still intact, & a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the door of the trailer.

The detective picks up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Thanks to everyone who checked out my story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing this one I had in the making and figured I’d share it tonight. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his sights set on a frozen delicacy. A supreme Tombstone Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he picks up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the trip, he thinks he sees something. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows held firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night.

He takes his earbuds out. What was that noise? He strains and only hears the few cars on the nearby highway. As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly in the dark.

Just like that, there it is. The faint auditory fuzz he could've sworn he heard. The sounds of buzzing & chirping, like the a fax machine. As he passes her, maybe fifteen feet away, she watches him, & he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises were coming from her, & even though he couldn’t clearly see her face moving from the dark, he knew the sounds were mimicry made by a human voice, repeating perfectly on a loop. He picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters. He didn’t see her head rotate to watch him, just her eyes, but even then, his mind could’ve just been playing tricks on him. He goes through the light of the immediate next street lamp & looks back at her. He was now about twenty-five feet away. She was staying still, her position unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the next streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, nothing. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding, & pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors a last glance back, just before he bolts. She’s strolling briskly towards him, calculated & confident. She’s not even on the road, she’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than to his mobile home.

“Holy shit! I need to get somewhere with fucking cameras & lights," he thinks.

He rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. He was now out of the neighborhood, on the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination. He looks back, momentarily grateful to see she’s not visibly behind him anymore. He begins to slow slightly, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip his ankles & thighs, & his pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him predatorily. He can’t make out their faces clearly, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that went down just above their mouths that exposed their eyes. Something was… off. Uncanny about their expressions. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush.

To the contrary of his body, he speeds up again. Some predators try to surround their prey & block off the exits. He was going to take his chance before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smacked from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crossed the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping, he threw himself into the unlocked glass doors, & with a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, in the road, on the sidewalk. No normal people, no one with helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry.”

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the store. The shelves are like a thin maze. He grits his teeth & pushes on. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a case of kool-ade & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set on the refrigerator section. A pizza & some butter. Looking both ways like he’s crossing the street first, he makes his way to the brightly lit, freezing cold aisle. As he does, he bumps into an older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the sound of his reactivated earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & his earbud runs out of battery. As soon as it does, he hears that sound again. The person imitating a robot. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There it is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. She’s bright pink, like a lobster. Flush as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair. She just stands there, wide enough to block the entire aisle, & built like a bulldog. Her lips are pulled up in a sneer, & her teeth look rotten, gritted together so hard that her jaw visibly strained from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what it was wearing. She was wearing normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. She looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against something horrendous on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were her eyes. They were bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, & from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears ran streams of blood across her blushed skin as well, dripping all the way under her chin. & down her neck. He was frozen for a moment from sheer panic. What was this?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled up & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“What?!”

“What is that?”

She glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his, at the end of the aisle.

“What?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?”

He momentarily turns to assess the old woman. She looks dumbfounded.

“You don’t see her?” He breathes.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & a little flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing, & it’s moved closer. Now merely five feet away, more details become noticeable. The antenna on top of its head. The two pulsing buttons on the side of its left temple. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking the items with him. He just dropped everything & ran out the door. He tried to call 911, but his phone ran out of battery too. Once outside, he didn’t look back, but he did hear it start to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He wouldn’t look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & got turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple of times, he got some good distance, others, the thing was almost close enough to brush him with its fingertips. At some points, he swore he heard other footsteps, like the pack of them were coming back to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat, he couldn’t have been sure. The entire time, he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal chords were worn out, & they strained to continue droning, but on they did.

A round trip that wound up usually being thirty minutes was done in twenty-five this time. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it could've been just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them too. The tears were welling up almost as hard as the stomach bile in his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his calves. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch & tried to plug his phone in. That was the last thing he did before he realized someone was under his table.

That night, his neighbor reported seeing him run into his camper, & then a few minutes later, screaming. When the police arrived, all they found was the top of his skull, scalp still intact, & a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the door of the trailer.

The detective picks up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Thanks to everyone who checked out my story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing this one I had in the making and figured I’d share it tonight. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his sights set on a frozen delicacy. A supreme Tombstone Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he picks up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the trip, he thinks he sees something. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows held firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night.

He takes his earbuds out. What was that noise? He strains and only hears the few cars on the nearby highway. As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly in the dark.

Just like that, there it is. The faint auditory fuzz he could've sworn he heard. The sounds of buzzing & chirping, like the a fax machine. As he passes her, maybe fifteen feet away, she watches him, & he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises were coming from her, & even though he couldn’t clearly see her face moving from the dark, he knew the sounds were mimicry made by a human voice, repeating perfectly on a loop. He picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters. He didn’t see her head rotate to watch him, just her eyes, but even then, his mind could’ve just been playing tricks on him. He goes through the light of the immediate next street lamp & looks back at her. He was now about twenty-five feet away. She was staying still, her position unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the next streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, nothing. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding, & pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors a last glance back, just before he bolts. She’s strolling briskly towards him, calculated & confident. She’s not even on the road, she’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than to his mobile home.

“Holy shit! I need to get somewhere with fucking cameras & lights," he thinks.

He rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. He was now out of the neighborhood, on the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination. He looks back, momentarily grateful to see she’s not visibly behind him anymore. He begins to slow slightly, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip his ankles & thighs, & his pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him predatorily. He can’t make out their faces clearly, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that went down just above their mouths that exposed their eyes. Something was… off. Uncanny about their expressions. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush.

To the contrary of his body, he speeds up again. Some predators try to surround their prey & block off the exits. He was going to take his chance before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smacked from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crossed the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping, he threw himself into the unlocked glass doors, & with a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, in the road, on the sidewalk. No normal people, no one with helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry.”

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the store. The shelves are like a thin maze. He grits his teeth & pushes on. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a case of kool-ade & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set on the refrigerator section. A pizza & some butter. Looking both ways like he’s crossing the street first, he makes his way to the brightly lit, freezing cold aisle. As he does, he bumps into an older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the sound of his reactivated earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & his earbud runs out of battery. As soon as it does, he hears that sound again. The person imitating a robot. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There it is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. She’s bright pink, like a lobster. Flush as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair. She just stands there, wide enough to block the entire aisle, & built like a bulldog. Her lips are pulled up in a sneer, & her teeth look rotten, gritted together so hard that her jaw visibly strained from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what it was wearing. She was wearing normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. She looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against something horrendous on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were her eyes. They were bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, & from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears ran streams of blood across her blushed skin as well, dripping all the way under her chin. & down her neck. He was frozen for a moment from sheer panic. What was this?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled up & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“What?!”

“What is that?”

She glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his, at the end of the aisle.

“What?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?”

He momentarily turns to assess the old woman. She looks dumbfounded.

“You don’t see her?” He breathes.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & a little flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing, & it’s moved closer. Now merely five feet away, more details become noticeable. The antenna on top of its head. The two pulsing buttons on the side of its left temple. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking the items with him. He just dropped everything & ran out the door. He tried to call 911, but his phone ran out of battery too. Once outside, he didn’t look back, but he did hear it start to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He wouldn’t look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & got turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple of times, he got some good distance, others, the thing was almost close enough to brush him with its fingertips. At some points, he swore he heard other footsteps, like the pack of them were coming back to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat, he couldn’t have been sure. The entire time, he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal chords were worn out, & they strained to continue droning, but on they did.

A round trip that wound up usually being thirty minutes was done in twenty-five this time. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it could've been just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them too. The tears were welling up almost as hard as the stomach bile in his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his calves. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch & tried to plug his phone in. That was the last thing he did before he realized someone was under his table.

That night, his neighbor reported seeing him run into his camper, & then a few minutes later, screaming. When the police arrived, all they found was the top of his skull, scalp still intact, & a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the door of the trailer.

The detective picks up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Thanks to everyone who checked out my story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing this one I had in the making and figured I’d share it tonight. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

He needs an excuse to go to the store. Another afternoon coming off a long high, he takes a few edibles at around 8:30pm. He’s running out, but he doesn’t mind. Pay day’s less than a week away, & he has the ingredients to make more at home. Well, everything except butter. He refused to use vegetable oil, per the instructions on the box, because he swore that the fat content in the rendered butter bonds better with the THC distillate .

So, at 9:15, he decides to walk to the store. It’ll be a thirty minute round trip, nearly fifteen minutes each way. He wants snacks anyways, despite the overwhelming options in this pantry. He has his sights set on a frozen delicacy. A supreme Tombstone Pizza.

Bluey slippers on each foot, & his Smoke-Shop, Delta-9 vape in his pocket, he makes his way out into the muggy, Virginia summer night. The mosquitoes buzz as they flock to his exposed skin, so he picks up his pace.

As he makes his way under the first light pole of the trip, he thinks he sees something. The lights of the neighborhood porches & the streetlamps illuminate his immediate surroundings, but between the trees & the edges of the fences, shadows held firm like curtains. Squinting, he could almost imagine something solid breaking the scatterling fragments of the night.

He takes his earbuds out. What was that noise? He strains and only hears the few cars on the nearby highway. As he gets closer, he can make out the faint visage of a woman, standing stiffly in the dark.

Just like that, there it is. The faint auditory fuzz he could've sworn he heard. The sounds of buzzing & chirping, like the a fax machine. As he passes her, maybe fifteen feet away, she watches him, & he realizes something that makes his skin prickle. The mechanical noises were coming from her, & even though he couldn’t clearly see her face moving from the dark, he knew the sounds were mimicry made by a human voice, repeating perfectly on a loop. He picks up his pace slightly more. He keeps his sights ahead after he passes her, trying not to attract her attention.

“Maybe I’m just higher than I think,” he mutters. He didn’t see her head rotate to watch him, just her eyes, but even then, his mind could’ve just been playing tricks on him. He goes through the light of the immediate next street lamp & looks back at her. He was now about twenty-five feet away. She was staying still, her position unflinching. He turns away & continues. Under the next streetlamp, he repeats, looking back again. Still, nothing. At least forty-five feet away by this point, he lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding, & pops his earbud back in.

“Huh, weird.”

Sixty feet away, under the last umbrella of light on his street, he humors a last glance back, just before he bolts. She’s strolling briskly towards him, calculated & confident. She’s not even on the road, she’s cutting through dark driveways & lawns in a direct beeline. As she gets closer, he runs faster & faster. By now, he’s closer to the store than to his mobile home.

“Holy shit! I need to get somewhere with fucking cameras & lights," he thinks.

He rounds past the small, vacant Sheriff Deputy building, & under more streetlights. He was now out of the neighborhood, on the sidewalk right next to the sparse highway, no further than two closed establishments from his destination. He looks back, momentarily grateful to see she’s not visibly behind him anymore. He begins to slow slightly, his unfit joints & atrophied muscles shrieking in pain. The cramps nip his ankles & thighs, & his pace loses steam. That is, until he sees two individuals across the road to his left.

They keep his pace & watch him predatorily. He can’t make out their faces clearly, but he can see they’re wearing something on their heads. Something silvery that went down just above their mouths that exposed their eyes. Something was… off. Uncanny about their expressions. They looked so angry, & their faces were flush. Too flush.

To the contrary of his body, he speeds up again. Some predators try to surround their prey & block off the exits. He was going to take his chance before he lost it. With one last burst of energy, his feet smacked from pavement, to grass, & back onto pavement as he crossed the threshold into the parking lot of the open Family Dollar. Nearly tripping, he threw himself into the unlocked glass doors, & with a blinding light, he’s done it. He’s inside the store.

Relief blossoms in his stomach & warms his fingertips. He wipes his mouth & looks around. The small shop is nearly empty. His heartbeat flutters rapidly, & he desperately tries to regain his breath.

“Dude?”

He snaps his neck to face the person who spoke & took his earbud out. A small employee, donning a nametag that says, “Grenda,” looks at him like they’d been trying to get his attention for several seconds.

“Dude. You good?” Grenda asks, visibly concerned.

He looks back out the glass doors. No one in the parking lot, in the road, on the sidewalk. No normal people, no one with helmets. He turns & looks at Grenda again.

“Yeah, I think. Sorry.”

He picks up a basket & wearily begins traversing the store. The shelves are like a thin maze. He grits his teeth & pushes on. He grabs a few small snacks. Some Pork Rinds, a case of kool-ade & a jar of pickled jalapenos. But he has his sights set on the refrigerator section. A pizza & some butter. Looking both ways like he’s crossing the street first, he makes his way to the brightly lit, freezing cold aisle. As he does, he bumps into an older woman, another customer.

“Oop, sorry ma’am.”

She mouths something in response, but he can’t hear her over the sound of his reactivated earbuds.

He crouches down to look at the selection of frozen pizzas, & his earbud runs out of battery. As soon as it does, he hears that sound again. The person imitating a robot. In surprise, he falls back onto his ass & looks up. There it is, fully illuminated. She looked like she used to have a thick head of blond hair. She’s bright pink, like a lobster. Flush as if she’s been exerting a great amount of effort, but she doesn't breathe, her nostrils don’t even flair. She just stands there, wide enough to block the entire aisle, & built like a bulldog. Her lips are pulled up in a sneer, & her teeth look rotten, gritted together so hard that her jaw visibly strained from the effort. The part that made him want to cry was what it was wearing. She was wearing normal houseware, a tanktop & some basket-ball shorts. She looked like a normal person, juxtaposed against something horrendous on its head.

Covering the cranium down to the tip of the nose, was a filthy wrapping of duct-tape. It partially concealed all manner of exposed wires & blinking things, motherboards & copper shavings that reflected the light's glint. The only thing that was not covered were her eyes. They were bulged out of her noggin like overfilled water balloons, squeezed through a thin pipe. Blood leaked from the edges of their duct-tape sockets, & from under the border that covered her cheeks & the tops of her ears ran streams of blood across her blushed skin as well, dripping all the way under her chin. & down her neck. He was frozen for a moment from sheer panic. What was this?

As soon as he gathered his bearings enough, he scrambled up & backed away, trying to keep sudden movements to a minimum.

“Lady, lady!” He gasps, addressing the older customer who he’d bumped into earlier.

“What?!”

“What is that?”

She glances over, her eyes trained on the same spot as his, at the end of the aisle.

“What?”

“Look!”

“Look at what?”

He momentarily turns to assess the old woman. She looks dumbfounded.

“You don’t see her?” He breathes.

“See who, young man?” She gulps, frightened & a little flabbergasted.

He looks back at the thing, & it’s moved closer. Now merely five feet away, more details become noticeable. The antenna on top of its head. The two pulsing buttons on the side of its left temple. The way that even though the eyes were on the verge of bursting, they stayed locked on him.

He didn’t even bother taking the items with him. He just dropped everything & ran out the door. He tried to call 911, but his phone ran out of battery too. Once outside, he didn’t look back, but he did hear it start to catch up. He closed his eyes & pumped his legs, pushing harder than he ever had before. He wouldn’t look back.

When he was a kid, he heard the story about the man whose family got a pass out of Sodom & Gomorrah. The wife had looked back, & got turned to salt. As he heard the sound of the thing getting closer behind him, footsteps smacking the pavement at a constant, precise speed, he tried not to think of all the things that might happen to him if he dared.

He ran, & it kept a steady pace behind him. A couple of times, he got some good distance, others, the thing was almost close enough to brush him with its fingertips. At some points, he swore he heard other footsteps, like the pack of them were coming back to finish him off, but over the sound of his heartbeat, he couldn’t have been sure. The entire time, he heard that repeating sound. The whirring, puffing, beeping & buzzing. Its vocal chords were worn out, & they strained to continue droning, but on they did.

A round trip that wound up usually being thirty minutes was done in twenty-five this time. The wood of the porch thumped under his slides & he gripped the handle, twisting & yanking with all his might. The automatron sounded like it could've been just yards behind him. He slammed the metal door shut behind him & slumped to his knees, letting out a half sob, half wheeze. He whimpered & crawled to his blinds, shutting them too. The tears were welling up almost as hard as the stomach bile in his throat. He hadn’t run like that in so long, he almost felt like he’d pulled something in his calves. Everything burned. He sat down on his couch & tried to plug his phone in. That was the last thing he did before he realized someone was under his table.

That night, his neighbor reported seeing him run into his camper, & then a few minutes later, screaming. When the police arrived, all they found was the top of his skull, scalp still intact, & a puddle of bloody spinal fluid.

“What do you think, Detective?” A policeman asked as he placed yellow caution tape over the door of the trailer.

The detective picks up a brownie from the microwave & smells it.

“It’s these damn kids & their weed, it's always these damn kids & their weed…”

Thanks to everyone who checked out my story last night! The encouragement was great, so I finished editing this one I had in the making and figured I’d share it tonight. This one was really fun. I hope it translates well into written format, this was originally intended to be a short film. Hope y’all enjoy!

A while back, Apple released the first ever smartphone. Initially, there were two ways to access it. Either leave the thing unlocked, or use a four digit pin for security. Eventually, they introduced more options. Fingerprint ID, six digits, different pattern locks and password codes. When the fingerprint ID came out, convenience caught me like a catfish on a hook. Nowadays, it's standard, not really anything special. Within the last couple years, they even made it a possibility to use a face scanner to unlock a ton of devices. With every cellphone upgrade, I kept the same four digit verification as my passcode. 9932 was my go-to for most everything from my home security system to my bank account password, but I would stick almost exclusively to the fingerprint scanner, using the thumb on my dominant hand. It was just so easy, barely even took a second thought, and I was sure that my phone was completely secure that way. Between a pin and a thumbprint ID, what could go wrong? As far as I was concerned, I had nothing to worry about.

A year ago, I got into a fight with my blender. I call it a fight, really, it was more like my stupid mistake that led the appliance to defend itself. I jammed my whole hand into it to retrieve a ring that had fallen off, a ring that was trapped underneath the four, razor sharp blades. The damn ring wasn’t even that important, it was just some cheap copper cast bling from a Walmart jewelry set. Rather than unplugging the whole thing and disassembling it safely, I thought to myself, “I’ll just reach in and grab it real quick. What’s the worst that can happen?”

In less than five seconds, my boob accidentally mashed the start button, and with a sound like a wood chipper, my dominant hand was left as an oversized, bloody stub with prolapsed knuckles. When shock kicks in, most people feel a rush of warmth, almost like a deep blush, and sometimes, they don’t really understand exactly what they’re looking at.

I remember staring at what was left of my digits, not fully comprehending what had happened, and thinking, “that can’t be right, why does my hand look like an inside out rhubarb?” As soon as the realization began to dawn, I was introduced to a pain like no other. I picked up my phone and frantically tried unlocking it with my thumb, a thumb that was now bony pulp, emulcified and pooling under the quiet blades of the blender. The shiny ring still glimmered cruelly from the bottom of the clear plastic machine. It took three attempts of smooshing the “thumb” side of my appendage into the home button before shredded nerve endings alerted me to the scale of my predicament. I gritted my teeth and entered the four digit passcode using my non-dominant hand. 9932. Fifteen minutes later, I was losing consciousness in the back of an ambulance on my way to the ER.

Almost every bone in my hand was obliterated. The doctors said that very little of my hand still had skin, and most of the flesh was like uncooked hamburger meat. My fingers were all completely gone, and a good chunk of the palm was unsalvageable. I spent a while in the SICU of my city's shittily-funded hospital, pitifully bitching my way through a series of bone grafts and skin procedures. In the end, I was left with a bright pink, tight, zit-shaped knob that extended two inches past my wrist. One continuous line of ugly, black stitches went from left to right, decorating my new tip like a macabre sandwich bag zipper.

Eventually, I was back home. My dads stayed in for a week or so to help with recovery, but once I started showing progress in physical therapy, they decided that their job was done and fucked off back to Vermont. To be fair, I guess they were right. The night I came home from the hospital, my dads had a look on their faces that I won’t forget. They’d seen something traumatizing. When I asked about the noticeable odor that filled my kitchen and dining room, they had a sit down discussion with me.

When an uncomfortable situation arises, I’ve noticed that most people tend to speak less and imply more. Unless one happens to be a very straightforward person with few reservations towards disagreement, most people just dance around their point to avoid conflict, a trait that both of my dads share. They gently meandered conversationally. It reminded me of when I was ten, when they tried to indirectly explain the birds and the bees to me, the day they found porn on my laptop. But now, as an adult, I was better suited to gather what they were trying to tell me. The road trip from their place in Vermont to mine is nineteen hours normally, twelve if luck sides with the traveler, which unfortunately didn’t happen. My house sat empty for almost a full day from the moment I got into the ambulance, to the moment my dad with grey hair opened the front door. Half a cup or so of my viscera was still sitting on the counter inside the kitchen appliance, and logically, smelled how one would assume it would after being left out for so long. They cleaned up the mess to the best of their abilities, and the biomatter waste removal guys disposed of the whole blender, per my request. Despite their attempts to improve my home aroma using everything they could, from candles to Febreeze, the smell just continued to linger…

“So, it’s me? I’m the smell?” I asked.

“Oh sweetheart,” my dad with brown hair cooed, “no actually… well, I guess, yeah. I mean, it is what it is. What can you do?”

“Well for one, why didn’t you try opening all the windows and setting up fans to air it out?” I raised an eyebrow, gently holding my sore injury so as to not cause myself more discomfort.

“Wow, that’s a really good idea,” my dad with grey hair said sarcastically, crossing his arms and turning to look pointedly at my dad with brown hair, “yeah honey, remind me. Why didn’t we do that? Gosh, I think I recall someone telling me, ‘nah, we just need more candles.’”

“Jeez Lance, can we not right now?” My dad with brown hair groaned.

Satisfied, my grey headed father glanced at me as if to say, “I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen.”

We sat uncomfortably for a moment, allowing the information to settle over us like a cold blanket. Finally, I broke the silence, asking, “Never mind the smell, what did it look like?”

“What?”

“My fingers, what did they look like? All turned into… well, you know.”

“God Katie, we don’t really need to–”

“Dad, they were my fingers, they used to be attached to my hand. What did they look like when you got here?”

My brunette dad just stared at me like a fish out of water. After waiting a moment, my grey headed father spoke up.

“Well, we didn’t really get to look at it for very long, because those cleanup guys came and took care of it pretty soon after we got here,” he stated, “but it kind of looked like a maroon-ish chili.”

My dad with brown hair didn’t look at his partner, he just kept his eyes on me, but his expression transformed from gobsmacked to visibly unwell. My other dad continued.

“And um… I guess pulpy? You remember when we made tomato sauce when you were fifteen, but the tomatoes were still kind of whole? Not fully emulsified?”

“Yeah,” I humored, “chunky.”

At that, my brown haired father became physically sick. He stood up and rushed to my bathroom, making a disgusting retching sound.

“Ah, I reckon I’d better stop,” my grey old man mumbled.

“Oh, c’mon. Was there actually blood everywhere, or am I misremembering?” I pleaded, indulging in my morbid curiosity as I leaned forward in my seat.

My dad stroked his wispy beard, the sound of his husband emptying himself audible from a room over. He watched me like he was surveying me, carefully taking account of my condition and mulling over his words before he spoke, “Katie, I don’t really want to think about… look, I’m gonna be stuck in a car with your father for like nineteen hours in a few days, I don’t want him to be sick the whole way home. I love you girl, you’re a freak of nature with a good heart, but I think I done told you quite enough. Now, get some rest.”

He put his warm hand on my shoulder and stood up to meet my other dad in the bathroom, and the conversation was over. Then, seemingly in the blink of an eye, they were gone, making the trip home like they’d never been here in the first place. I was alone in my home again. Or so I thought.

I got better, physically. Mentally, I think there was some healing, but not much. I’m not sure if I’ll ever fully recover. Sometimes, I go to unlock my phone, and that, “tap to unlock with fingerprint,” message just taunts me from the bottom of my baby-blue screen, right above the home button. My eyes would linger on it for a few seconds, then I’d just tap the passcode in, and continue. I never deleted my old fingerprint from the phone, and I never swapped it to my remaining thumb. I would just manually enter that same memorized code. 9932.

I kept working at physical therapy. Eventually, the stitches got removed, and I learned to flex and curve the remains of my hand to act as a pseudo-mitten. I could pick up some cups if they had handles, I could balance tableware, and occasionally, when I would start to drift to sleep at night, I’d be torn awake to the sound of the blender’s skull splitting roar, like a chainsaw going off right next to my ear. A phantom shotgun blast of pain would rip through my knuckles and I would be transported right back in my kitchen, hand eviscerating as I reach for that stupid ring. On those nights, as soon as the sleep was ripped from my eyes and I’d shoot straight up, the sound would immediately disappear, like when drifting off is accompanied by that feeling of sudden falling. When wake finds the mind, a brief notion crosses like a vagabond crosses an empty street beneath the moon. “Am I sure I even really felt that?” But I knew I did. I always did.

I honestly think I could handle it, all of it, the trauma, the phantom pain, if not for what happened today when I got home from physical therapy. I forgot my phone on my kitchen table. Upon this discovery, a mile away from home, I decided not to turn around, and to just go on without it. It was only an hour, what could happen? I arrived home, unlocked my front door and made it inside, exhausted from the arm workouts. I was more than ready to binge a good show while eating a whole, fresh, steaming hot Tombstone pizza. But the moment I approached the table and saw it, my blood ran cold, every ounce of self assuredness tunnelling out of my body and abandoning my flesh like worms from a rotten apple core. The fleeting message displayed on the small, baby-blue, rectangular portal, juxtaposed against my petunia flower vase arrangement. The notification had so recently appeared, that it was barely fading by the time I read it, an oval of maroon grime stamped above the home button at the bottom of the screen.

“Biodata ID Confirmed: Device Unlocked.”

Someone had unlocked my phone using my dominant thumb, and it had been very, very recent.

This is gonna sound insane, I know. I don’t blame you for not believeing me, but it’s just… it’s been a night. I just really need to get this all off my chest.

I’m used to cleaning up urine & excrement. Occasionally vomit. It’s part of the job on Diesel side. The automated bells chime, & one of the numbered lights turn from yellow to red. Whoever's on shower duty takes the cleaning cart to the small restroom & wipes everything down with a sanitizing solution. Once the entire room has been thoroughly disinfected, it’s supplied with a fresh, blue shower towel, & the password is typed into the combination keypad next to the door. The lock mechanism slides into place, & the cart gets wheeled back down the hallway, right behind the register.

It’s a thankless loop. The truck drivers & low income families who use the showers in our gas station usually don’t show any appreciation, not that it’s expected or needed. Past a handful of older men who leave crumpled 5 or 10 dollar bills for my female coworkers, the most we get is usually just a fleeting, awkward glance, or a brief nod with, “‘priciate it,” muttered under their breath.

A giggling young couple exited shower 10 at 12:17AM. When I opened the door to the room, I smelled strawberry shampoo, undercut by something visceral. Metalic, like burnt copper wiring.

The last thing I expected to see was semen or blood. I know, if you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “oh my god, who starts a story like this? Where could this possibly be going?”

I hate it as much as you do, probably more so. See, unlike you, I can't just exit the post & keep scrolling the subreddit. The only thing I could do was follow my manager's instructions.

We had a brief conversation over the old landline in the office. I told him about the state of the bathroom, along with sending him a picture of a bloody handprint, slapped onto the shower wall tiling. In a disinterested tone, he said that he’d handle anything if the cops came asking. He told me not to worry, because I wouldn’t get a follow up from him unless it was serious.

“That’s fine, but like, do you want me to call someone to clean it?”

“Well shit, who do you think we’re supposed to call, Pat?” Hammy’s tone was undercut with a razor blade of condescension. I always had the impression he wasn’t a fan of mine.

“I don’t know dude, isn’t it like, a biohazard or something? Like, can’t you get a disease-”

He cut me off with a dramatic, exhausted sigh, “...hold on, hold on. Disease?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck’s sake, Pat, do you plan on rubbing it into any open wounds?”

“Oh gross Hammy, no, obviously not.”

“Okay, fantastic. You plan on cleaning it up with your tongue? Or scooping it with your bare hands?”

Internally, I groaned. 3 years of working at the Travel Stop, & so far, this was perfectly standard for Hammy. In hindsight, I don't think I expected anything else when I called.

“No, I don’t, sir.”

“Sweet. Double up on gloves, double up on mop water, steal some sanitizer cleaner from the emergency shelf, & toss the rags when you’re done wiping everything down! Think you can handle that?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure, I guess…” I grumble.

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Is that all Pat?”

“I think so.”

“Great… You can hang up now, Pat.”

Trying to hold my breath as much as I could, I attempted to wipe it all up with as little direct contact as possible, ie; mops & rags as a physical buffer. Unfortunately, I had to use my gloved hands to get what the tools couldn’t.

Obviously, I didn’t want to think about what happened to create such a mess. Who would? You definitely don’t, & would probably appreciate it if I didn't describe the explicit imagery, but I’m telling you, it was distractingly excessive, especially the smell.

Semen in a restroom is disgusting & severely careless for whoever has to clean up afterwards, but not unheard of. Blood, while also unhygienic to just leave behind, is a little more feasible. Think used feminine-care products. But this… this was distinctly gratuitous.

I wanted to just bleach my eyes, keep working like a robot, & forget about it just as quickly as I’d seen it, but the sheer quantity kept me from disassociating. Random sized puddles of snotty white scrum decorated the floor & toilet seat like glistening, bleeding marble. A thick, transparent glob was sprayed across the counter, & partially dripped into the sink. Through leftover, strawberry-scented suds & bubbles collected in the center of the shower, I could see that the normally shiny silver drain was streaked with an ugly red hue. To top it all off, slapped like a signature on the shower wall, was the single, crimson handprint. There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

As I tossed the filthy mop head & prepared to replace it, I considered that maybe I was reading into it too much. I mean, clearly, no one was injured. They had left the building in the same giggly, flirtatious mood as when I’d handed them their shower code. Still, I shuttered imagining how so much of either bodily fluid could have ended up there in such a short period of time. It could’ve all just been the product of a freaky, unprotected passion session, right? I mean, who hasn’t had period sex?

At 12:00, I gave them access to their shower. They went in, made the mess, left, then I discovered their leftovers. A phone call & 3 full mop buckets later, it was over. By 12:34, shower 10’s door was shut & locked, the whole room fully sanitized to a near ridiculous level. In less than 20 minutes, they had created so much blood (which again, I had to clean) that I genuinely considered the valid possibility of a small animal being slaughtered in there. But then, why the jizz? That’s the line of deductive reasoning I went down before deciding to just stop thinking about it.

I’d only seen the two of them go in with their shower bag, no small animals, no butcher equipment. I just took a deep breath & carried on with my shift, content to go with the period sex theory.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told my coworker on break as I finished the story.

“Holy fuck, that’s disgusting,” she grimaced, pushing her leftover food away to placate her ruined appetite, “I straight up don’t believe there was that much.”

“Well, I called Hammy about it, & whether you wanna believe it or not, I’d like to not clean up the showers after crackhead sex again,” I rasped, letting the lit end of the joint between my fingers fizzle out. The thick mucus in my throat felt like it was swelling, & I tried (more like failed) to cough quietly.

“You think they were crackheads?” she asked.

“Ah, I honestly have no idea. I shouldn’t speculate, I guess.”

The back of my head resting against the brick wall behind me, I let out a dramatic wheeze. Once I had caught my breath, I stole a blue Taki from her discarded tray & stood up. She quickly checked her watch before following my lead.

“So what, Hammy really said you had to clean all that up?”

I shrugged & pulled out my inhaler. I violently shook it for a second, put the business end in my mouth, & squeezed the top. A flood of cold dust hit the back of my throat, & as I inhaled, the constricting muscles & tendons in my neck loosened. Blissfully, I could breathe again.

“Like I said. Part of the job, I guess…”

“You know, you’re crazy for smoking when you’ve got asthma,” my coworker smirked, understandably changing the subject.

“Oh, I know. I just smoke when this bad boy’s outta juice,” I held up a custom vape that had a picture of Moist Critical as Jesus printed on it.

“Oh shit, is that Andrew Driver?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure is,” I giggled sarcastically. I couldn’t tell if she was being deadass or not.

“Wow. Loved that guy in Megalopolis,” she mumbled thoughtfully.

I walked into the back office, getting ready to leave. Once my radio was plugged back in & my backpack was acquired, I clocked out for the night, listening to the office computer news stream drawl away.

“-olice say that the perpetrators are on foot near the West Plains area, & to call Weston Brady, Howell county Sheriff, if you see any suspicious behavior. The only evidence we have is 2 empty blood bags, which are currently being tested by the forensics department, & tracks matching a size 10 men’s pair of crocs. Experts advise-”

“You leaving?” my coworker interrupted, suddenly standing right behind me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I leave at 2:30am.”

“But Hammy said you’re here til 3.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:50.

“Well, the schedule says I stay til 2:30. I stayed an extra 20 minutes with you for your break. I think I’m good to go.”

She threw up her hands in a defensive motion, sighing dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna git, git. Just take out the trash with the cum stuff in it if you haven’t already.”

I looked at the wastebin in the hallway. I scowled when I realized I hadn’t taken it out when I finished earlier.

“Shit… Okay, fine. But replace the bag for me, please. I don’t feel like comin’ back inside.”

“God you literally are the kind of person to use an Andrew Driver vape,” I heard her grumble from inside the office.

With the negotiation set, I grabbed the bag with a fresh pair of gloves on & heaved it out the door.

Once it was in the dumpster & my jacket was on, I began the trek back to my car. Our employee parking lot was right beside the semi overnight parking, which bordered the woods. As I walked past the idling monster trucks, I felt something was off. Like a pair of eyes were trained on the back of my neck.

Over our gas pumps’ glowing neon roof, an icy moon shone brightly in a pitch black sky, devoid of stars. A series of ghostly whips drifted across the infinite canvas. It looked like an old painting, depicting a eery, winter landscape.

The my warm breath in the November cold gave the illusion of fog faces before fading into nothing. Pareidolia. My hair was all at once standing on end, & I looked around. Seeing nothing, I turned to survey the treeline. Still, nothing. I was alone in the dead of night while tiny snowflakes fell & melted on my warm skin. I concluded that nothing was wrong. I was being paranoid. I just needed to get to my car, warm up, & go home.

“Everything’s fine, calm down,” I told myself.

Just as I put the end of the final 18-wheeler behind me, I heard the sound of something rapidly smacking against a metal surface, like wet hands quickly skittering up the side of the trailer. I spun around to see nothing. Just a normal big-rig. Perplexed & quite nervous, I stumbled backwards a few steps. I didn’t dare look away. I kept my eyes trained on the corner where that noise had come from. I was frozen, both by fear, & the cold.

“Hey! What the fuck is up, pal?!” an angry voice demanded from behind me.

Snapped from my stuper, I whipped around to see a short, hairy woman with an underbite & a dark, disheveled complexion. She was dressed in bright pink pajamas, with a comical nightcap to match. A pair of bunny slippers dangled from her left hand, & a pack of menthol Newports were grasped firmly in her right.

“Huh?” I gasped, confused. In hindsight, I’m sure I looked super suspicious.

“Well? You lookin’ for anything in particular?” She snarled. Light glinted off the worn metal of her steel toes. If I was gonna get my ass handed to me by a trucker who thought I was casing their joint, I did not want it to be this ol’girl.

“Oh shit, hold on ma’am, this isn’t what it looks like! I was just cutting through so I could-”

“Oh, I know what you want, you scoundrel! You mean to bust open some old lady’s trunk, snoopin’ out & about under the cover of night,” she heaved, lumbering forward, “You wanna have your way with me while I’m asleep & defenseless, don’t you?!”

I grimaced & held up my hands definsively, shaking my head. Before I could get another word in, the hag continued, working herself up more & more with each word.

“Oh, you degenerate! You want to take advantage of me, eh? Bully?! Well here I am, so go on, have it your way! But just know, I got a mean turkey waddle downstairs, & she gobbles somethin’ nasty!”

By now, I could physically feel her dank, hot breath on my face. It smelled like old coffee & charred enamel, like a dentist visit gone wrong. She bared her snaggle, uneven molars at me & began to unbutton her vivid, blush colored blouse.

I waved my hands frantically in protest to stop her, clamping my eyes shut.

“Oh gross! Holy shit lady, I just work here! I’m just trying to go home, my shift is over!”

I blindly fumbled my way to employee parking, dry-heaving at the image of the woman in my head.

“Fuck, get yourself a lot-lizard or something! I’m married, for Christ’s sake! Gawd!” I hollered over my shoulder.

I heard her grumble something about Missouri boys having no taste, but once I was sure some distance had been put between us, I opened my eyes & finished my dash to the car. I couldn’t shake the visage of the old broad’s nip-slip, & that only served to worsten my mood.

“God, what a freak,” I said to myself as I shut my car door behind me.

“What an unsettling, freaky night.”

I was so relieved for my shift to finally be over. I took my glasses off & rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to dwell on the night's debaucherous events.

I slipped my spectacles back on & glanced down at the last two messages sent from my phone. One had been the crime scene-esque image that had gone to Hammy, the other was a quick, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes,” text I’d sent to my wife, Charlie, only a few minutes earlier.

As if on que, a response flashed across my screen.

“Dearest Husband,

I regret to inform you that I will be working another double, so we’ll have to postpone our extracurricular activities until a later date. For now, make the leftovers in the fridge, & when I get home, those dishes better be done, or I’m gonna slam you against the bathroom mirror & choke you until your face turns purple.

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

I smirked. I love the way she texts like an old calvary veteran writing a letter to his wife from a battlefield. Believe it or not, some women can be funny. Shocker.

“Kinky,” I typed, “was that a threat or a promise?”

I hit send, & three dots popped up for a second, before her final message appeared.

“Dearest Husband,

Both, depending on the state of those dishes when I get home. Seriously, I don’t wanna have to work another double, just to come home to a full sink again 😢

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

The brief spark of a good mood flickered in my chest. I felt like I was always the one doing the dishes in recent memory. Irritably, I began scrolling for a YouTube video to put on during my drive home, when a new notification popped up.

“McDonalds, 20% off on orders $5 or more, deal applicable at participating locations”

I licked my lips. I had that taki earlier, but I’d skipped eating on my break. The perverted shower discovery had ruined my appetite for a few hours. But now that the atrocity was behind me, I could go for a McChicken or 2. I know, I know. Leftovers in the fridge, but the aroma of crispy fries & greasy burgers wafted into my nostrils, beckoning me like the curling of a thick, stubby index finger.

I looked in the backseat to see the weeks worth of fast food bags that had accumulated on the floor. The frown on my lips deepened. Charlie was keeping an eye on our shared bank account to make sure I wasn’t spending our checks on junk food. For the last month or so, every time I’d pull out cash for rent & edibles, I’d pull out a little extra, just enough that she wouldn’t notice. Discounts & reward points only go so far.

When I looked in my wallet, I saw a measly $2 & a couple miscellaneous cents. I couldn’t spend the pennies, but what about my credit card?

I used the app to check my balance. There was about $3. After a quick calculation, I deduced I could get myself 2 McChickens with the discount, & a large fry using accumulated points.

I pulled into the empty drive-thru on the side of the gas station. I got to the menu screen with my code ready.

“Hello! Will you be using the mobile app today?” The cheery voice crackled through the speaker.

“Yes please,” I responded.

“What’s your code?” The voice was now that of a hormonal teenage boy.

“Um, I think it's 1-9-L-5?”

“For Patricia?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I needed to get that updated to Patrick.

“Kay. If everything looks correct on the screen, you’re good to pull forward.”

“Thanks,” I said, starting towards the first window.

“Wait, actually hold on a second!”

I stopped, “Yeah? What’s up?” I asked.

“Uh, that’s weird, it looks like you tried to stack a deal on top of rewards points. You can only do one per order.”

“So what does that mean…?”

“I mean, I don’t think I can use your points for those fries. Really, it shouldn’t have even let you place your order like that…”

He was quiet for a second. It sounded like he & someone else were whispering on the other end.

“Uh, sorry I’m kinda new. I’ll get my manager, this is weird. Could you pull up to the first window for me?”

Ugh. I just wanted my food, so I could go home. 2 chicken sandwiches & a large fry was not worth all this. I decided on my way up that I would just overdraft my credit card to get the fries so I could leave quicker. I pulled up to the window, where the acne-riddled teenage boy stood next to a manager.

“Hey, are you the pickup order for the 2 McChickens & the large fry?” the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the empty drive-thru, “yep, that’s me.”

“So here’s he deal. Zach here,” she patted the clearly stoned teenager on his shoulder, “said you tried to stack rewards points & a deal in the same order. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, uh, it doesn’t matter, can I actually just pay part with cash, part with card?” I mumbledo.

“You don’t wanna use the 20% off deal?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, but are the points that I used on that large fry still gonna work?”

She shook her head, “no, but they’ll go back into your account in 7 to 10 business days.”

She held out her hand. Defeated, I just sighed, placing the cash & card into her palm. Just like that, transaction complete.

“That’s uh… that’s just the way our app works, we don’t, uh, control it…,” Zach droned, staring off into space.

“Yes, very good Zach,” the manager cooed, “we know buddy.”

Once the card was back in my wallet, I took a hit off my Jesus Moistcritical vape. As the yellow indica smoke filled my lungs, I felt my temper cool a few degrees.

“Just a stressful night, that’s all,” I told myself. As soon as I got home, I knew I would feel better. I just needed to eat & get home.

In a few short minutes, the woman was holding my bag out the window, & I grabbed it greedily.

“Hey, just so you know, you shouldn’t eat this much fast food,” she said, looking in my backseat as I rolled up my window.

“It's not good for you…”

What a bitch.

As I tore down the desolate road, I ripped into the pitiful chicken patty. While the sandwich curbed my hunger,I was still put-off. Buns tar & feathered by mayonayse & too much lettuce. The fries were perfect, though. I tossed the garbage into my backseat & took another rip off my vape, feeling the blissful high run down my nerves & tingle at the tips of my fingers. I was calm, but not unbothered. Something was wrong, the feeling of being watched had still not been shaken.

Given I was in public, I could logically explain my experience in the semi parking lot. But I knew there was no way that anyone should have been watching me as I cleared the winding hills of the secluded interstate. The snow particles zipped past my windshield, giving the illusion that I was going much faster than I actually was. I took another 2 or 3 hits off the vape & cracked my window. That was when the stench hit me. Going 65 miles an hour down the snowy road, it smelled like raw sewage & burning rust.

Just as soon as I registered the awful odor, red & blue lights suddenly appeared behind my car. Police lights. A new fear sparked in my chest, building to a roaring flame that caused my hands to tremble against my steering wheel.

Forming tears licked the edges of my eyes.

I just wanted to go home.

As I tried to find a shoulder of road to safely pull onto, I frantically shoved my vape into my pocket. If I got caught vaping THC while going 70 in a 65, I knew I wouldn’t be going home tonight.

“Just play it cool,” I said, bringing my vehicle to a full stop, & firmly placing both hands on the steering wheel. If I got a ticket, I got a ticket. All I had to do was be compliant, & this might all be over in just a few minutes.

Maybe it was how dark the night was. Maybe I was just distracted by the lights, but on god, I didn’t see or even hear the police man approach my car. It was like he just appeared in my driver’s-side window. His face was so close, it should have fogged the glass.

“Hullo, officer,” I mumbled, rolling down my window.

“License, registration, proof of insurance,” he droned, voice void of emotion. That put me even more on edge. I dug through my glove compartment, grabbing anything that looked like it could’ve been official paperwork.

“Beautiful night, huht?” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. He didn’t respond. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Sighing in relief, I turned the documents over to the cop.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. Everything about this interaction felt off. Alarm bells rang through my head, but I tried to temper them. Was this a trick or something? “That’s my… registration & proof of insurance?”

“Oh,” he said, grabbing the paperwork & stuffing it in his back pocket, “right. License?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” I fumbled in my wallet for a second before passing him my ID as well.

“May I ask why you’re pulling me over?” I asked, & as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. When he glared up at me, I thought that his dialated eyes would burn 2 holes right through me. Despite the cold, unphazed expression on his face, something in his eyes held a vigorous intensity. Like I was the biggest inconvienience he could possibly have to deal with. Like he wanted to be done already.

He was silent for just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he finally grumbled, “Routine traffic stop. Gotta run these through our system. Next time, be faster.”

As his shoes crunched in the snow as he made his way back to his car, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He claimed it was just a routine traffic stop, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.

The whole night so far had felt like a taut wire, pulling more & more, the tensity becoming palpable, building to a breaking point. Like a balloon getting ready to pop.

I gagged on the scent that enveloped me. We had to have pulled off next to a sewage drain or something. That horrible smell just would not go away. It was like it soaked into all the fibers of my car. It made me want to throw up.

Even though he couldn’t have left me waiting for more than 5 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I was scared to move, to take my hands off the steering wheel. Even looking in my mirrors felt sinful, like I was doing something horribly wrong. But as I took my surroundings into account, something clicked in my mind. I wasn’t crazy.

When I turned back to see through my rear window, I could make out the dark silhouette of the massive police cruizer, idling dormant as snowflakes drifted past the hood. Considering the lack of headlights, it really looked more like a huge beast, just sitting there. The details became more apparent the longer I looked.

Why couldn’t I see the silhouette of his side mirrors?

Why did the red & blue flashing lights seem to be coming from inside the windshield, rather than the top of the car?

I saw the outline of the large man step out of the vehicle, but I didn’t see a car door open. It’s hard to explain. You know those Jeeps that don’t have doors? It was like that, as if his state-issued police cruiser had no doors either. His dark visage just seemed to materialize from out of the larger body, like he’d been one with the car only seconds earlier.

I snapped back around, facing forward. I could feel my heart beating its way into my throat, the vessles in my neck flexing & constricting. I felt like I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

As I heard his foot steps slowly crunch closer & closer, I spared a glance at my driver’s-side mirror. What I saw, as the snow drifed into my windows, confused me, made my blood run cold. He didn’t have a reflection. I could see 2 bright red crocs moving seemingly of their own accord. They took step after step, as if being worn by some invisible spectre.

What had I been smoking from that vape cartridge?

I heard the fabric of his uniform brush against the side of my car, but it sounded like something rough & textured, sandpaper-esque, grinding along the metal. As his footsteps became louder, the smell intensified. Just as he was almost to my drivers side window, I looked in my rearview. That was when I saw the full picture. That was when the pieces slid into place.

His car didn’t have a reflection either. I realized that all I saw in the mirror were just 2 disembodied lights, 1 red, 1 blue, hovering in the air, about eye level with me. I swear to god, it almost looked like they were eminating from pair of eyeballs, just floating there amongst the drifting snow.

Tap. Tap.

I slowly turned to look at the cop, who was now, finally, back at my drivers-side door. I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. My nerves were screaming for me to run. What was going on?

“Yeah, we have a problem,” he said.

“P-problem?” I stuttered. I must’ve looked petrified, but he just kept staring at me, dead-faced.

“I tried to run your info through the system. I didn’t get anything back.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hm.”

We just stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.

“Also, not to accuse you of anything, but your behavior during this stop has been highly suspicious.”

He glanced in my backseat, licking his lips as he surveyed all the discarded fast food trash. I could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d worn earlier, in the drive through. He was desperately hungry.

“Highly s-suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he grumbled, turning to look back at me. His eyes drilled into mine, & I began to feel the last of my self-control slipping. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why didn’t you have a refliction?” I stammered. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, his face twisted into a new emotion, but I knew he was just acting.

“Excuse me?”

“When you walked up to my car, where was your reflection?” I asked, more assured this time.

“Are you on drugs, ma’am?” He asked, faking an expression of concern. I was picking out more things now, more wrong things. Little inconsistencies. His uniform was all out of place, I’d seen what the police in our area wore when they’d stop for late-night coffee at the gas-station.

His badge was on the wrong side, there was no radio or body-cam anywhere on him, his shirt was the wrong color, not to mention, short sleeves in less than 30⁰ weather? His facial hair was patchy. There was no way this guy was a cop, he just looked like one. Like if you told someone who’d never actually seen a cop to draw one in a picture.

“Where was your reflection?!” I asked again, my voice catching. I sounded hysterical, I knew it.

“Okay, ma’am, this is ridiculous, may I please enter your vehicle?” He said, rising back to his full height.

“What?”

“I need inside your vehicle, if you don’t let me in willingly, I will place you under arrest.”

“No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Well then step out of the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in.”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

“No!!”

His jaw tightened, I could tell he was angry, “Ma’am, you are directly interfering with a police investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?!” I demanded. He stood, watching me, his fully black eyes narrowing furiously.

“I need to make sure you’re safe to drive,” he growled.

“I thought you said that there’s an issue finding me in your system? Why do you need in my car?”

He gritted his jaw & leaned back down, placing his pimply, blistered hands on the edges of my windowsill. I noticed that even his fingertips couldn’t enter my car.

“There’s… I need to… just let me in your car, I’ll verify what I need to, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you go real soon.”

Under the odor of rotten decay, I smelled something entirely out of place. Strawberry-scented body wash. The juxtaposition nearly threw me over the edge.

I let out a sob, grabbing the gear-shift. Suddenly, I remember what I’d heard in the office. I decided to give him one last test. I dom’t know why.

“Fine, get me Weston Brady, then.”

His look of simmering rage momentarily mixed with confusion. This time, I could tell that his bewildered expression was legit.

“Who the hell is Weston Brady?” He asked, the smell of death, strawberries, & burnt copper whafting off his breath. With that, I threw the car into gear, spinning my tires out & flinging muddy snow all over the fake police man.

“Fucking bitch!” He roared, but I took off before he had time to react.

If I had been speeding earlier, I was flying now. I went from 30 miles an hour, to 50, to 70, to 90 in about 45 seconds. The motor peaked, almost blowing out, but I didn’t care. I gripped the steering wheel, glancing to my rearview for anything suspicious, tears streaming down my face. I could still smell the rot, the disease. Right when I thought I was safe, something flashed just within my periphery.

I only saw it for a split second. I still don’t believe it. I swear to god it looked like a child’s rendition of a massive bat, like a diseased abomination that vaguely held the visage of something discernable. It smashed into the side of my car. It was so dark that it nearly blended into the night, throwing the surrounding snowflakes into contrast against it’s jet-black hide.

When it struck the first time, I felt the vibration shudder through my speeding vehicle, but I held my course. The second time, however, it struck closer to my rear axle. The traction control light came on. I was hydroplaining.

When they warn you about black ice on the road, listen. Shit’s treatcherous.

As my car spun around & around, fully out of control, the beast smashed down onto my hood with predatory precision. The sudden collision sent my head careening into the driver’s-side window, & I felt my temple bash hard against the glass. Concousness begon to fade. The last thing I saw before I passed out, were my headlights illuminating 2 massive black eyes, set deep into the sockets of a diseased, pig-like head. I had the briefest notion that one looked like it was tinted red, & the other, tinted blue.

I woke up only 15 minutes later. My head throbbed, but luckily, I wasn’t bleeding. My hood had a massive dent in the middle of it, & when I tried to pull my car back into the lane, I heard the distinct sound of metal grinding on pavement. I sighed, trying to recall what exactly happened, just moments prior.

I stepped out of my car, phone flashlight in hand, careful to survey my surroundings before going far. I checked my tires, 1 of which was blown out.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance. I was stalled just outside Panoma, a small town 20 minutes away from my home, with a blown out tire. How did I end up halfway off the road? Something had…

Oh my god. That thing that had battered me off the road. It tried to kill me. I fully remembered now. Why had it stopped? I was passed out, completely defenseless. I got back into my car & began searching for towing services. None in the area were open, & the ones that were would take easily over 2 hours to reach me. Not to mention my financial situation. With mounting dread, I made the decision to try & replace the blowout with a spare.

I got out of my car & took another hit off my vape. Dont judge me, I needed something to calm my nerves. Shivering, lungs tightening, I got the spare tire out of my trunk. I used a few small blocks of wood to hold my wheels in place, & hastily pulled the ruined one off using a shitty jack & a 4 way. Within 20 minutes, the donut was secured. Lastly, I popped my hood to check for damage to my engine. To my relief, nothing was smoking. Everything looked normal. Overjoyed, sobbing, I got back into my car to finish the drive home, Something at the edge of the treeline caught my attention.

I looked to see something tall & dark, standing just at the edge of the clearing, no more than 30 feet away. Even though I couldn’t see its eyes, I knew it was watching me. I took one last look at the image of Moistcritical Jesus on my vape, little cricifix in his hand. I held it up, & the beast shuttered.

“I’m going the fuck home!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking follow me, I’m serious!”

I put it in my pocket, took a queeze off my inhaler, & closed the door behind me. Still reeling, I let out a sob & began to drive away. Despite the lack of a reflection in my mirrors, I could feel it standing there, just staring at me as I went further, & further.

The smell dissipated around the time I got to my apartment, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulders every 2 seconds. When I got inside, I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted. Right as I was about to drift off, I remembered.

The sink full of dirty dishes. Even half awake, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt when Charlie got home if they weren’t done. I couldn’t let her down, not after all that. So I took another puff from my inhaler & got to work. It took me forever to finish them, but eventually, the sink & dish drainer were clear.

“Nasty bruise, what happened?” Charlie asked, handing me a cup of Dunkin’s coffee as she stepped through the front door. She gingerly touched my forehead, & I flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No it’s fine babe, you…” she looked behind me, “did the dishes. Good job. Did you just finish those?”

I nodded & looked at the time. Just past 6:15am. The sun would be rising soon. I wasn’t usually still awake this early.

“Yeah, I uh, woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. What took you so long to get home?”

She smirked, “some idiot got into a wreck or something on the interstate we take to get home. Would’ve happened like an hour after you got out. I’m not surprised you missed it. Awful lucky though, huh?”

I stared absently at her.

“Black Ice & all that. Fuck’s sake Pat, you think you wanna go to sleep now? You look like you saw a goddman ghoul or something.”

I chuckled humorlessly, “yeah… or something.”

“Jesus Christ someone needs a nap, don’t ya?”

She led me into our bedroom & put a cool, damp washrag on my swolen temple.

“God Pat, what did you hit your head on? You think you have a concussion?” She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

I coughed.

“Nah, my car’s in way worse shape than I am.”

“Fuck, what happened to the car?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. I looked down at my Moistcritical Jesus Vape for a second & tried to find the words. I felt manic. I couldn’t believe that fast food & backseat trash had been the worst of my worries, only a few hours ago.

Finally, I flicked my eyes up, meeting her gaze. I smiled unsteadily.

“It’s a long story, but I swear to god it’s true,” I said.

“Oh… word?”

I sat up a little. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so sore.

“So like, I’m used to cleaning up piss & shit, right? Occasionally vomit. But last night was a really, really weird night…”

This is gonna sound insane, I know. I don’t blame you for not believeing me, but it’s just… it’s been a night. I just really need to get this all off my chest.

I’m used to cleaning up urine & excrement. Occasionally vomit. It’s part of the job on Diesel side. The automated bells chime, & one of the numbered lights turn from yellow to red. Whoever's on shower duty takes the cleaning cart to the small restroom & wipes everything down with a sanitizing solution. Once the entire room has been thoroughly disinfected, it’s supplied with a fresh, blue shower towel, & the password is typed into the combination keypad next to the door. The lock mechanism slides into place, & the cart gets wheeled back down the hallway, right behind the register.

It’s a thankless loop. The truck drivers & low income families who use the showers in our gas station usually don’t show any appreciation, not that it’s expected or needed. Past a handful of older men who leave crumpled 5 or 10 dollar bills for my female coworkers, the most we get is usually just a fleeting, awkward glance, or a brief nod with, “‘priciate it,” muttered under their breath.

A giggling young couple exited shower 10 at 12:17AM. When I opened the door to the room, I smelled strawberry shampoo, undercut by something visceral. Metalic, like burnt copper wiring.

The last thing I expected to see was semen or blood. I know, if you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “oh my god, who starts a story like this? Where could this possibly be going?”

I hate it as much as you do, probably more so. See, unlike you, I can't just exit the post & keep scrolling the subreddit. The only thing I could do was follow my manager's instructions.

We had a brief conversation over the old landline in the office. I told him about the state of the bathroom, along with sending him a picture of a bloody handprint, slapped onto the shower wall tiling. In a disinterested tone, he said that he’d handle anything if the cops came asking. He told me not to worry, because I wouldn’t get a follow up from him unless it was serious.

“That’s fine, but like, do you want me to call someone to clean it?”

“Well shit, who do you think we’re supposed to call, Pat?” Hammy’s tone was undercut with a razor blade of condescension. I always had the impression he wasn’t a fan of mine.

“I don’t know dude, isn’t it like, a biohazard or something? Like, can’t you get a disease-”

He cut me off with a dramatic, exhausted sigh, “...hold on, hold on. Disease?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck’s sake, Pat, do you plan on rubbing it into any open wounds?”

“Oh gross Hammy, no, obviously not.”

“Okay, fantastic. You plan on cleaning it up with your tongue? Or scooping it with your bare hands?”

Internally, I groaned. 3 years of working at the Travel Stop, & so far, this was perfectly standard for Hammy. In hindsight, I don't think I expected anything else when I called.

“No, I don’t, sir.”

“Sweet. Double up on gloves, double up on mop water, steal some sanitizer cleaner from the emergency shelf, & toss the rags when you’re done wiping everything down! Think you can handle that?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure, I guess…” I grumble.

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Is that all Pat?”

“I think so.”

“Great… You can hang up now, Pat.”

Trying to hold my breath as much as I could, I attempted to wipe it all up with as little direct contact as possible, ie; mops & rags as a physical buffer. Unfortunately, I had to use my gloved hands to get what the tools couldn’t.

Obviously, I didn’t want to think about what happened to create such a mess. Who would? You definitely don’t, & would probably appreciate it if I didn't describe the explicit imagery, but I’m telling you, it was distractingly excessive, especially the smell.

Semen in a restroom is disgusting & severely careless for whoever has to clean up afterwards, but not unheard of. Blood, while also unhygienic to just leave behind, is a little more feasible. Think used feminine-care products. But this… this was distinctly gratuitous.

I wanted to just bleach my eyes, keep working like a robot, & forget about it just as quickly as I’d seen it, but the sheer quantity kept me from disassociating. Random sized puddles of snotty white scrum decorated the floor & toilet seat like glistening, bleeding marble. A thick, transparent glob was sprayed across the counter, & partially dripped into the sink. Through leftover, strawberry-scented suds & bubbles collected in the center of the shower, I could see that the normally shiny silver drain was streaked with an ugly red hue. To top it all off, slapped like a signature on the shower wall, was the single, crimson handprint. There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

As I tossed the filthy mop head & prepared to replace it, I considered that maybe I was reading into it too much. I mean, clearly, no one was injured. They had left the building in the same giggly, flirtatious mood as when I’d handed them their shower code. Still, I shuttered imagining how so much of either bodily fluid could have ended up there in such a short period of time. It could’ve all just been the product of a freaky, unprotected passion session, right? I mean, who hasn’t had period sex?

At 12:00, I gave them access to their shower. They went in, made the mess, left, then I discovered their leftovers. A phone call & 3 full mop buckets later, it was over. By 12:34, shower 10’s door was shut & locked, the whole room fully sanitized to a near ridiculous level. In less than 20 minutes, they had created so much blood (which again, I had to clean) that I genuinely considered the valid possibility of a small animal being slaughtered in there. But then, why the jizz? That’s the line of deductive reasoning I went down before deciding to just stop thinking about it.

I’d only seen the two of them go in with their shower bag, no small animals, no butcher equipment. I just took a deep breath & carried on with my shift, content to go with the period sex theory.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told my coworker on break as I finished the story.

“Holy fuck, that’s disgusting,” she grimaced, pushing her leftover food away to placate her ruined appetite, “I straight up don’t believe there was that much.”

“Well, I called Hammy about it, & whether you wanna believe it or not, I’d like to not clean up the showers after crackhead sex again,” I rasped, letting the lit end of the joint between my fingers fizzle out. The thick mucus in my throat felt like it was swelling, & I tried (more like failed) to cough quietly.

“You think they were crackheads?” she asked.

“Ah, I honestly have no idea. I shouldn’t speculate, I guess.”

The back of my head resting against the brick wall behind me, I let out a dramatic wheeze. Once I had caught my breath, I stole a blue Taki from her discarded tray & stood up. She quickly checked her watch before following my lead.

“So what, Hammy really said you had to clean all that up?”

I shrugged & pulled out my inhaler. I violently shook it for a second, put the business end in my mouth, & squeezed the top. A flood of cold dust hit the back of my throat, & as I inhaled, the constricting muscles & tendons in my neck loosened. Blissfully, I could breathe again.

“Like I said. Part of the job, I guess…”

“You know, you’re crazy for smoking when you’ve got asthma,” my coworker smirked, understandably changing the subject.

“Oh, I know. I just smoke when this bad boy’s outta juice,” I held up a custom vape that had a picture of Moist Critical as Jesus printed on it.

“Oh shit, is that Andrew Driver?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure is,” I giggled sarcastically. I couldn’t tell if she was being deadass or not.

“Wow. Loved that guy in Megalopolis,” she mumbled thoughtfully.

I walked into the back office, getting ready to leave. Once my radio was plugged back in & my backpack was acquired, I clocked out for the night, listening to the office computer news stream drawl away.

“-olice say that the perpetrators are on foot near the West Plains area, & to call Weston Brady, Howell county Sheriff, if you see any suspicious behavior. The only evidence we have is 2 empty blood bags, which are currently being tested by the forensics department, & tracks matching a size 10 men’s pair of crocs. Experts advise-”

“You leaving?” my coworker interrupted, suddenly standing right behind me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I leave at 2:30am.”

“But Hammy said you’re here til 3.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:50.

“Well, the schedule says I stay til 2:30. I stayed an extra 20 minutes with you for your break. I think I’m good to go.”

She threw up her hands in a defensive motion, sighing dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna git, git. Just take out the trash with the cum stuff in it if you haven’t already.”

I looked at the wastebin in the hallway. I scowled when I realized I hadn’t taken it out when I finished earlier.

“Shit… Okay, fine. But replace the bag for me, please. I don’t feel like comin’ back inside.”

“God you literally are the kind of person to use an Andrew Driver vape,” I heard her grumble from inside the office.

With the negotiation set, I grabbed the bag with a fresh pair of gloves on & heaved it out the door.

Once it was in the dumpster & my jacket was on, I began the trek back to my car. Our employee parking lot was right beside the semi overnight parking, which bordered the woods. As I walked past the idling monster trucks, I felt something was off. Like a pair of eyes were trained on the back of my neck.

Over our gas pumps’ glowing neon roof, an icy moon shone brightly in a pitch black sky, devoid of stars. A series of ghostly whips drifted across the infinite canvas. It looked like an old painting, depicting a eery, winter landscape.

The my warm breath in the November cold gave the illusion of fog faces before fading into nothing. Pareidolia. My hair was all at once standing on end, & I looked around. Seeing nothing, I turned to survey the treeline. Still, nothing. I was alone in the dead of night while tiny snowflakes fell & melted on my warm skin. I concluded that nothing was wrong. I was being paranoid. I just needed to get to my car, warm up, & go home.

“Everything’s fine, calm down,” I told myself.

Just as I put the end of the final 18-wheeler behind me, I heard the sound of something rapidly smacking against a metal surface, like wet hands quickly skittering up the side of the trailer. I spun around to see nothing. Just a normal big-rig. Perplexed & quite nervous, I stumbled backwards a few steps. I didn’t dare look away. I kept my eyes trained on the corner where that noise had come from. I was frozen, both by fear, & the cold.

“Hey! What the fuck is up, pal?!” an angry voice demanded from behind me.

Snapped from my stuper, I whipped around to see a short, hairy woman with an underbite & a dark, disheveled complexion. She was dressed in bright pink pajamas, with a comical nightcap to match. A pair of bunny slippers dangled from her left hand, & a pack of menthol Newports were grasped firmly in her right.

“Huh?” I gasped, confused. In hindsight, I’m sure I looked super suspicious.

“Well? You lookin’ for anything in particular?” She snarled. Light glinted off the worn metal of her steel toes. If I was gonna get my ass handed to me by a trucker who thought I was casing their joint, I did not want it to be this ol’girl.

“Oh shit, hold on ma’am, this isn’t what it looks like! I was just cutting through so I could-”

“Oh, I know what you want, you scoundrel! You mean to bust open some old lady’s trunk, snoopin’ out & about under the cover of night,” she heaved, lumbering forward, “You wanna have your way with me while I’m asleep & defenseless, don’t you?!”

I grimaced & held up my hands definsively, shaking my head. Before I could get another word in, the hag continued, working herself up more & more with each word.

“Oh, you degenerate! You want to take advantage of me, eh? Bully?! Well here I am, so go on, have it your way! But just know, I got a mean turkey waddle downstairs, & she gobbles somethin’ nasty!”

By now, I could physically feel her dank, hot breath on my face. It smelled like old coffee & charred enamel, like a dentist visit gone wrong. She bared her snaggle, uneven molars at me & began to unbutton her vivid, blush colored blouse.

I waved my hands frantically in protest to stop her, clamping my eyes shut.

“Oh gross! Holy shit lady, I just work here! I’m just trying to go home, my shift is over!”

I blindly fumbled my way to employee parking, dry-heaving at the image of the woman in my head.

“Fuck, get yourself a lot-lizard or something! I’m married, for Christ’s sake! Gawd!” I hollered over my shoulder.

I heard her grumble something about Missouri boys having no taste, but once I was sure some distance had been put between us, I opened my eyes & finished my dash to the car. I couldn’t shake the visage of the old broad’s nip-slip, & that only served to worsten my mood.

“God, what a freak,” I said to myself as I shut my car door behind me.

“What an unsettling, freaky night.”

I was so relieved for my shift to finally be over. I took my glasses off & rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to dwell on the night's debaucherous events.

I slipped my spectacles back on & glanced down at the last two messages sent from my phone. One had been the crime scene-esque image that had gone to Hammy, the other was a quick, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes,” text I’d sent to my wife, Charlie, only a few minutes earlier.

As if on que, a response flashed across my screen.

“Dearest Husband,

I regret to inform you that I will be working another double, so we’ll have to postpone our extracurricular activities until a later date. For now, make the leftovers in the fridge, & when I get home, those dishes better be done, or I’m gonna slam you against the bathroom mirror & choke you until your face turns purple.

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

I smirked. I love the way she texts like an old calvary veteran writing a letter to his wife from a battlefield. Believe it or not, some women can be funny. Shocker.

“Kinky,” I typed, “was that a threat or a promise?”

I hit send, & three dots popped up for a second, before her final message appeared.

“Dearest Husband,

Both, depending on the state of those dishes when I get home. Seriously, I don’t wanna have to work another double, just to come home to a full sink again 😢

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

The brief spark of a good mood flickered in my chest. I felt like I was always the one doing the dishes in recent memory. Irritably, I began scrolling for a YouTube video to put on during my drive home, when a new notification popped up.

“McDonalds, 20% off on orders $5 or more, deal applicable at participating locations”

I licked my lips. I had that taki earlier, but I’d skipped eating on my break. The perverted shower discovery had ruined my appetite for a few hours. But now that the atrocity was behind me, I could go for a McChicken or 2. I know, I know. Leftovers in the fridge, but the aroma of crispy fries & greasy burgers wafted into my nostrils, beckoning me like the curling of a thick, stubby index finger.

I looked in the backseat to see the weeks worth of fast food bags that had accumulated on the floor. The frown on my lips deepened. Charlie was keeping an eye on our shared bank account to make sure I wasn’t spending our checks on junk food. For the last month or so, every time I’d pull out cash for rent & edibles, I’d pull out a little extra, just enough that she wouldn’t notice. Discounts & reward points only go so far.

When I looked in my wallet, I saw a measly $2 & a couple miscellaneous cents. I couldn’t spend the pennies, but what about my credit card?

I used the app to check my balance. There was about $3. After a quick calculation, I deduced I could get myself 2 McChickens with the discount, & a large fry using accumulated points.

I pulled into the empty drive-thru on the side of the gas station. I got to the menu screen with my code ready.

“Hello! Will you be using the mobile app today?” The cheery voice crackled through the speaker.

“Yes please,” I responded.

“What’s your code?” The voice was now that of a hormonal teenage boy.

“Um, I think it's 1-9-L-5?”

“For Patricia?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I needed to get that updated to Patrick.

“Kay. If everything looks correct on the screen, you’re good to pull forward.”

“Thanks,” I said, starting towards the first window.

“Wait, actually hold on a second!”

I stopped, “Yeah? What’s up?” I asked.

“Uh, that’s weird, it looks like you tried to stack a deal on top of rewards points. You can only do one per order.”

“So what does that mean…?”

“I mean, I don’t think I can use your points for those fries. Really, it shouldn’t have even let you place your order like that…”

He was quiet for a second. It sounded like he & someone else were whispering on the other end.

“Uh, sorry I’m kinda new. I’ll get my manager, this is weird. Could you pull up to the first window for me?”

Ugh. I just wanted my food, so I could go home. 2 chicken sandwiches & a large fry was not worth all this. I decided on my way up that I would just overdraft my credit card to get the fries so I could leave quicker. I pulled up to the window, where the acne-riddled teenage boy stood next to a manager.

“Hey, are you the pickup order for the 2 McChickens & the large fry?” the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the empty drive-thru, “yep, that’s me.”

“So here’s he deal. Zach here,” she patted the clearly stoned teenager on his shoulder, “said you tried to stack rewards points & a deal in the same order. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, uh, it doesn’t matter, can I actually just pay part with cash, part with card?” I mumbledo.

“You don’t wanna use the 20% off deal?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, but are the points that I used on that large fry still gonna work?”

She shook her head, “no, but they’ll go back into your account in 7 to 10 business days.”

She held out her hand. Defeated, I just sighed, placing the cash & card into her palm. Just like that, transaction complete.

“That’s uh… that’s just the way our app works, we don’t, uh, control it…,” Zach droned, staring off into space.

“Yes, very good Zach,” the manager cooed, “we know buddy.”

Once the card was back in my wallet, I took a hit off my Jesus Moistcritical vape. As the yellow indica smoke filled my lungs, I felt my temper cool a few degrees.

“Just a stressful night, that’s all,” I told myself. As soon as I got home, I knew I would feel better. I just needed to eat & get home.

In a few short minutes, the woman was holding my bag out the window, & I grabbed it greedily.

“Hey, just so you know, you shouldn’t eat this much fast food,” she said, looking in my backseat as I rolled up my window.

“It's not good for you…”

What a bitch.

As I tore down the desolate road, I ripped into the pitiful chicken patty. While the sandwich curbed my hunger,I was still put-off. Buns tar & feathered by mayonayse & too much lettuce. The fries were perfect, though. I tossed the garbage into my backseat & took another rip off my vape, feeling the blissful high run down my nerves & tingle at the tips of my fingers. I was calm, but not unbothered. Something was wrong, the feeling of being watched had still not been shaken.

Given I was in public, I could logically explain my experience in the semi parking lot. But I knew there was no way that anyone should have been watching me as I cleared the winding hills of the secluded interstate. The snow particles zipped past my windshield, giving the illusion that I was going much faster than I actually was. I took another 2 or 3 hits off the vape & cracked my window. That was when the stench hit me. Going 65 miles an hour down the snowy road, it smelled like raw sewage & burning rust.

Just as soon as I registered the awful odor, red & blue lights suddenly appeared behind my car. Police lights. A new fear sparked in my chest, building to a roaring flame that caused my hands to tremble against my steering wheel.

Forming tears licked the edges of my eyes.

I just wanted to go home.

As I tried to find a shoulder of road to safely pull onto, I frantically shoved my vape into my pocket. If I got caught vaping THC while going 70 in a 65, I knew I wouldn’t be going home tonight.

“Just play it cool,” I said, bringing my vehicle to a full stop, & firmly placing both hands on the steering wheel. If I got a ticket, I got a ticket. All I had to do was be compliant, & this might all be over in just a few minutes.

Maybe it was how dark the night was. Maybe I was just distracted by the lights, but on god, I didn’t see or even hear the police man approach my car. It was like he just appeared in my driver’s-side window. His face was so close, it should have fogged the glass.

“Hullo, officer,” I mumbled, rolling down my window.

“License, registration, proof of insurance,” he droned, voice void of emotion. That put me even more on edge. I dug through my glove compartment, grabbing anything that looked like it could’ve been official paperwork.

“Beautiful night, huht?” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. He didn’t respond. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Sighing in relief, I turned the documents over to the cop.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. Everything about this interaction felt off. Alarm bells rang through my head, but I tried to temper them. Was this a trick or something? “That’s my… registration & proof of insurance?”

“Oh,” he said, grabbing the paperwork & stuffing it in his back pocket, “right. License?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” I fumbled in my wallet for a second before passing him my ID as well.

“May I ask why you’re pulling me over?” I asked, & as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. When he glared up at me, I thought that his dialated eyes would burn 2 holes right through me. Despite the cold, unphazed expression on his face, something in his eyes held a vigorous intensity. Like I was the biggest inconvienience he could possibly have to deal with. Like he wanted to be done already.

He was silent for just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he finally grumbled, “Routine traffic stop. Gotta run these through our system. Next time, be faster.”

As his shoes crunched in the snow as he made his way back to his car, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He claimed it was just a routine traffic stop, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.

The whole night so far had felt like a taut wire, pulling more & more, the tensity becoming palpable, building to a breaking point. Like a balloon getting ready to pop.

I gagged on the scent that enveloped me. We had to have pulled off next to a sewage drain or something. That horrible smell just would not go away. It was like it soaked into all the fibers of my car. It made me want to throw up.

Even though he couldn’t have left me waiting for more than 5 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I was scared to move, to take my hands off the steering wheel. Even looking in my mirrors felt sinful, like I was doing something horribly wrong. But as I took my surroundings into account, something clicked in my mind. I wasn’t crazy.

When I turned back to see through my rear window, I could make out the dark silhouette of the massive police cruizer, idling dormant as snowflakes drifted past the hood. Considering the lack of headlights, it really looked more like a huge beast, just sitting there. The details became more apparent the longer I looked.

Why couldn’t I see the silhouette of his side mirrors?

Why did the red & blue flashing lights seem to be coming from inside the windshield, rather than the top of the car?

I saw the outline of the large man step out of the vehicle, but I didn’t see a car door open. It’s hard to explain. You know those Jeeps that don’t have doors? It was like that, as if his state-issued police cruiser had no doors either. His dark visage just seemed to materialize from out of the larger body, like he’d been one with the car only seconds earlier.

I snapped back around, facing forward. I could feel my heart beating its way into my throat, the vessles in my neck flexing & constricting. I felt like I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

As I heard his foot steps slowly crunch closer & closer, I spared a glance at my driver’s-side mirror. What I saw, as the snow drifed into my windows, confused me, made my blood run cold. He didn’t have a reflection. I could see 2 bright red crocs moving seemingly of their own accord. They took step after step, as if being worn by some invisible spectre.

What had I been smoking from that vape cartridge?

I heard the fabric of his uniform brush against the side of my car, but it sounded like something rough & textured, sandpaper-esque, grinding along the metal. As his footsteps became louder, the smell intensified. Just as he was almost to my drivers side window, I looked in my rearview. That was when I saw the full picture. That was when the pieces slid into place.

His car didn’t have a reflection either. I realized that all I saw in the mirror were just 2 disembodied lights, 1 red, 1 blue, hovering in the air, about eye level with me. I swear to god, it almost looked like they were eminating from pair of eyeballs, just floating there amongst the drifting snow.

Tap. Tap.

I slowly turned to look at the cop, who was now, finally, back at my drivers-side door. I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. My nerves were screaming for me to run. What was going on?

“Yeah, we have a problem,” he said.

“P-problem?” I stuttered. I must’ve looked petrified, but he just kept staring at me, dead-faced.

“I tried to run your info through the system. I didn’t get anything back.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hm.”

We just stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.

“Also, not to accuse you of anything, but your behavior during this stop has been highly suspicious.”

He glanced in my backseat, licking his lips as he surveyed all the discarded fast food trash. I could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d worn earlier, in the drive through. He was desperately hungry.

“Highly s-suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he grumbled, turning to look back at me. His eyes drilled into mine, & I began to feel the last of my self-control slipping. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why didn’t you have a refliction?” I stammered. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, his face twisted into a new emotion, but I knew he was just acting.

“Excuse me?”

“When you walked up to my car, where was your reflection?” I asked, more assured this time.

“Are you on drugs, ma’am?” He asked, faking an expression of concern. I was picking out more things now, more wrong things. Little inconsistencies. His uniform was all out of place, I’d seen what the police in our area wore when they’d stop for late-night coffee at the gas-station.

His badge was on the wrong side, there was no radio or body-cam anywhere on him, his shirt was the wrong color, not to mention, short sleeves in less than 30⁰ weather? His facial hair was patchy. There was no way this guy was a cop, he just looked like one. Like if you told someone who’d never actually seen a cop to draw one in a picture.

“Where was your reflection?!” I asked again, my voice catching. I sounded hysterical, I knew it.

“Okay, ma’am, this is ridiculous, may I please enter your vehicle?” He said, rising back to his full height.

“What?”

“I need inside your vehicle, if you don’t let me in willingly, I will place you under arrest.”

“No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Well then step out of the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in.”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

“No!!”

His jaw tightened, I could tell he was angry, “Ma’am, you are directly interfering with a police investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?!” I demanded. He stood, watching me, his fully black eyes narrowing furiously.

“I need to make sure you’re safe to drive,” he growled.

“I thought you said that there’s an issue finding me in your system? Why do you need in my car?”

He gritted his jaw & leaned back down, placing his pimply, blistered hands on the edges of my windowsill. I noticed that even his fingertips couldn’t enter my car.

“There’s… I need to… just let me in your car, I’ll verify what I need to, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you go real soon.”

Under the odor of rotten decay, I smelled something entirely out of place. Strawberry-scented body wash. The juxtaposition nearly threw me over the edge.

I let out a sob, grabbing the gear-shift. Suddenly, I remember what I’d heard in the office. I decided to give him one last test. I dom’t know why.

“Fine, get me Weston Brady, then.”

His look of simmering rage momentarily mixed with confusion. This time, I could tell that his bewildered expression was legit.

“Who the hell is Weston Brady?” He asked, the smell of death, strawberries, & burnt copper whafting off his breath. With that, I threw the car into gear, spinning my tires out & flinging muddy snow all over the fake police man.

“Fucking bitch!” He roared, but I took off before he had time to react.

If I had been speeding earlier, I was flying now. I went from 30 miles an hour, to 50, to 70, to 90 in about 45 seconds. The motor peaked, almost blowing out, but I didn’t care. I gripped the steering wheel, glancing to my rearview for anything suspicious, tears streaming down my face. I could still smell the rot, the disease. Right when I thought I was safe, something flashed just within my periphery.

I only saw it for a split second. I still don’t believe it. I swear to god it looked like a child’s rendition of a massive bat, like a diseased abomination that vaguely held the visage of something discernable. It smashed into the side of my car. It was so dark that it nearly blended into the night, throwing the surrounding snowflakes into contrast against it’s jet-black hide.

When it struck the first time, I felt the vibration shudder through my speeding vehicle, but I held my course. The second time, however, it struck closer to my rear axle. The traction control light came on. I was hydroplaining.

When they warn you about black ice on the road, listen. Shit’s treatcherous.

As my car spun around & around, fully out of control, the beast smashed down onto my hood with predatory precision. The sudden collision sent my head careening into the driver’s-side window, & I felt my temple bash hard against the glass. Concousness begon to fade. The last thing I saw before I passed out, were my headlights illuminating 2 massive black eyes, set deep into the sockets of a diseased, pig-like head. I had the briefest notion that one looked like it was tinted red, & the other, tinted blue.

I woke up only 15 minutes later. My head throbbed, but luckily, I wasn’t bleeding. My hood had a massive dent in the middle of it, & when I tried to pull my car back into the lane, I heard the distinct sound of metal grinding on pavement. I sighed, trying to recall what exactly happened, just moments prior.

I stepped out of my car, phone flashlight in hand, careful to survey my surroundings before going far. I checked my tires, 1 of which was blown out.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance. I was stalled just outside Panoma, a small town 20 minutes away from my home, with a blown out tire. How did I end up halfway off the road? Something had…

Oh my god. That thing that had battered me off the road. It tried to kill me. I fully remembered now. Why had it stopped? I was passed out, completely defenseless. I got back into my car & began searching for towing services. None in the area were open, & the ones that were would take easily over 2 hours to reach me. Not to mention my financial situation. With mounting dread, I made the decision to try & replace the blowout with a spare.

I got out of my car & took another hit off my vape. Dont judge me, I needed something to calm my nerves. Shivering, lungs tightening, I got the spare tire out of my trunk. I used a few small blocks of wood to hold my wheels in place, & hastily pulled the ruined one off using a shitty jack & a 4 way. Within 20 minutes, the donut was secured. Lastly, I popped my hood to check for damage to my engine. To my relief, nothing was smoking. Everything looked normal. Overjoyed, sobbing, I got back into my car to finish the drive home, Something at the edge of the treeline caught my attention.

I looked to see something tall & dark, standing just at the edge of the clearing, no more than 30 feet away. Even though I couldn’t see its eyes, I knew it was watching me. I took one last look at the image of Moistcritical Jesus on my vape, little cricifix in his hand. I held it up, & the beast shuttered.

“I’m going the fuck home!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking follow me, I’m serious!”

I put it in my pocket, took a queeze off my inhaler, & closed the door behind me. Still reeling, I let out a sob & began to drive away. Despite the lack of a reflection in my mirrors, I could feel it standing there, just staring at me as I went further, & further.

The smell dissipated around the time I got to my apartment, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulders every 2 seconds. When I got inside, I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted. Right as I was about to drift off, I remembered.

The sink full of dirty dishes. Even half awake, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt when Charlie got home if they weren’t done. I couldn’t let her down, not after all that. So I took another puff from my inhaler & got to work. It took me forever to finish them, but eventually, the sink & dish drainer were clear.

“Nasty bruise, what happened?” Charlie asked, handing me a cup of Dunkin’s coffee as she stepped through the front door. She gingerly touched my forehead, & I flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No it’s fine babe, you…” she looked behind me, “did the dishes. Good job. Did you just finish those?”

I nodded & looked at the time. Just past 6:15am. The sun would be rising soon. I wasn’t usually still awake this early.

“Yeah, I uh, woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. What took you so long to get home?”

She smirked, “some idiot got into a wreck or something on the interstate we take to get home. Would’ve happened like an hour after you got out. I’m not surprised you missed it. Awful lucky though, huh?”

I stared absently at her.

“Black Ice & all that. Fuck’s sake Pat, you think you wanna go to sleep now? You look like you saw a goddman ghoul or something.”

I chuckled humorlessly, “yeah… or something.”

“Jesus Christ someone needs a nap, don’t ya?”

She led me into our bedroom & put a cool, damp washrag on my swolen temple.

“God Pat, what did you hit your head on? You think you have a concussion?” She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

I coughed.

“Nah, my car’s in way worse shape than I am.”

“Fuck, what happened to the car?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. I looked down at my Moistcritical Jesus Vape for a second & tried to find the words. I felt manic. I couldn’t believe that fast food & backseat trash had been the worst of my worries, only a few hours ago.

Finally, I flicked my eyes up, meeting her gaze. I smiled unsteadily.

“It’s a long story, but I swear to god it’s true,” I said.

“Oh… word?”

I sat up a little. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so sore.

“So like, I’m used to cleaning up piss & shit, right? Occasionally vomit. But last night was a really, really weird night…”

This is gonna sound insane, I know. I don’t blame you for not believeing me, but it’s just… it’s been a night. I just really need to get this all off my chest.

I’m used to cleaning up urine & excrement. Occasionally vomit. It’s part of the job on Diesel side. The automated bells chime, & one of the numbered lights turn from yellow to red. Whoever's on shower duty takes the cleaning cart to the small restroom & wipes everything down with a sanitizing solution. Once the entire room has been thoroughly disinfected, it’s supplied with a fresh, blue shower towel, & the password is typed into the combination keypad next to the door. The lock mechanism slides into place, & the cart gets wheeled back down the hallway, right behind the register.

It’s a thankless loop. The truck drivers & low income families who use the showers in our gas station usually don’t show any appreciation, not that it’s expected or needed. Past a handful of older men who leave crumpled 5 or 10 dollar bills for my female coworkers, the most we get is usually just a fleeting, awkward glance, or a brief nod with, “‘priciate it,” muttered under their breath.

A giggling young couple exited shower 10 at 12:17AM. When I opened the door to the room, I smelled strawberry shampoo, undercut by something visceral. Metalic, like burnt copper wiring.

The last thing I expected to see was semen or blood. I know, if you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “oh my god, who starts a story like this? Where could this possibly be going?”

I hate it as much as you do, probably more so. See, unlike you, I can't just exit the post & keep scrolling the subreddit. The only thing I could do was follow my manager's instructions.

We had a brief conversation over the old landline in the office. I told him about the state of the bathroom, along with sending him a picture of a bloody handprint, slapped onto the shower wall tiling. In a disinterested tone, he said that he’d handle anything if the cops came asking. He told me not to worry, because I wouldn’t get a follow up from him unless it was serious.

“That’s fine, but like, do you want me to call someone to clean it?”

“Well shit, who do you think we’re supposed to call, Pat?” Hammy’s tone was undercut with a razor blade of condescension. I always had the impression he wasn’t a fan of mine.

“I don’t know dude, isn’t it like, a biohazard or something? Like, can’t you get a disease-”

He cut me off with a dramatic, exhausted sigh, “...hold on, hold on. Disease?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck’s sake, Pat, do you plan on rubbing it into any open wounds?”

“Oh gross Hammy, no, obviously not.”

“Okay, fantastic. You plan on cleaning it up with your tongue? Or scooping it with your bare hands?”

Internally, I groaned. 3 years of working at the Travel Stop, & so far, this was perfectly standard for Hammy. In hindsight, I don't think I expected anything else when I called.

“No, I don’t, sir.”

“Sweet. Double up on gloves, double up on mop water, steal some sanitizer cleaner from the emergency shelf, & toss the rags when you’re done wiping everything down! Think you can handle that?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure, I guess…” I grumble.

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Is that all Pat?”

“I think so.”

“Great… You can hang up now, Pat.”

Trying to hold my breath as much as I could, I attempted to wipe it all up with as little direct contact as possible, ie; mops & rags as a physical buffer. Unfortunately, I had to use my gloved hands to get what the tools couldn’t.

Obviously, I didn’t want to think about what happened to create such a mess. Who would? You definitely don’t, & would probably appreciate it if I didn't describe the explicit imagery, but I’m telling you, it was distractingly excessive, especially the smell.

Semen in a restroom is disgusting & severely careless for whoever has to clean up afterwards, but not unheard of. Blood, while also unhygienic to just leave behind, is a little more feasible. Think used feminine-care products. But this… this was distinctly gratuitous.

I wanted to just bleach my eyes, keep working like a robot, & forget about it just as quickly as I’d seen it, but the sheer quantity kept me from disassociating. Random sized puddles of snotty white scrum decorated the floor & toilet seat like glistening, bleeding marble. A thick, transparent glob was sprayed across the counter, & partially dripped into the sink. Through leftover, strawberry-scented suds & bubbles collected in the center of the shower, I could see that the normally shiny silver drain was streaked with an ugly red hue. To top it all off, slapped like a signature on the shower wall, was the single, crimson handprint. There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

As I tossed the filthy mop head & prepared to replace it, I considered that maybe I was reading into it too much. I mean, clearly, no one was injured. They had left the building in the same giggly, flirtatious mood as when I’d handed them their shower code. Still, I shuttered imagining how so much of either bodily fluid could have ended up there in such a short period of time. It could’ve all just been the product of a freaky, unprotected passion session, right? I mean, who hasn’t had period sex?

At 12:00, I gave them access to their shower. They went in, made the mess, left, then I discovered their leftovers. A phone call & 3 full mop buckets later, it was over. By 12:34, shower 10’s door was shut & locked, the whole room fully sanitized to a near ridiculous level. In less than 20 minutes, they had created so much blood (which again, I had to clean) that I genuinely considered the valid possibility of a small animal being slaughtered in there. But then, why the jizz? That’s the line of deductive reasoning I went down before deciding to just stop thinking about it.

I’d only seen the two of them go in with their shower bag, no small animals, no butcher equipment. I just took a deep breath & carried on with my shift, content to go with the period sex theory.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told my coworker on break as I finished the story.

“Holy fuck, that’s disgusting,” she grimaced, pushing her leftover food away to placate her ruined appetite, “I straight up don’t believe there was that much.”

“Well, I called Hammy about it, & whether you wanna believe it or not, I’d like to not clean up the showers after crackhead sex again,” I rasped, letting the lit end of the joint between my fingers fizzle out. The thick mucus in my throat felt like it was swelling, & I tried (more like failed) to cough quietly.

“You think they were crackheads?” she asked.

“Ah, I honestly have no idea. I shouldn’t speculate, I guess.”

The back of my head resting against the brick wall behind me, I let out a dramatic wheeze. Once I had caught my breath, I stole a blue Taki from her discarded tray & stood up. She quickly checked her watch before following my lead.

“So what, Hammy really said you had to clean all that up?”

I shrugged & pulled out my inhaler. I violently shook it for a second, put the business end in my mouth, & squeezed the top. A flood of cold dust hit the back of my throat, & as I inhaled, the constricting muscles & tendons in my neck loosened. Blissfully, I could breathe again.

“Like I said. Part of the job, I guess…”

“You know, you’re crazy for smoking when you’ve got asthma,” my coworker smirked, understandably changing the subject.

“Oh, I know. I just smoke when this bad boy’s outta juice,” I held up a custom vape that had a picture of Moist Critical as Jesus printed on it.

“Oh shit, is that Andrew Driver?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure is,” I giggled sarcastically. I couldn’t tell if she was being deadass or not.

“Wow. Loved that guy in Megalopolis,” she mumbled thoughtfully.

I walked into the back office, getting ready to leave. Once my radio was plugged back in & my backpack was acquired, I clocked out for the night, listening to the office computer news stream drawl away.

“-olice say that the perpetrators are on foot near the West Plains area, & to call Weston Brady, Howell county Sheriff, if you see any suspicious behavior. The only evidence we have is 2 empty blood bags, which are currently being tested by the forensics department, & tracks matching a size 10 men’s pair of crocs. Experts advise-”

“You leaving?” my coworker interrupted, suddenly standing right behind me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I leave at 2:30am.”

“But Hammy said you’re here til 3.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:50.

“Well, the schedule says I stay til 2:30. I stayed an extra 20 minutes with you for your break. I think I’m good to go.”

She threw up her hands in a defensive motion, sighing dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna git, git. Just take out the trash with the cum stuff in it if you haven’t already.”

I looked at the wastebin in the hallway. I scowled when I realized I hadn’t taken it out when I finished earlier.

“Shit… Okay, fine. But replace the bag for me, please. I don’t feel like comin’ back inside.”

“God you literally are the kind of person to use an Andrew Driver vape,” I heard her grumble from inside the office.

With the negotiation set, I grabbed the bag with a fresh pair of gloves on & heaved it out the door.

Once it was in the dumpster & my jacket was on, I began the trek back to my car. Our employee parking lot was right beside the semi overnight parking, which bordered the woods. As I walked past the idling monster trucks, I felt something was off. Like a pair of eyes were trained on the back of my neck.

Over our gas pumps’ glowing neon roof, an icy moon shone brightly in a pitch black sky, devoid of stars. A series of ghostly whips drifted across the infinite canvas. It looked like an old painting, depicting a eery, winter landscape.

The my warm breath in the November cold gave the illusion of fog faces before fading into nothing. Pareidolia. My hair was all at once standing on end, & I looked around. Seeing nothing, I turned to survey the treeline. Still, nothing. I was alone in the dead of night while tiny snowflakes fell & melted on my warm skin. I concluded that nothing was wrong. I was being paranoid. I just needed to get to my car, warm up, & go home.

“Everything’s fine, calm down,” I told myself.

Just as I put the end of the final 18-wheeler behind me, I heard the sound of something rapidly smacking against a metal surface, like wet hands quickly skittering up the side of the trailer. I spun around to see nothing. Just a normal big-rig. Perplexed & quite nervous, I stumbled backwards a few steps. I didn’t dare look away. I kept my eyes trained on the corner where that noise had come from. I was frozen, both by fear, & the cold.

“Hey! What the fuck is up, pal?!” an angry voice demanded from behind me.

Snapped from my stuper, I whipped around to see a short, hairy woman with an underbite & a dark, disheveled complexion. She was dressed in bright pink pajamas, with a comical nightcap to match. A pair of bunny slippers dangled from her left hand, & a pack of menthol Newports were grasped firmly in her right.

“Huh?” I gasped, confused. In hindsight, I’m sure I looked super suspicious.

“Well? You lookin’ for anything in particular?” She snarled. Light glinted off the worn metal of her steel toes. If I was gonna get my ass handed to me by a trucker who thought I was casing their joint, I did not want it to be this ol’girl.

“Oh shit, hold on ma’am, this isn’t what it looks like! I was just cutting through so I could-”

“Oh, I know what you want, you scoundrel! You mean to bust open some old lady’s trunk, snoopin’ out & about under the cover of night,” she heaved, lumbering forward, “You wanna have your way with me while I’m asleep & defenseless, don’t you?!”

I grimaced & held up my hands definsively, shaking my head. Before I could get another word in, the hag continued, working herself up more & more with each word.

“Oh, you degenerate! You want to take advantage of me, eh? Bully?! Well here I am, so go on, have it your way! But just know, I got a mean turkey waddle downstairs, & she gobbles somethin’ nasty!”

By now, I could physically feel her dank, hot breath on my face. It smelled like old coffee & charred enamel, like a dentist visit gone wrong. She bared her snaggle, uneven molars at me & began to unbutton her vivid, blush colored blouse.

I waved my hands frantically in protest to stop her, clamping my eyes shut.

“Oh gross! Holy shit lady, I just work here! I’m just trying to go home, my shift is over!”

I blindly fumbled my way to employee parking, dry-heaving at the image of the woman in my head.

“Fuck, get yourself a lot-lizard or something! I’m married, for Christ’s sake! Gawd!” I hollered over my shoulder.

I heard her grumble something about Missouri boys having no taste, but once I was sure some distance had been put between us, I opened my eyes & finished my dash to the car. I couldn’t shake the visage of the old broad’s nip-slip, & that only served to worsten my mood.

“God, what a freak,” I said to myself as I shut my car door behind me.

“What an unsettling, freaky night.”

I was so relieved for my shift to finally be over. I took my glasses off & rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to dwell on the night's debaucherous events.

I slipped my spectacles back on & glanced down at the last two messages sent from my phone. One had been the crime scene-esque image that had gone to Hammy, the other was a quick, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes,” text I’d sent to my wife, Charlie, only a few minutes earlier.

As if on que, a response flashed across my screen.

“Dearest Husband,

I regret to inform you that I will be working another double, so we’ll have to postpone our extracurricular activities until a later date. For now, make the leftovers in the fridge, & when I get home, those dishes better be done, or I’m gonna slam you against the bathroom mirror & choke you until your face turns purple.

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

I smirked. I love the way she texts like an old calvary veteran writing a letter to his wife from a battlefield. Believe it or not, some women can be funny. Shocker.

“Kinky,” I typed, “was that a threat or a promise?”

I hit send, & three dots popped up for a second, before her final message appeared.

“Dearest Husband,

Both, depending on the state of those dishes when I get home. Seriously, I don’t wanna have to work another double, just to come home to a full sink again 😢

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

The brief spark of a good mood flickered in my chest. I felt like I was always the one doing the dishes in recent memory. Irritably, I began scrolling for a YouTube video to put on during my drive home, when a new notification popped up.

“McDonalds, 20% off on orders $5 or more, deal applicable at participating locations”

I licked my lips. I had that taki earlier, but I’d skipped eating on my break. The perverted shower discovery had ruined my appetite for a few hours. But now that the atrocity was behind me, I could go for a McChicken or 2. I know, I know. Leftovers in the fridge, but the aroma of crispy fries & greasy burgers wafted into my nostrils, beckoning me like the curling of a thick, stubby index finger.

I looked in the backseat to see the weeks worth of fast food bags that had accumulated on the floor. The frown on my lips deepened. Charlie was keeping an eye on our shared bank account to make sure I wasn’t spending our checks on junk food. For the last month or so, every time I’d pull out cash for rent & edibles, I’d pull out a little extra, just enough that she wouldn’t notice. Discounts & reward points only go so far.

When I looked in my wallet, I saw a measly $2 & a couple miscellaneous cents. I couldn’t spend the pennies, but what about my credit card?

I used the app to check my balance. There was about $3. After a quick calculation, I deduced I could get myself 2 McChickens with the discount, & a large fry using accumulated points.

I pulled into the empty drive-thru on the side of the gas station. I got to the menu screen with my code ready.

“Hello! Will you be using the mobile app today?” The cheery voice crackled through the speaker.

“Yes please,” I responded.

“What’s your code?” The voice was now that of a hormonal teenage boy.

“Um, I think it's 1-9-L-5?”

“For Patricia?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I needed to get that updated to Patrick.

“Kay. If everything looks correct on the screen, you’re good to pull forward.”

“Thanks,” I said, starting towards the first window.

“Wait, actually hold on a second!”

I stopped, “Yeah? What’s up?” I asked.

“Uh, that’s weird, it looks like you tried to stack a deal on top of rewards points. You can only do one per order.”

“So what does that mean…?”

“I mean, I don’t think I can use your points for those fries. Really, it shouldn’t have even let you place your order like that…”

He was quiet for a second. It sounded like he & someone else were whispering on the other end.

“Uh, sorry I’m kinda new. I’ll get my manager, this is weird. Could you pull up to the first window for me?”

Ugh. I just wanted my food, so I could go home. 2 chicken sandwiches & a large fry was not worth all this. I decided on my way up that I would just overdraft my credit card to get the fries so I could leave quicker. I pulled up to the window, where the acne-riddled teenage boy stood next to a manager.

“Hey, are you the pickup order for the 2 McChickens & the large fry?” the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the empty drive-thru, “yep, that’s me.”

“So here’s he deal. Zach here,” she patted the clearly stoned teenager on his shoulder, “said you tried to stack rewards points & a deal in the same order. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, uh, it doesn’t matter, can I actually just pay part with cash, part with card?” I mumbledo.

“You don’t wanna use the 20% off deal?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, but are the points that I used on that large fry still gonna work?”

She shook her head, “no, but they’ll go back into your account in 7 to 10 business days.”

She held out her hand. Defeated, I just sighed, placing the cash & card into her palm. Just like that, transaction complete.

“That’s uh… that’s just the way our app works, we don’t, uh, control it…,” Zach droned, staring off into space.

“Yes, very good Zach,” the manager cooed, “we know buddy.”

Once the card was back in my wallet, I took a hit off my Jesus Moistcritical vape. As the yellow indica smoke filled my lungs, I felt my temper cool a few degrees.

“Just a stressful night, that’s all,” I told myself. As soon as I got home, I knew I would feel better. I just needed to eat & get home.

In a few short minutes, the woman was holding my bag out the window, & I grabbed it greedily.

“Hey, just so you know, you shouldn’t eat this much fast food,” she said, looking in my backseat as I rolled up my window.

“It's not good for you…”

What a bitch.

As I tore down the desolate road, I ripped into the pitiful chicken patty. While the sandwich curbed my hunger,I was still put-off. Buns tar & feathered by mayonayse & too much lettuce. The fries were perfect, though. I tossed the garbage into my backseat & took another rip off my vape, feeling the blissful high run down my nerves & tingle at the tips of my fingers. I was calm, but not unbothered. Something was wrong, the feeling of being watched had still not been shaken.

Given I was in public, I could logically explain my experience in the semi parking lot. But I knew there was no way that anyone should have been watching me as I cleared the winding hills of the secluded interstate. The snow particles zipped past my windshield, giving the illusion that I was going much faster than I actually was. I took another 2 or 3 hits off the vape & cracked my window. That was when the stench hit me. Going 65 miles an hour down the snowy road, it smelled like raw sewage & burning rust.

Just as soon as I registered the awful odor, red & blue lights suddenly appeared behind my car. Police lights. A new fear sparked in my chest, building to a roaring flame that caused my hands to tremble against my steering wheel.

Forming tears licked the edges of my eyes.

I just wanted to go home.

As I tried to find a shoulder of road to safely pull onto, I frantically shoved my vape into my pocket. If I got caught vaping THC while going 70 in a 65, I knew I wouldn’t be going home tonight.

“Just play it cool,” I said, bringing my vehicle to a full stop, & firmly placing both hands on the steering wheel. If I got a ticket, I got a ticket. All I had to do was be compliant, & this might all be over in just a few minutes.

Maybe it was how dark the night was. Maybe I was just distracted by the lights, but on god, I didn’t see or even hear the police man approach my car. It was like he just appeared in my driver’s-side window. His face was so close, it should have fogged the glass.

“Hullo, officer,” I mumbled, rolling down my window.

“License, registration, proof of insurance,” he droned, voice void of emotion. That put me even more on edge. I dug through my glove compartment, grabbing anything that looked like it could’ve been official paperwork.

“Beautiful night, huht?” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. He didn’t respond. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Sighing in relief, I turned the documents over to the cop.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. Everything about this interaction felt off. Alarm bells rang through my head, but I tried to temper them. Was this a trick or something? “That’s my… registration & proof of insurance?”

“Oh,” he said, grabbing the paperwork & stuffing it in his back pocket, “right. License?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” I fumbled in my wallet for a second before passing him my ID as well.

“May I ask why you’re pulling me over?” I asked, & as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. When he glared up at me, I thought that his dialated eyes would burn 2 holes right through me. Despite the cold, unphazed expression on his face, something in his eyes held a vigorous intensity. Like I was the biggest inconvienience he could possibly have to deal with. Like he wanted to be done already.

He was silent for just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he finally grumbled, “Routine traffic stop. Gotta run these through our system. Next time, be faster.”

As his shoes crunched in the snow as he made his way back to his car, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He claimed it was just a routine traffic stop, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.

The whole night so far had felt like a taut wire, pulling more & more, the tensity becoming palpable, building to a breaking point. Like a balloon getting ready to pop.

I gagged on the scent that enveloped me. We had to have pulled off next to a sewage drain or something. That horrible smell just would not go away. It was like it soaked into all the fibers of my car. It made me want to throw up.

Even though he couldn’t have left me waiting for more than 5 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I was scared to move, to take my hands off the steering wheel. Even looking in my mirrors felt sinful, like I was doing something horribly wrong. But as I took my surroundings into account, something clicked in my mind. I wasn’t crazy.

When I turned back to see through my rear window, I could make out the dark silhouette of the massive police cruizer, idling dormant as snowflakes drifted past the hood. Considering the lack of headlights, it really looked more like a huge beast, just sitting there. The details became more apparent the longer I looked.

Why couldn’t I see the silhouette of his side mirrors?

Why did the red & blue flashing lights seem to be coming from inside the windshield, rather than the top of the car?

I saw the outline of the large man step out of the vehicle, but I didn’t see a car door open. It’s hard to explain. You know those Jeeps that don’t have doors? It was like that, as if his state-issued police cruiser had no doors either. His dark visage just seemed to materialize from out of the larger body, like he’d been one with the car only seconds earlier.

I snapped back around, facing forward. I could feel my heart beating its way into my throat, the vessles in my neck flexing & constricting. I felt like I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

As I heard his foot steps slowly crunch closer & closer, I spared a glance at my driver’s-side mirror. What I saw, as the snow drifed into my windows, confused me, made my blood run cold. He didn’t have a reflection. I could see 2 bright red crocs moving seemingly of their own accord. They took step after step, as if being worn by some invisible spectre.

What had I been smoking from that vape cartridge?

I heard the fabric of his uniform brush against the side of my car, but it sounded like something rough & textured, sandpaper-esque, grinding along the metal. As his footsteps became louder, the smell intensified. Just as he was almost to my drivers side window, I looked in my rearview. That was when I saw the full picture. That was when the pieces slid into place.

His car didn’t have a reflection either. I realized that all I saw in the mirror were just 2 disembodied lights, 1 red, 1 blue, hovering in the air, about eye level with me. I swear to god, it almost looked like they were eminating from pair of eyeballs, just floating there amongst the drifting snow.

Tap. Tap.

I slowly turned to look at the cop, who was now, finally, back at my drivers-side door. I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. My nerves were screaming for me to run. What was going on?

“Yeah, we have a problem,” he said.

“P-problem?” I stuttered. I must’ve looked petrified, but he just kept staring at me, dead-faced.

“I tried to run your info through the system. I didn’t get anything back.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hm.”

We just stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.

“Also, not to accuse you of anything, but your behavior during this stop has been highly suspicious.”

He glanced in my backseat, licking his lips as he surveyed all the discarded fast food trash. I could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d worn earlier, in the drive through. He was desperately hungry.

“Highly s-suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he grumbled, turning to look back at me. His eyes drilled into mine, & I began to feel the last of my self-control slipping. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why didn’t you have a refliction?” I stammered. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, his face twisted into a new emotion, but I knew he was just acting.

“Excuse me?”

“When you walked up to my car, where was your reflection?” I asked, more assured this time.

“Are you on drugs, ma’am?” He asked, faking an expression of concern. I was picking out more things now, more wrong things. Little inconsistencies. His uniform was all out of place, I’d seen what the police in our area wore when they’d stop for late-night coffee at the gas-station.

His badge was on the wrong side, there was no radio or body-cam anywhere on him, his shirt was the wrong color, not to mention, short sleeves in less than 30⁰ weather? His facial hair was patchy. There was no way this guy was a cop, he just looked like one. Like if you told someone who’d never actually seen a cop to draw one in a picture.

“Where was your reflection?!” I asked again, my voice catching. I sounded hysterical, I knew it.

“Okay, ma’am, this is ridiculous, may I please enter your vehicle?” He said, rising back to his full height.

“What?”

“I need inside your vehicle, if you don’t let me in willingly, I will place you under arrest.”

“No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Well then step out of the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in.”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

“No!!”

His jaw tightened, I could tell he was angry, “Ma’am, you are directly interfering with a police investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?!” I demanded. He stood, watching me, his fully black eyes narrowing furiously.

“I need to make sure you’re safe to drive,” he growled.

“I thought you said that there’s an issue finding me in your system? Why do you need in my car?”

He gritted his jaw & leaned back down, placing his pimply, blistered hands on the edges of my windowsill. I noticed that even his fingertips couldn’t enter my car.

“There’s… I need to… just let me in your car, I’ll verify what I need to, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you go real soon.”

Under the odor of rotten decay, I smelled something entirely out of place. Strawberry-scented body wash. The juxtaposition nearly threw me over the edge.

I let out a sob, grabbing the gear-shift. Suddenly, I remember what I’d heard in the office. I decided to give him one last test. I dom’t know why.

“Fine, get me Weston Brady, then.”

His look of simmering rage momentarily mixed with confusion. This time, I could tell that his bewildered expression was legit.

“Who the hell is Weston Brady?” He asked, the smell of death, strawberries, & burnt copper whafting off his breath. With that, I threw the car into gear, spinning my tires out & flinging muddy snow all over the fake police man.

“Fucking bitch!” He roared, but I took off before he had time to react.

If I had been speeding earlier, I was flying now. I went from 30 miles an hour, to 50, to 70, to 90 in about 45 seconds. The motor peaked, almost blowing out, but I didn’t care. I gripped the steering wheel, glancing to my rearview for anything suspicious, tears streaming down my face. I could still smell the rot, the disease. Right when I thought I was safe, something flashed just within my periphery.

I only saw it for a split second. I still don’t believe it. I swear to god it looked like a child’s rendition of a massive bat, like a diseased abomination that vaguely held the visage of something discernable. It smashed into the side of my car. It was so dark that it nearly blended into the night, throwing the surrounding snowflakes into contrast against it’s jet-black hide.

When it struck the first time, I felt the vibration shudder through my speeding vehicle, but I held my course. The second time, however, it struck closer to my rear axle. The traction control light came on. I was hydroplaining.

When they warn you about black ice on the road, listen. Shit’s treatcherous.

As my car spun around & around, fully out of control, the beast smashed down onto my hood with predatory precision. The sudden collision sent my head careening into the driver’s-side window, & I felt my temple bash hard against the glass. Concousness begon to fade. The last thing I saw before I passed out, were my headlights illuminating 2 massive black eyes, set deep into the sockets of a diseased, pig-like head. I had the briefest notion that one looked like it was tinted red, & the other, tinted blue.

I woke up only 15 minutes later. My head throbbed, but luckily, I wasn’t bleeding. My hood had a massive dent in the middle of it, & when I tried to pull my car back into the lane, I heard the distinct sound of metal grinding on pavement. I sighed, trying to recall what exactly happened, just moments prior.

I stepped out of my car, phone flashlight in hand, careful to survey my surroundings before going far. I checked my tires, 1 of which was blown out.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance. I was stalled just outside Panoma, a small town 20 minutes away from my home, with a blown out tire. How did I end up halfway off the road? Something had…

Oh my god. That thing that had battered me off the road. It tried to kill me. I fully remembered now. Why had it stopped? I was passed out, completely defenseless. I got back into my car & began searching for towing services. None in the area were open, & the ones that were would take easily over 2 hours to reach me. Not to mention my financial situation. With mounting dread, I made the decision to try & replace the blowout with a spare.

I got out of my car & took another hit off my vape. Dont judge me, I needed something to calm my nerves. Shivering, lungs tightening, I got the spare tire out of my trunk. I used a few small blocks of wood to hold my wheels in place, & hastily pulled the ruined one off using a shitty jack & a 4 way. Within 20 minutes, the donut was secured. Lastly, I popped my hood to check for damage to my engine. To my relief, nothing was smoking. Everything looked normal. Overjoyed, sobbing, I got back into my car to finish the drive home, Something at the edge of the treeline caught my attention.

I looked to see something tall & dark, standing just at the edge of the clearing, no more than 30 feet away. Even though I couldn’t see its eyes, I knew it was watching me. I took one last look at the image of Moistcritical Jesus on my vape, little cricifix in his hand. I held it up, & the beast shuttered.

“I’m going the fuck home!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking follow me, I’m serious!”

I put it in my pocket, took a queeze off my inhaler, & closed the door behind me. Still reeling, I let out a sob & began to drive away. Despite the lack of a reflection in my mirrors, I could feel it standing there, just staring at me as I went further, & further.

The smell dissipated around the time I got to my apartment, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulders every 2 seconds. When I got inside, I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted. Right as I was about to drift off, I remembered.

The sink full of dirty dishes. Even half awake, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt when Charlie got home if they weren’t done. I couldn’t let her down, not after all that. So I took another puff from my inhaler & got to work. It took me forever to finish them, but eventually, the sink & dish drainer were clear.

“Nasty bruise, what happened?” Charlie asked, handing me a cup of Dunkin’s coffee as she stepped through the front door. She gingerly touched my forehead, & I flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No it’s fine babe, you…” she looked behind me, “did the dishes. Good job. Did you just finish those?”

I nodded & looked at the time. Just past 6:15am. The sun would be rising soon. I wasn’t usually still awake this early.

“Yeah, I uh, woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. What took you so long to get home?”

She smirked, “some idiot got into a wreck or something on the interstate we take to get home. Would’ve happened like an hour after you got out. I’m not surprised you missed it. Awful lucky though, huh?”

I stared absently at her.

“Black Ice & all that. Fuck’s sake Pat, you think you wanna go to sleep now? You look like you saw a goddman ghoul or something.”

I chuckled humorlessly, “yeah… or something.”

“Jesus Christ someone needs a nap, don’t ya?”

She led me into our bedroom & put a cool, damp washrag on my swolen temple.

“God Pat, what did you hit your head on? You think you have a concussion?” She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

I coughed.

“Nah, my car’s in way worse shape than I am.”

“Fuck, what happened to the car?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. I looked down at my Moistcritical Jesus Vape for a second & tried to find the words. I felt manic. I couldn’t believe that fast food & backseat trash had been the worst of my worries, only a few hours ago.

Finally, I flicked my eyes up, meeting her gaze. I smiled unsteadily.

“It’s a long story, but I swear to god it’s true,” I said.

“Oh… word?”

I sat up a little. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so sore.

“So like, I’m used to cleaning up piss & shit, right? Occasionally vomit. But last night was a really, really weird night…”

This is gonna sound insane, I know. I don’t blame you for not believeing me, but it’s just… it’s been a night. I just really need to get this all off my chest.

I’m used to cleaning up urine & excrement. Occasionally vomit. It’s part of the job on Diesel side. The automated bells chime, & one of the numbered lights turn from yellow to red. Whoever's on shower duty takes the cleaning cart to the small restroom & wipes everything down with a sanitizing solution. Once the entire room has been thoroughly disinfected, it’s supplied with a fresh, blue shower towel, & the password is typed into the combination keypad next to the door. The lock mechanism slides into place, & the cart gets wheeled back down the hallway, right behind the register.

It’s a thankless loop. The truck drivers & low income families who use the showers in our gas station usually don’t show any appreciation, not that it’s expected or needed. Past a handful of older men who leave crumpled 5 or 10 dollar bills for my female coworkers, the most we get is usually just a fleeting, awkward glance, or a brief nod with, “‘priciate it,” muttered under their breath.

A giggling young couple exited shower 10 at 12:17AM. When I opened the door to the room, I smelled strawberry shampoo, undercut by something visceral. Metalic, like burnt copper wiring.

The last thing I expected to see was semen or blood. I know, if you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “oh my god, who starts a story like this? Where could this possibly be going?”

I hate it as much as you do, probably more so. See, unlike you, I can't just exit the post & keep scrolling the subreddit. The only thing I could do was follow my manager's instructions.

We had a brief conversation over the old landline in the office. I told him about the state of the bathroom, along with sending him a picture of a bloody handprint, slapped onto the shower wall tiling. In a disinterested tone, he said that he’d handle anything if the cops came asking. He told me not to worry, because I wouldn’t get a follow up from him unless it was serious.

“That’s fine, but like, do you want me to call someone to clean it?”

“Well shit, who do you think we’re supposed to call, Pat?” Hammy’s tone was undercut with a razor blade of condescension. I always had the impression he wasn’t a fan of mine.

“I don’t know dude, isn’t it like, a biohazard or something? Like, can’t you get a disease-”

He cut me off with a dramatic, exhausted sigh, “...hold on, hold on. Disease?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck’s sake, Pat, do you plan on rubbing it into any open wounds?”

“Oh gross Hammy, no, obviously not.”

“Okay, fantastic. You plan on cleaning it up with your tongue? Or scooping it with your bare hands?”

Internally, I groaned. 3 years of working at the Travel Stop, & so far, this was perfectly standard for Hammy. In hindsight, I don't think I expected anything else when I called.

“No, I don’t, sir.”

“Sweet. Double up on gloves, double up on mop water, steal some sanitizer cleaner from the emergency shelf, & toss the rags when you’re done wiping everything down! Think you can handle that?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure, I guess…” I grumble.

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Is that all Pat?”

“I think so.”

“Great… You can hang up now, Pat.”

Trying to hold my breath as much as I could, I attempted to wipe it all up with as little direct contact as possible, ie; mops & rags as a physical buffer. Unfortunately, I had to use my gloved hands to get what the tools couldn’t.

Obviously, I didn’t want to think about what happened to create such a mess. Who would? You definitely don’t, & would probably appreciate it if I didn't describe the explicit imagery, but I’m telling you, it was distractingly excessive, especially the smell.

Semen in a restroom is disgusting & severely careless for whoever has to clean up afterwards, but not unheard of. Blood, while also unhygienic to just leave behind, is a little more feasible. Think used feminine-care products. But this… this was distinctly gratuitous.

I wanted to just bleach my eyes, keep working like a robot, & forget about it just as quickly as I’d seen it, but the sheer quantity kept me from disassociating. Random sized puddles of snotty white scrum decorated the floor & toilet seat like glistening, bleeding marble. A thick, transparent glob was sprayed across the counter, & partially dripped into the sink. Through leftover, strawberry-scented suds & bubbles collected in the center of the shower, I could see that the normally shiny silver drain was streaked with an ugly red hue. To top it all off, slapped like a signature on the shower wall, was the single, crimson handprint. There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

As I tossed the filthy mop head & prepared to replace it, I considered that maybe I was reading into it too much. I mean, clearly, no one was injured. They had left the building in the same giggly, flirtatious mood as when I’d handed them their shower code. Still, I shuttered imagining how so much of either bodily fluid could have ended up there in such a short period of time. It could’ve all just been the product of a freaky, unprotected passion session, right? I mean, who hasn’t had period sex?

At 12:00, I gave them access to their shower. They went in, made the mess, left, then I discovered their leftovers. A phone call & 3 full mop buckets later, it was over. By 12:34, shower 10’s door was shut & locked, the whole room fully sanitized to a near ridiculous level. In less than 20 minutes, they had created so much blood (which again, I had to clean) that I genuinely considered the valid possibility of a small animal being slaughtered in there. But then, why the jizz? That’s the line of deductive reasoning I went down before deciding to just stop thinking about it.

I’d only seen the two of them go in with their shower bag, no small animals, no butcher equipment. I just took a deep breath & carried on with my shift, content to go with the period sex theory.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told my coworker on break as I finished the story.

“Holy fuck, that’s disgusting,” she grimaced, pushing her leftover food away to placate her ruined appetite, “I straight up don’t believe there was that much.”

“Well, I called Hammy about it, & whether you wanna believe it or not, I’d like to not clean up the showers after crackhead sex again,” I rasped, letting the lit end of the joint between my fingers fizzle out. The thick mucus in my throat felt like it was swelling, & I tried (more like failed) to cough quietly.

“You think they were crackheads?” she asked.

“Ah, I honestly have no idea. I shouldn’t speculate, I guess.”

The back of my head resting against the brick wall behind me, I let out a dramatic wheeze. Once I had caught my breath, I stole a blue Taki from her discarded tray & stood up. She quickly checked her watch before following my lead.

“So what, Hammy really said you had to clean all that up?”

I shrugged & pulled out my inhaler. I violently shook it for a second, put the business end in my mouth, & squeezed the top. A flood of cold dust hit the back of my throat, & as I inhaled, the constricting muscles & tendons in my neck loosened. Blissfully, I could breathe again.

“Like I said. Part of the job, I guess…”

“You know, you’re crazy for smoking when you’ve got asthma,” my coworker smirked, understandably changing the subject.

“Oh, I know. I just smoke when this bad boy’s outta juice,” I held up a custom vape that had a picture of Moist Critical as Jesus printed on it.

“Oh shit, is that Andrew Driver?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure is,” I giggled sarcastically. I couldn’t tell if she was being deadass or not.

“Wow. Loved that guy in Megalopolis,” she mumbled thoughtfully.

I walked into the back office, getting ready to leave. Once my radio was plugged back in & my backpack was acquired, I clocked out for the night, listening to the office computer news stream drawl away.

“-olice say that the perpetrators are on foot near the West Plains area, & to call Weston Brady, Howell county Sheriff, if you see any suspicious behavior. The only evidence we have is 2 empty blood bags, which are currently being tested by the forensics department, & tracks matching a size 10 men’s pair of crocs. Experts advise-”

“You leaving?” my coworker interrupted, suddenly standing right behind me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I leave at 2:30am.”

“But Hammy said you’re here til 3.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:50.

“Well, the schedule says I stay til 2:30. I stayed an extra 20 minutes with you for your break. I think I’m good to go.”

She threw up her hands in a defensive motion, sighing dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna git, git. Just take out the trash with the cum stuff in it if you haven’t already.”

I looked at the wastebin in the hallway. I scowled when I realized I hadn’t taken it out when I finished earlier.

“Shit… Okay, fine. But replace the bag for me, please. I don’t feel like comin’ back inside.”

“God you literally are the kind of person to use an Andrew Driver vape,” I heard her grumble from inside the office.

With the negotiation set, I grabbed the bag with a fresh pair of gloves on & heaved it out the door.

Once it was in the dumpster & my jacket was on, I began the trek back to my car. Our employee parking lot was right beside the semi overnight parking, which bordered the woods. As I walked past the idling monster trucks, I felt something was off. Like a pair of eyes were trained on the back of my neck.

Over our gas pumps’ glowing neon roof, an icy moon shone brightly in a pitch black sky, devoid of stars. A series of ghostly whips drifted across the infinite canvas. It looked like an old painting, depicting a eery, winter landscape.

The my warm breath in the November cold gave the illusion of fog faces before fading into nothing. Pareidolia. My hair was all at once standing on end, & I looked around. Seeing nothing, I turned to survey the treeline. Still, nothing. I was alone in the dead of night while tiny snowflakes fell & melted on my warm skin. I concluded that nothing was wrong. I was being paranoid. I just needed to get to my car, warm up, & go home.

“Everything’s fine, calm down,” I told myself.

Just as I put the end of the final 18-wheeler behind me, I heard the sound of something rapidly smacking against a metal surface, like wet hands quickly skittering up the side of the trailer. I spun around to see nothing. Just a normal big-rig. Perplexed & quite nervous, I stumbled backwards a few steps. I didn’t dare look away. I kept my eyes trained on the corner where that noise had come from. I was frozen, both by fear, & the cold.

“Hey! What the fuck is up, pal?!” an angry voice demanded from behind me.

Snapped from my stuper, I whipped around to see a short, hairy woman with an underbite & a dark, disheveled complexion. She was dressed in bright pink pajamas, with a comical nightcap to match. A pair of bunny slippers dangled from her left hand, & a pack of menthol Newports were grasped firmly in her right.

“Huh?” I gasped, confused. In hindsight, I’m sure I looked super suspicious.

“Well? You lookin’ for anything in particular?” She snarled. Light glinted off the worn metal of her steel toes. If I was gonna get my ass handed to me by a trucker who thought I was casing their joint, I did not want it to be this ol’girl.

“Oh shit, hold on ma’am, this isn’t what it looks like! I was just cutting through so I could-”

“Oh, I know what you want, you scoundrel! You mean to bust open some old lady’s trunk, snoopin’ out & about under the cover of night,” she heaved, lumbering forward, “You wanna have your way with me while I’m asleep & defenseless, don’t you?!”

I grimaced & held up my hands definsively, shaking my head. Before I could get another word in, the hag continued, working herself up more & more with each word.

“Oh, you degenerate! You want to take advantage of me, eh? Bully?! Well here I am, so go on, have it your way! But just know, I got a mean turkey waddle downstairs, & she gobbles somethin’ nasty!”

By now, I could physically feel her dank, hot breath on my face. It smelled like old coffee & charred enamel, like a dentist visit gone wrong. She bared her snaggle, uneven molars at me & began to unbutton her vivid, blush colored blouse.

I waved my hands frantically in protest to stop her, clamping my eyes shut.

“Oh gross! Holy shit lady, I just work here! I’m just trying to go home, my shift is over!”

I blindly fumbled my way to employee parking, dry-heaving at the image of the woman in my head.

“Fuck, get yourself a lot-lizard or something! I’m married, for Christ’s sake! Gawd!” I hollered over my shoulder.

I heard her grumble something about Missouri boys having no taste, but once I was sure some distance had been put between us, I opened my eyes & finished my dash to the car. I couldn’t shake the visage of the old broad’s nip-slip, & that only served to worsten my mood.

“God, what a freak,” I said to myself as I shut my car door behind me.

“What an unsettling, freaky night.”

I was so relieved for my shift to finally be over. I took my glasses off & rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to dwell on the night's debaucherous events.

I slipped my spectacles back on & glanced down at the last two messages sent from my phone. One had been the crime scene-esque image that had gone to Hammy, the other was a quick, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes,” text I’d sent to my wife, Charlie, only a few minutes earlier.

As if on que, a response flashed across my screen.

“Dearest Husband,

I regret to inform you that I will be working another double, so we’ll have to postpone our extracurricular activities until a later date. For now, make the leftovers in the fridge, & when I get home, those dishes better be done, or I’m gonna slam you against the bathroom mirror & choke you until your face turns purple.

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

I smirked. I love the way she texts like an old calvary veteran writing a letter to his wife from a battlefield. Believe it or not, some women can be funny. Shocker.

“Kinky,” I typed, “was that a threat or a promise?”

I hit send, & three dots popped up for a second, before her final message appeared.

“Dearest Husband,

Both, depending on the state of those dishes when I get home. Seriously, I don’t wanna have to work another double, just to come home to a full sink again 😢

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

The brief spark of a good mood flickered in my chest. I felt like I was always the one doing the dishes in recent memory. Irritably, I began scrolling for a YouTube video to put on during my drive home, when a new notification popped up.

“McDonalds, 20% off on orders $5 or more, deal applicable at participating locations”

I licked my lips. I had that taki earlier, but I’d skipped eating on my break. The perverted shower discovery had ruined my appetite for a few hours. But now that the atrocity was behind me, I could go for a McChicken or 2. I know, I know. Leftovers in the fridge, but the aroma of crispy fries & greasy burgers wafted into my nostrils, beckoning me like the curling of a thick, stubby index finger.

I looked in the backseat to see the weeks worth of fast food bags that had accumulated on the floor. The frown on my lips deepened. Charlie was keeping an eye on our shared bank account to make sure I wasn’t spending our checks on junk food. For the last month or so, every time I’d pull out cash for rent & edibles, I’d pull out a little extra, just enough that she wouldn’t notice. Discounts & reward points only go so far.

When I looked in my wallet, I saw a measly $2 & a couple miscellaneous cents. I couldn’t spend the pennies, but what about my credit card?

I used the app to check my balance. There was about $3. After a quick calculation, I deduced I could get myself 2 McChickens with the discount, & a large fry using accumulated points.

I pulled into the empty drive-thru on the side of the gas station. I got to the menu screen with my code ready.

“Hello! Will you be using the mobile app today?” The cheery voice crackled through the speaker.

“Yes please,” I responded.

“What’s your code?” The voice was now that of a hormonal teenage boy.

“Um, I think it's 1-9-L-5?”

“For Patricia?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I needed to get that updated to Patrick.

“Kay. If everything looks correct on the screen, you’re good to pull forward.”

“Thanks,” I said, starting towards the first window.

“Wait, actually hold on a second!”

I stopped, “Yeah? What’s up?” I asked.

“Uh, that’s weird, it looks like you tried to stack a deal on top of rewards points. You can only do one per order.”

“So what does that mean…?”

“I mean, I don’t think I can use your points for those fries. Really, it shouldn’t have even let you place your order like that…”

He was quiet for a second. It sounded like he & someone else were whispering on the other end.

“Uh, sorry I’m kinda new. I’ll get my manager, this is weird. Could you pull up to the first window for me?”

Ugh. I just wanted my food, so I could go home. 2 chicken sandwiches & a large fry was not worth all this. I decided on my way up that I would just overdraft my credit card to get the fries so I could leave quicker. I pulled up to the window, where the acne-riddled teenage boy stood next to a manager.

“Hey, are you the pickup order for the 2 McChickens & the large fry?” the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the empty drive-thru, “yep, that’s me.”

“So here’s he deal. Zach here,” she patted the clearly stoned teenager on his shoulder, “said you tried to stack rewards points & a deal in the same order. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, uh, it doesn’t matter, can I actually just pay part with cash, part with card?” I mumbledo.

“You don’t wanna use the 20% off deal?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, but are the points that I used on that large fry still gonna work?”

She shook her head, “no, but they’ll go back into your account in 7 to 10 business days.”

She held out her hand. Defeated, I just sighed, placing the cash & card into her palm. Just like that, transaction complete.

“That’s uh… that’s just the way our app works, we don’t, uh, control it…,” Zach droned, staring off into space.

“Yes, very good Zach,” the manager cooed, “we know buddy.”

Once the card was back in my wallet, I took a hit off my Jesus Moistcritical vape. As the yellow indica smoke filled my lungs, I felt my temper cool a few degrees.

“Just a stressful night, that’s all,” I told myself. As soon as I got home, I knew I would feel better. I just needed to eat & get home.

In a few short minutes, the woman was holding my bag out the window, & I grabbed it greedily.

“Hey, just so you know, you shouldn’t eat this much fast food,” she said, looking in my backseat as I rolled up my window.

“It's not good for you…”

What a bitch.

As I tore down the desolate road, I ripped into the pitiful chicken patty. While the sandwich curbed my hunger,I was still put-off. Buns tar & feathered by mayonayse & too much lettuce. The fries were perfect, though. I tossed the garbage into my backseat & took another rip off my vape, feeling the blissful high run down my nerves & tingle at the tips of my fingers. I was calm, but not unbothered. Something was wrong, the feeling of being watched had still not been shaken.

Given I was in public, I could logically explain my experience in the semi parking lot. But I knew there was no way that anyone should have been watching me as I cleared the winding hills of the secluded interstate. The snow particles zipped past my windshield, giving the illusion that I was going much faster than I actually was. I took another 2 or 3 hits off the vape & cracked my window. That was when the stench hit me. Going 65 miles an hour down the snowy road, it smelled like raw sewage & burning rust.

Just as soon as I registered the awful odor, red & blue lights suddenly appeared behind my car. Police lights. A new fear sparked in my chest, building to a roaring flame that caused my hands to tremble against my steering wheel.

Forming tears licked the edges of my eyes.

I just wanted to go home.

As I tried to find a shoulder of road to safely pull onto, I frantically shoved my vape into my pocket. If I got caught vaping THC while going 70 in a 65, I knew I wouldn’t be going home tonight.

“Just play it cool,” I said, bringing my vehicle to a full stop, & firmly placing both hands on the steering wheel. If I got a ticket, I got a ticket. All I had to do was be compliant, & this might all be over in just a few minutes.

Maybe it was how dark the night was. Maybe I was just distracted by the lights, but on god, I didn’t see or even hear the police man approach my car. It was like he just appeared in my driver’s-side window. His face was so close, it should have fogged the glass.

“Hullo, officer,” I mumbled, rolling down my window.

“License, registration, proof of insurance,” he droned, voice void of emotion. That put me even more on edge. I dug through my glove compartment, grabbing anything that looked like it could’ve been official paperwork.

“Beautiful night, huht?” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. He didn’t respond. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Sighing in relief, I turned the documents over to the cop.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. Everything about this interaction felt off. Alarm bells rang through my head, but I tried to temper them. Was this a trick or something? “That’s my… registration & proof of insurance?”

“Oh,” he said, grabbing the paperwork & stuffing it in his back pocket, “right. License?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” I fumbled in my wallet for a second before passing him my ID as well.

“May I ask why you’re pulling me over?” I asked, & as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. When he glared up at me, I thought that his dialated eyes would burn 2 holes right through me. Despite the cold, unphazed expression on his face, something in his eyes held a vigorous intensity. Like I was the biggest inconvienience he could possibly have to deal with. Like he wanted to be done already.

He was silent for just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he finally grumbled, “Routine traffic stop. Gotta run these through our system. Next time, be faster.”

As his shoes crunched in the snow as he made his way back to his car, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He claimed it was just a routine traffic stop, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.

The whole night so far had felt like a taut wire, pulling more & more, the tensity becoming palpable, building to a breaking point. Like a balloon getting ready to pop.

I gagged on the scent that enveloped me. We had to have pulled off next to a sewage drain or something. That horrible smell just would not go away. It was like it soaked into all the fibers of my car. It made me want to throw up.

Even though he couldn’t have left me waiting for more than 5 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I was scared to move, to take my hands off the steering wheel. Even looking in my mirrors felt sinful, like I was doing something horribly wrong. But as I took my surroundings into account, something clicked in my mind. I wasn’t crazy.

When I turned back to see through my rear window, I could make out the dark silhouette of the massive police cruizer, idling dormant as snowflakes drifted past the hood. Considering the lack of headlights, it really looked more like a huge beast, just sitting there. The details became more apparent the longer I looked.

Why couldn’t I see the silhouette of his side mirrors?

Why did the red & blue flashing lights seem to be coming from inside the windshield, rather than the top of the car?

I saw the outline of the large man step out of the vehicle, but I didn’t see a car door open. It’s hard to explain. You know those Jeeps that don’t have doors? It was like that, as if his state-issued police cruiser had no doors either. His dark visage just seemed to materialize from out of the larger body, like he’d been one with the car only seconds earlier.

I snapped back around, facing forward. I could feel my heart beating its way into my throat, the vessles in my neck flexing & constricting. I felt like I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

As I heard his foot steps slowly crunch closer & closer, I spared a glance at my driver’s-side mirror. What I saw, as the snow drifed into my windows, confused me, made my blood run cold. He didn’t have a reflection. I could see 2 bright red crocs moving seemingly of their own accord. They took step after step, as if being worn by some invisible spectre.

What had I been smoking from that vape cartridge?

I heard the fabric of his uniform brush against the side of my car, but it sounded like something rough & textured, sandpaper-esque, grinding along the metal. As his footsteps became louder, the smell intensified. Just as he was almost to my drivers side window, I looked in my rearview. That was when I saw the full picture. That was when the pieces slid into place.

His car didn’t have a reflection either. I realized that all I saw in the mirror were just 2 disembodied lights, 1 red, 1 blue, hovering in the air, about eye level with me. I swear to god, it almost looked like they were eminating from pair of eyeballs, just floating there amongst the drifting snow.

Tap. Tap.

I slowly turned to look at the cop, who was now, finally, back at my drivers-side door. I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. My nerves were screaming for me to run. What was going on?

“Yeah, we have a problem,” he said.

“P-problem?” I stuttered. I must’ve looked petrified, but he just kept staring at me, dead-faced.

“I tried to run your info through the system. I didn’t get anything back.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hm.”

We just stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.

“Also, not to accuse you of anything, but your behavior during this stop has been highly suspicious.”

He glanced in my backseat, licking his lips as he surveyed all the discarded fast food trash. I could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d worn earlier, in the drive through. He was desperately hungry.

“Highly s-suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he grumbled, turning to look back at me. His eyes drilled into mine, & I began to feel the last of my self-control slipping. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why didn’t you have a refliction?” I stammered. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, his face twisted into a new emotion, but I knew he was just acting.

“Excuse me?”

“When you walked up to my car, where was your reflection?” I asked, more assured this time.

“Are you on drugs, ma’am?” He asked, faking an expression of concern. I was picking out more things now, more wrong things. Little inconsistencies. His uniform was all out of place, I’d seen what the police in our area wore when they’d stop for late-night coffee at the gas-station.

His badge was on the wrong side, there was no radio or body-cam anywhere on him, his shirt was the wrong color, not to mention, short sleeves in less than 30⁰ weather? His facial hair was patchy. There was no way this guy was a cop, he just looked like one. Like if you told someone who’d never actually seen a cop to draw one in a picture.

“Where was your reflection?!” I asked again, my voice catching. I sounded hysterical, I knew it.

“Okay, ma’am, this is ridiculous, may I please enter your vehicle?” He said, rising back to his full height.

“What?”

“I need inside your vehicle, if you don’t let me in willingly, I will place you under arrest.”

“No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Well then step out of the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in.”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

“No!!”

His jaw tightened, I could tell he was angry, “Ma’am, you are directly interfering with a police investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?!” I demanded. He stood, watching me, his fully black eyes narrowing furiously.

“I need to make sure you’re safe to drive,” he growled.

“I thought you said that there’s an issue finding me in your system? Why do you need in my car?”

He gritted his jaw & leaned back down, placing his pimply, blistered hands on the edges of my windowsill. I noticed that even his fingertips couldn’t enter my car.

“There’s… I need to… just let me in your car, I’ll verify what I need to, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you go real soon.”

Under the odor of rotten decay, I smelled something entirely out of place. Strawberry-scented body wash. The juxtaposition nearly threw me over the edge.

I let out a sob, grabbing the gear-shift. Suddenly, I remember what I’d heard in the office. I decided to give him one last test. I dom’t know why.

“Fine, get me Weston Brady, then.”

His look of simmering rage momentarily mixed with confusion. This time, I could tell that his bewildered expression was legit.

“Who the hell is Weston Brady?” He asked, the smell of death, strawberries, & burnt copper whafting off his breath. With that, I threw the car into gear, spinning my tires out & flinging muddy snow all over the fake police man.

“Fucking bitch!” He roared, but I took off before he had time to react.

If I had been speeding earlier, I was flying now. I went from 30 miles an hour, to 50, to 70, to 90 in about 45 seconds. The motor peaked, almost blowing out, but I didn’t care. I gripped the steering wheel, glancing to my rearview for anything suspicious, tears streaming down my face. I could still smell the rot, the disease. Right when I thought I was safe, something flashed just within my periphery.

I only saw it for a split second. I still don’t believe it. I swear to god it looked like a child’s rendition of a massive bat, like a diseased abomination that vaguely held the visage of something discernable. It smashed into the side of my car. It was so dark that it nearly blended into the night, throwing the surrounding snowflakes into contrast against it’s jet-black hide.

When it struck the first time, I felt the vibration shudder through my speeding vehicle, but I held my course. The second time, however, it struck closer to my rear axle. The traction control light came on. I was hydroplaining.

When they warn you about black ice on the road, listen. Shit’s treatcherous.

As my car spun around & around, fully out of control, the beast smashed down onto my hood with predatory precision. The sudden collision sent my head careening into the driver’s-side window, & I felt my temple bash hard against the glass. Concousness begon to fade. The last thing I saw before I passed out, were my headlights illuminating 2 massive black eyes, set deep into the sockets of a diseased, pig-like head. I had the briefest notion that one looked like it was tinted red, & the other, tinted blue.

I woke up only 15 minutes later. My head throbbed, but luckily, I wasn’t bleeding. My hood had a massive dent in the middle of it, & when I tried to pull my car back into the lane, I heard the distinct sound of metal grinding on pavement. I sighed, trying to recall what exactly happened, just moments prior.

I stepped out of my car, phone flashlight in hand, careful to survey my surroundings before going far. I checked my tires, 1 of which was blown out.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance. I was stalled just outside Panoma, a small town 20 minutes away from my home, with a blown out tire. How did I end up halfway off the road? Something had…

Oh my god. That thing that had battered me off the road. It tried to kill me. I fully remembered now. Why had it stopped? I was passed out, completely defenseless. I got back into my car & began searching for towing services. None in the area were open, & the ones that were would take easily over 2 hours to reach me. Not to mention my financial situation. With mounting dread, I made the decision to try & replace the blowout with a spare.

I got out of my car & took another hit off my vape. Dont judge me, I needed something to calm my nerves. Shivering, lungs tightening, I got the spare tire out of my trunk. I used a few small blocks of wood to hold my wheels in place, & hastily pulled the ruined one off using a shitty jack & a 4 way. Within 20 minutes, the donut was secured. Lastly, I popped my hood to check for damage to my engine. To my relief, nothing was smoking. Everything looked normal. Overjoyed, sobbing, I got back into my car to finish the drive home, Something at the edge of the treeline caught my attention.

I looked to see something tall & dark, standing just at the edge of the clearing, no more than 30 feet away. Even though I couldn’t see its eyes, I knew it was watching me. I took one last look at the image of Moistcritical Jesus on my vape, little cricifix in his hand. I held it up, & the beast shuttered.

“I’m going the fuck home!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking follow me, I’m serious!”

I put it in my pocket, took a queeze off my inhaler, & closed the door behind me. Still reeling, I let out a sob & began to drive away. Despite the lack of a reflection in my mirrors, I could feel it standing there, just staring at me as I went further, & further.

The smell dissipated around the time I got to my apartment, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulders every 2 seconds. When I got inside, I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted. Right as I was about to drift off, I remembered.

The sink full of dirty dishes. Even half awake, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt when Charlie got home if they weren’t done. I couldn’t let her down, not after all that. So I took another puff from my inhaler & got to work. It took me forever to finish them, but eventually, the sink & dish drainer were clear.

“Nasty bruise, what happened?” Charlie asked, handing me a cup of Dunkin’s coffee as she stepped through the front door. She gingerly touched my forehead, & I flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No it’s fine babe, you…” she looked behind me, “did the dishes. Good job. Did you just finish those?”

I nodded & looked at the time. Just past 6:15am. The sun would be rising soon. I wasn’t usually still awake this early.

“Yeah, I uh, woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. What took you so long to get home?”

She smirked, “some idiot got into a wreck or something on the interstate we take to get home. Would’ve happened like an hour after you got out. I’m not surprised you missed it. Awful lucky though, huh?”

I stared absently at her.

“Black Ice & all that. Fuck’s sake Pat, you think you wanna go to sleep now? You look like you saw a goddman ghoul or something.”

I chuckled humorlessly, “yeah… or something.”

“Jesus Christ someone needs a nap, don’t ya?”

She led me into our bedroom & put a cool, damp washrag on my swolen temple.

“God Pat, what did you hit your head on? You think you have a concussion?” She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

I coughed.

“Nah, my car’s in way worse shape than I am.”

“Fuck, what happened to the car?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. I looked down at my Moistcritical Jesus Vape for a second & tried to find the words. I felt manic. I couldn’t believe that fast food & backseat trash had been the worst of my worries, only a few hours ago.

Finally, I flicked my eyes up, meeting her gaze. I smiled unsteadily.

“It’s a long story, but I swear to god it’s true,” I said.

“Oh… word?”

I sat up a little. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so sore.

“So like, I’m used to cleaning up piss & shit, right? Occasionally vomit. But last night was a really, really weird night…”

This is gonna sound insane, I know. I don’t blame you for not believeing me, but it’s just… it’s been a night. I just really need to get this all off my chest.

I’m used to cleaning up urine & excrement. Occasionally vomit. It’s part of the job on Diesel side. The automated bells chime, & one of the numbered lights turn from yellow to red. Whoever's on shower duty takes the cleaning cart to the small restroom & wipes everything down with a sanitizing solution. Once the entire room has been thoroughly disinfected, it’s supplied with a fresh, blue shower towel, & the password is typed into the combination keypad next to the door. The lock mechanism slides into place, & the cart gets wheeled back down the hallway, right behind the register.

It’s a thankless loop. The truck drivers & low income families who use the showers in our gas station usually don’t show any appreciation, not that it’s expected or needed. Past a handful of older men who leave crumpled 5 or 10 dollar bills for my female coworkers, the most we get is usually just a fleeting, awkward glance, or a brief nod with, “‘priciate it,” muttered under their breath.

A giggling young couple exited shower 10 at 12:17AM. When I opened the door to the room, I smelled strawberry shampoo, undercut by something visceral. Metalic, like burnt copper wiring.

The last thing I expected to see was semen or blood. I know, if you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “oh my god, who starts a story like this? Where could this possibly be going?”

I hate it as much as you do, probably more so. See, unlike you, I can't just exit the post & keep scrolling the subreddit. The only thing I could do was follow my manager's instructions.

We had a brief conversation over the old landline in the office. I told him about the state of the bathroom, along with sending him a picture of a bloody handprint, slapped onto the shower wall tiling. In a disinterested tone, he said that he’d handle anything if the cops came asking. He told me not to worry, because I wouldn’t get a follow up from him unless it was serious.

“That’s fine, but like, do you want me to call someone to clean it?”

“Well shit, who do you think we’re supposed to call, Pat?” Hammy’s tone was undercut with a razor blade of condescension. I always had the impression he wasn’t a fan of mine.

“I don’t know dude, isn’t it like, a biohazard or something? Like, can’t you get a disease-”

He cut me off with a dramatic, exhausted sigh, “...hold on, hold on. Disease?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck’s sake, Pat, do you plan on rubbing it into any open wounds?”

“Oh gross Hammy, no, obviously not.”

“Okay, fantastic. You plan on cleaning it up with your tongue? Or scooping it with your bare hands?”

Internally, I groaned. 3 years of working at the Travel Stop, & so far, this was perfectly standard for Hammy. In hindsight, I don't think I expected anything else when I called.

“No, I don’t, sir.”

“Sweet. Double up on gloves, double up on mop water, steal some sanitizer cleaner from the emergency shelf, & toss the rags when you’re done wiping everything down! Think you can handle that?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure, I guess…” I grumble.

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Is that all Pat?”

“I think so.”

“Great… You can hang up now, Pat.”

Trying to hold my breath as much as I could, I attempted to wipe it all up with as little direct contact as possible, ie; mops & rags as a physical buffer. Unfortunately, I had to use my gloved hands to get what the tools couldn’t.

Obviously, I didn’t want to think about what happened to create such a mess. Who would? You definitely don’t, & would probably appreciate it if I didn't describe the explicit imagery, but I’m telling you, it was distractingly excessive, especially the smell.

Semen in a restroom is disgusting & severely careless for whoever has to clean up afterwards, but not unheard of. Blood, while also unhygienic to just leave behind, is a little more feasible. Think used feminine-care products. But this… this was distinctly gratuitous.

I wanted to just bleach my eyes, keep working like a robot, & forget about it just as quickly as I’d seen it, but the sheer quantity kept me from disassociating. Random sized puddles of snotty white scrum decorated the floor & toilet seat like glistening, bleeding marble. A thick, transparent glob was sprayed across the counter, & partially dripped into the sink. Through leftover, strawberry-scented suds & bubbles collected in the center of the shower, I could see that the normally shiny silver drain was streaked with an ugly red hue. To top it all off, slapped like a signature on the shower wall, was the single, crimson handprint. There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

As I tossed the filthy mop head & prepared to replace it, I considered that maybe I was reading into it too much. I mean, clearly, no one was injured. They had left the building in the same giggly, flirtatious mood as when I’d handed them their shower code. Still, I shuttered imagining how so much of either bodily fluid could have ended up there in such a short period of time. It could’ve all just been the product of a freaky, unprotected passion session, right? I mean, who hasn’t had period sex?

At 12:00, I gave them access to their shower. They went in, made the mess, left, then I discovered their leftovers. A phone call & 3 full mop buckets later, it was over. By 12:34, shower 10’s door was shut & locked, the whole room fully sanitized to a near ridiculous level. In less than 20 minutes, they had created so much blood (which again, I had to clean) that I genuinely considered the valid possibility of a small animal being slaughtered in there. But then, why the jizz? That’s the line of deductive reasoning I went down before deciding to just stop thinking about it.

I’d only seen the two of them go in with their shower bag, no small animals, no butcher equipment. I just took a deep breath & carried on with my shift, content to go with the period sex theory.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told my coworker on break as I finished the story.

“Holy fuck, that’s disgusting,” she grimaced, pushing her leftover food away to placate her ruined appetite, “I straight up don’t believe there was that much.”

“Well, I called Hammy about it, & whether you wanna believe it or not, I’d like to not clean up the showers after crackhead sex again,” I rasped, letting the lit end of the joint between my fingers fizzle out. The thick mucus in my throat felt like it was swelling, & I tried (more like failed) to cough quietly.

“You think they were crackheads?” she asked.

“Ah, I honestly have no idea. I shouldn’t speculate, I guess.”

The back of my head resting against the brick wall behind me, I let out a dramatic wheeze. Once I had caught my breath, I stole a blue Taki from her discarded tray & stood up. She quickly checked her watch before following my lead.

“So what, Hammy really said you had to clean all that up?”

I shrugged & pulled out my inhaler. I violently shook it for a second, put the business end in my mouth, & squeezed the top. A flood of cold dust hit the back of my throat, & as I inhaled, the constricting muscles & tendons in my neck loosened. Blissfully, I could breathe again.

“Like I said. Part of the job, I guess…”

“You know, you’re crazy for smoking when you’ve got asthma,” my coworker smirked, understandably changing the subject.

“Oh, I know. I just smoke when this bad boy’s outta juice,” I held up a custom vape that had a picture of Moist Critical as Jesus printed on it.

“Oh shit, is that Andrew Driver?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure is,” I giggled sarcastically. I couldn’t tell if she was being deadass or not.

“Wow. Loved that guy in Megalopolis,” she mumbled thoughtfully.

I walked into the back office, getting ready to leave. Once my radio was plugged back in & my backpack was acquired, I clocked out for the night, listening to the office computer news stream drawl away.

“-olice say that the perpetrators are on foot near the West Plains area, & to call Weston Brady, Howell county Sheriff, if you see any suspicious behavior. The only evidence we have is 2 empty blood bags, which are currently being tested by the forensics department, & tracks matching a size 10 men’s pair of crocs. Experts advise-”

“You leaving?” my coworker interrupted, suddenly standing right behind me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I leave at 2:30am.”

“But Hammy said you’re here til 3.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:50.

“Well, the schedule says I stay til 2:30. I stayed an extra 20 minutes with you for your break. I think I’m good to go.”

She threw up her hands in a defensive motion, sighing dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna git, git. Just take out the trash with the cum stuff in it if you haven’t already.”

I looked at the wastebin in the hallway. I scowled when I realized I hadn’t taken it out when I finished earlier.

“Shit… Okay, fine. But replace the bag for me, please. I don’t feel like comin’ back inside.”

“God you literally are the kind of person to use an Andrew Driver vape,” I heard her grumble from inside the office.

With the negotiation set, I grabbed the bag with a fresh pair of gloves on & heaved it out the door.

Once it was in the dumpster & my jacket was on, I began the trek back to my car. Our employee parking lot was right beside the semi overnight parking, which bordered the woods. As I walked past the idling monster trucks, I felt something was off. Like a pair of eyes were trained on the back of my neck.

Over our gas pumps’ glowing neon roof, an icy moon shone brightly in a pitch black sky, devoid of stars. A series of ghostly whips drifted across the infinite canvas. It looked like an old painting, depicting a eery, winter landscape.

The my warm breath in the November cold gave the illusion of fog faces before fading into nothing. Pareidolia. My hair was all at once standing on end, & I looked around. Seeing nothing, I turned to survey the treeline. Still, nothing. I was alone in the dead of night while tiny snowflakes fell & melted on my warm skin. I concluded that nothing was wrong. I was being paranoid. I just needed to get to my car, warm up, & go home.

“Everything’s fine, calm down,” I told myself.

Just as I put the end of the final 18-wheeler behind me, I heard the sound of something rapidly smacking against a metal surface, like wet hands quickly skittering up the side of the trailer. I spun around to see nothing. Just a normal big-rig. Perplexed & quite nervous, I stumbled backwards a few steps. I didn’t dare look away. I kept my eyes trained on the corner where that noise had come from. I was frozen, both by fear, & the cold.

“Hey! What the fuck is up, pal?!” an angry voice demanded from behind me.

Snapped from my stuper, I whipped around to see a short, hairy woman with an underbite & a dark, disheveled complexion. She was dressed in bright pink pajamas, with a comical nightcap to match. A pair of bunny slippers dangled from her left hand, & a pack of menthol Newports were grasped firmly in her right.

“Huh?” I gasped, confused. In hindsight, I’m sure I looked super suspicious.

“Well? You lookin’ for anything in particular?” She snarled. Light glinted off the worn metal of her steel toes. If I was gonna get my ass handed to me by a trucker who thought I was casing their joint, I did not want it to be this ol’girl.

“Oh shit, hold on ma’am, this isn’t what it looks like! I was just cutting through so I could-”

“Oh, I know what you want, you scoundrel! You mean to bust open some old lady’s trunk, snoopin’ out & about under the cover of night,” she heaved, lumbering forward, “You wanna have your way with me while I’m asleep & defenseless, don’t you?!”

I grimaced & held up my hands definsively, shaking my head. Before I could get another word in, the hag continued, working herself up more & more with each word.

“Oh, you degenerate! You want to take advantage of me, eh? Bully?! Well here I am, so go on, have it your way! But just know, I got a mean turkey waddle downstairs, & she gobbles somethin’ nasty!”

By now, I could physically feel her dank, hot breath on my face. It smelled like old coffee & charred enamel, like a dentist visit gone wrong. She bared her snaggle, uneven molars at me & began to unbutton her vivid, blush colored blouse.

I waved my hands frantically in protest to stop her, clamping my eyes shut.

“Oh gross! Holy shit lady, I just work here! I’m just trying to go home, my shift is over!”

I blindly fumbled my way to employee parking, dry-heaving at the image of the woman in my head.

“Fuck, get yourself a lot-lizard or something! I’m married, for Christ’s sake! Gawd!” I hollered over my shoulder.

I heard her grumble something about Missouri boys having no taste, but once I was sure some distance had been put between us, I opened my eyes & finished my dash to the car. I couldn’t shake the visage of the old broad’s nip-slip, & that only served to worsten my mood.

“God, what a freak,” I said to myself as I shut my car door behind me.

“What an unsettling, freaky night.”

I was so relieved for my shift to finally be over. I took my glasses off & rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to dwell on the night's debaucherous events.

I slipped my spectacles back on & glanced down at the last two messages sent from my phone. One had been the crime scene-esque image that had gone to Hammy, the other was a quick, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes,” text I’d sent to my wife, Charlie, only a few minutes earlier.

As if on que, a response flashed across my screen.

“Dearest Husband,

I regret to inform you that I will be working another double, so we’ll have to postpone our extracurricular activities until a later date. For now, make the leftovers in the fridge, & when I get home, those dishes better be done, or I’m gonna slam you against the bathroom mirror & choke you until your face turns purple.

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

I smirked. I love the way she texts like an old calvary veteran writing a letter to his wife from a battlefield. Believe it or not, some women can be funny. Shocker.

“Kinky,” I typed, “was that a threat or a promise?”

I hit send, & three dots popped up for a second, before her final message appeared.

“Dearest Husband,

Both, depending on the state of those dishes when I get home. Seriously, I don’t wanna have to work another double, just to come home to a full sink again 😢

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

The brief spark of a good mood flickered in my chest. I felt like I was always the one doing the dishes in recent memory. Irritably, I began scrolling for a YouTube video to put on during my drive home, when a new notification popped up.

“McDonalds, 20% off on orders $5 or more, deal applicable at participating locations”

I licked my lips. I had that taki earlier, but I’d skipped eating on my break. The perverted shower discovery had ruined my appetite for a few hours. But now that the atrocity was behind me, I could go for a McChicken or 2. I know, I know. Leftovers in the fridge, but the aroma of crispy fries & greasy burgers wafted into my nostrils, beckoning me like the curling of a thick, stubby index finger.

I looked in the backseat to see the weeks worth of fast food bags that had accumulated on the floor. The frown on my lips deepened. Charlie was keeping an eye on our shared bank account to make sure I wasn’t spending our checks on junk food. For the last month or so, every time I’d pull out cash for rent & edibles, I’d pull out a little extra, just enough that she wouldn’t notice. Discounts & reward points only go so far.

When I looked in my wallet, I saw a measly $2 & a couple miscellaneous cents. I couldn’t spend the pennies, but what about my credit card?

I used the app to check my balance. There was about $3. After a quick calculation, I deduced I could get myself 2 McChickens with the discount, & a large fry using accumulated points.

I pulled into the empty drive-thru on the side of the gas station. I got to the menu screen with my code ready.

“Hello! Will you be using the mobile app today?” The cheery voice crackled through the speaker.

“Yes please,” I responded.

“What’s your code?” The voice was now that of a hormonal teenage boy.

“Um, I think it's 1-9-L-5?”

“For Patricia?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I needed to get that updated to Patrick.

“Kay. If everything looks correct on the screen, you’re good to pull forward.”

“Thanks,” I said, starting towards the first window.

“Wait, actually hold on a second!”

I stopped, “Yeah? What’s up?” I asked.

“Uh, that’s weird, it looks like you tried to stack a deal on top of rewards points. You can only do one per order.”

“So what does that mean…?”

“I mean, I don’t think I can use your points for those fries. Really, it shouldn’t have even let you place your order like that…”

He was quiet for a second. It sounded like he & someone else were whispering on the other end.

“Uh, sorry I’m kinda new. I’ll get my manager, this is weird. Could you pull up to the first window for me?”

Ugh. I just wanted my food, so I could go home. 2 chicken sandwiches & a large fry was not worth all this. I decided on my way up that I would just overdraft my credit card to get the fries so I could leave quicker. I pulled up to the window, where the acne-riddled teenage boy stood next to a manager.

“Hey, are you the pickup order for the 2 McChickens & the large fry?” the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the empty drive-thru, “yep, that’s me.”

“So here’s he deal. Zach here,” she patted the clearly stoned teenager on his shoulder, “said you tried to stack rewards points & a deal in the same order. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, uh, it doesn’t matter, can I actually just pay part with cash, part with card?” I mumbledo.

“You don’t wanna use the 20% off deal?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, but are the points that I used on that large fry still gonna work?”

She shook her head, “no, but they’ll go back into your account in 7 to 10 business days.”

She held out her hand. Defeated, I just sighed, placing the cash & card into her palm. Just like that, transaction complete.

“That’s uh… that’s just the way our app works, we don’t, uh, control it…,” Zach droned, staring off into space.

“Yes, very good Zach,” the manager cooed, “we know buddy.”

Once the card was back in my wallet, I took a hit off my Jesus Moistcritical vape. As the yellow indica smoke filled my lungs, I felt my temper cool a few degrees.

“Just a stressful night, that’s all,” I told myself. As soon as I got home, I knew I would feel better. I just needed to eat & get home.

In a few short minutes, the woman was holding my bag out the window, & I grabbed it greedily.

“Hey, just so you know, you shouldn’t eat this much fast food,” she said, looking in my backseat as I rolled up my window.

“It's not good for you…”

What a bitch.

As I tore down the desolate road, I ripped into the pitiful chicken patty. While the sandwich curbed my hunger,I was still put-off. Buns tar & feathered by mayonayse & too much lettuce. The fries were perfect, though. I tossed the garbage into my backseat & took another rip off my vape, feeling the blissful high run down my nerves & tingle at the tips of my fingers. I was calm, but not unbothered. Something was wrong, the feeling of being watched had still not been shaken.

Given I was in public, I could logically explain my experience in the semi parking lot. But I knew there was no way that anyone should have been watching me as I cleared the winding hills of the secluded interstate. The snow particles zipped past my windshield, giving the illusion that I was going much faster than I actually was. I took another 2 or 3 hits off the vape & cracked my window. That was when the stench hit me. Going 65 miles an hour down the snowy road, it smelled like raw sewage & burning rust.

Just as soon as I registered the awful odor, red & blue lights suddenly appeared behind my car. Police lights. A new fear sparked in my chest, building to a roaring flame that caused my hands to tremble against my steering wheel.

Forming tears licked the edges of my eyes.

I just wanted to go home.

As I tried to find a shoulder of road to safely pull onto, I frantically shoved my vape into my pocket. If I got caught vaping THC while going 70 in a 65, I knew I wouldn’t be going home tonight.

“Just play it cool,” I said, bringing my vehicle to a full stop, & firmly placing both hands on the steering wheel. If I got a ticket, I got a ticket. All I had to do was be compliant, & this might all be over in just a few minutes.

Maybe it was how dark the night was. Maybe I was just distracted by the lights, but on god, I didn’t see or even hear the police man approach my car. It was like he just appeared in my driver’s-side window. His face was so close, it should have fogged the glass.

“Hullo, officer,” I mumbled, rolling down my window.

“License, registration, proof of insurance,” he droned, voice void of emotion. That put me even more on edge. I dug through my glove compartment, grabbing anything that looked like it could’ve been official paperwork.

“Beautiful night, huht?” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. He didn’t respond. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Sighing in relief, I turned the documents over to the cop.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. Everything about this interaction felt off. Alarm bells rang through my head, but I tried to temper them. Was this a trick or something? “That’s my… registration & proof of insurance?”

“Oh,” he said, grabbing the paperwork & stuffing it in his back pocket, “right. License?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” I fumbled in my wallet for a second before passing him my ID as well.

“May I ask why you’re pulling me over?” I asked, & as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. When he glared up at me, I thought that his dialated eyes would burn 2 holes right through me. Despite the cold, unphazed expression on his face, something in his eyes held a vigorous intensity. Like I was the biggest inconvienience he could possibly have to deal with. Like he wanted to be done already.

He was silent for just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he finally grumbled, “Routine traffic stop. Gotta run these through our system. Next time, be faster.”

As his shoes crunched in the snow as he made his way back to his car, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He claimed it was just a routine traffic stop, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.

The whole night so far had felt like a taut wire, pulling more & more, the tensity becoming palpable, building to a breaking point. Like a balloon getting ready to pop.

I gagged on the scent that enveloped me. We had to have pulled off next to a sewage drain or something. That horrible smell just would not go away. It was like it soaked into all the fibers of my car. It made me want to throw up.

Even though he couldn’t have left me waiting for more than 5 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I was scared to move, to take my hands off the steering wheel. Even looking in my mirrors felt sinful, like I was doing something horribly wrong. But as I took my surroundings into account, something clicked in my mind. I wasn’t crazy.

When I turned back to see through my rear window, I could make out the dark silhouette of the massive police cruizer, idling dormant as snowflakes drifted past the hood. Considering the lack of headlights, it really looked more like a huge beast, just sitting there. The details became more apparent the longer I looked.

Why couldn’t I see the silhouette of his side mirrors?

Why did the red & blue flashing lights seem to be coming from inside the windshield, rather than the top of the car?

I saw the outline of the large man step out of the vehicle, but I didn’t see a car door open. It’s hard to explain. You know those Jeeps that don’t have doors? It was like that, as if his state-issued police cruiser had no doors either. His dark visage just seemed to materialize from out of the larger body, like he’d been one with the car only seconds earlier.

I snapped back around, facing forward. I could feel my heart beating its way into my throat, the vessles in my neck flexing & constricting. I felt like I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

As I heard his foot steps slowly crunch closer & closer, I spared a glance at my driver’s-side mirror. What I saw, as the snow drifed into my windows, confused me, made my blood run cold. He didn’t have a reflection. I could see 2 bright red crocs moving seemingly of their own accord. They took step after step, as if being worn by some invisible spectre.

What had I been smoking from that vape cartridge?

I heard the fabric of his uniform brush against the side of my car, but it sounded like something rough & textured, sandpaper-esque, grinding along the metal. As his footsteps became louder, the smell intensified. Just as he was almost to my drivers side window, I looked in my rearview. That was when I saw the full picture. That was when the pieces slid into place.

His car didn’t have a reflection either. I realized that all I saw in the mirror were just 2 disembodied lights, 1 red, 1 blue, hovering in the air, about eye level with me. I swear to god, it almost looked like they were eminating from pair of eyeballs, just floating there amongst the drifting snow.

Tap. Tap.

I slowly turned to look at the cop, who was now, finally, back at my drivers-side door. I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. My nerves were screaming for me to run. What was going on?

“Yeah, we have a problem,” he said.

“P-problem?” I stuttered. I must’ve looked petrified, but he just kept staring at me, dead-faced.

“I tried to run your info through the system. I didn’t get anything back.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hm.”

We just stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.

“Also, not to accuse you of anything, but your behavior during this stop has been highly suspicious.”

He glanced in my backseat, licking his lips as he surveyed all the discarded fast food trash. I could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d worn earlier, in the drive through. He was desperately hungry.

“Highly s-suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he grumbled, turning to look back at me. His eyes drilled into mine, & I began to feel the last of my self-control slipping. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why didn’t you have a refliction?” I stammered. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, his face twisted into a new emotion, but I knew he was just acting.

“Excuse me?”

“When you walked up to my car, where was your reflection?” I asked, more assured this time.

“Are you on drugs, ma’am?” He asked, faking an expression of concern. I was picking out more things now, more wrong things. Little inconsistencies. His uniform was all out of place, I’d seen what the police in our area wore when they’d stop for late-night coffee at the gas-station.

His badge was on the wrong side, there was no radio or body-cam anywhere on him, his shirt was the wrong color, not to mention, short sleeves in less than 30⁰ weather? His facial hair was patchy. There was no way this guy was a cop, he just looked like one. Like if you told someone who’d never actually seen a cop to draw one in a picture.

“Where was your reflection?!” I asked again, my voice catching. I sounded hysterical, I knew it.

“Okay, ma’am, this is ridiculous, may I please enter your vehicle?” He said, rising back to his full height.

“What?”

“I need inside your vehicle, if you don’t let me in willingly, I will place you under arrest.”

“No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Well then step out of the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in.”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

“No!!”

His jaw tightened, I could tell he was angry, “Ma’am, you are directly interfering with a police investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?!” I demanded. He stood, watching me, his fully black eyes narrowing furiously.

“I need to make sure you’re safe to drive,” he growled.

“I thought you said that there’s an issue finding me in your system? Why do you need in my car?”

He gritted his jaw & leaned back down, placing his pimply, blistered hands on the edges of my windowsill. I noticed that even his fingertips couldn’t enter my car.

“There’s… I need to… just let me in your car, I’ll verify what I need to, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you go real soon.”

Under the odor of rotten decay, I smelled something entirely out of place. Strawberry-scented body wash. The juxtaposition nearly threw me over the edge.

I let out a sob, grabbing the gear-shift. Suddenly, I remember what I’d heard in the office. I decided to give him one last test. I dom’t know why.

“Fine, get me Weston Brady, then.”

His look of simmering rage momentarily mixed with confusion. This time, I could tell that his bewildered expression was legit.

“Who the hell is Weston Brady?” He asked, the smell of death, strawberries, & burnt copper whafting off his breath. With that, I threw the car into gear, spinning my tires out & flinging muddy snow all over the fake police man.

“Fucking bitch!” He roared, but I took off before he had time to react.

If I had been speeding earlier, I was flying now. I went from 30 miles an hour, to 50, to 70, to 90 in about 45 seconds. The motor peaked, almost blowing out, but I didn’t care. I gripped the steering wheel, glancing to my rearview for anything suspicious, tears streaming down my face. I could still smell the rot, the disease. Right when I thought I was safe, something flashed just within my periphery.

I only saw it for a split second. I still don’t believe it. I swear to god it looked like a child’s rendition of a massive bat, like a diseased abomination that vaguely held the visage of something discernable. It smashed into the side of my car. It was so dark that it nearly blended into the night, throwing the surrounding snowflakes into contrast against it’s jet-black hide.

When it struck the first time, I felt the vibration shudder through my speeding vehicle, but I held my course. The second time, however, it struck closer to my rear axle. The traction control light came on. I was hydroplaining.

When they warn you about black ice on the road, listen. Shit’s treatcherous.

As my car spun around & around, fully out of control, the beast smashed down onto my hood with predatory precision. The sudden collision sent my head careening into the driver’s-side window, & I felt my temple bash hard against the glass. Concousness begon to fade. The last thing I saw before I passed out, were my headlights illuminating 2 massive black eyes, set deep into the sockets of a diseased, pig-like head. I had the briefest notion that one looked like it was tinted red, & the other, tinted blue.

I woke up only 15 minutes later. My head throbbed, but luckily, I wasn’t bleeding. My hood had a massive dent in the middle of it, & when I tried to pull my car back into the lane, I heard the distinct sound of metal grinding on pavement. I sighed, trying to recall what exactly happened, just moments prior.

I stepped out of my car, phone flashlight in hand, careful to survey my surroundings before going far. I checked my tires, 1 of which was blown out.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance. I was stalled just outside Panoma, a small town 20 minutes away from my home, with a blown out tire. How did I end up halfway off the road? Something had…

Oh my god. That thing that had battered me off the road. It tried to kill me. I fully remembered now. Why had it stopped? I was passed out, completely defenseless. I got back into my car & began searching for towing services. None in the area were open, & the ones that were would take easily over 2 hours to reach me. Not to mention my financial situation. With mounting dread, I made the decision to try & replace the blowout with a spare.

I got out of my car & took another hit off my vape. Dont judge me, I needed something to calm my nerves. Shivering, lungs tightening, I got the spare tire out of my trunk. I used a few small blocks of wood to hold my wheels in place, & hastily pulled the ruined one off using a shitty jack & a 4 way. Within 20 minutes, the donut was secured. Lastly, I popped my hood to check for damage to my engine. To my relief, nothing was smoking. Everything looked normal. Overjoyed, sobbing, I got back into my car to finish the drive home, Something at the edge of the treeline caught my attention.

I looked to see something tall & dark, standing just at the edge of the clearing, no more than 30 feet away. Even though I couldn’t see its eyes, I knew it was watching me. I took one last look at the image of Moistcritical Jesus on my vape, little cricifix in his hand. I held it up, & the beast shuttered.

“I’m going the fuck home!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking follow me, I’m serious!”

I put it in my pocket, took a queeze off my inhaler, & closed the door behind me. Still reeling, I let out a sob & began to drive away. Despite the lack of a reflection in my mirrors, I could feel it standing there, just staring at me as I went further, & further.

The smell dissipated around the time I got to my apartment, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulders every 2 seconds. When I got inside, I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted. Right as I was about to drift off, I remembered.

The sink full of dirty dishes. Even half awake, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt when Charlie got home if they weren’t done. I couldn’t let her down, not after all that. So I took another puff from my inhaler & got to work. It took me forever to finish them, but eventually, the sink & dish drainer were clear.

“Nasty bruise, what happened?” Charlie asked, handing me a cup of Dunkin’s coffee as she stepped through the front door. She gingerly touched my forehead, & I flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No it’s fine babe, you…” she looked behind me, “did the dishes. Good job. Did you just finish those?”

I nodded & looked at the time. Just past 6:15am. The sun would be rising soon. I wasn’t usually still awake this early.

“Yeah, I uh, woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. What took you so long to get home?”

She smirked, “some idiot got into a wreck or something on the interstate we take to get home. Would’ve happened like an hour after you got out. I’m not surprised you missed it. Awful lucky though, huh?”

I stared absently at her.

“Black Ice & all that. Fuck’s sake Pat, you think you wanna go to sleep now? You look like you saw a goddman ghoul or something.”

I chuckled humorlessly, “yeah… or something.”

“Jesus Christ someone needs a nap, don’t ya?”

She led me into our bedroom & put a cool, damp washrag on my swolen temple.

“God Pat, what did you hit your head on? You think you have a concussion?” She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

I coughed.

“Nah, my car’s in way worse shape than I am.”

“Fuck, what happened to the car?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. I looked down at my Moistcritical Jesus Vape for a second & tried to find the words. I felt manic. I couldn’t believe that fast food & backseat trash had been the worst of my worries, only a few hours ago.

Finally, I flicked my eyes up, meeting her gaze. I smiled unsteadily.

“It’s a long story, but I swear to god it’s true,” I said.

“Oh… word?”

I sat up a little. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so sore.

“So like, I’m used to cleaning up piss & shit, right? Occasionally vomit. But last night was a really, really weird night…”

This is gonna sound insane, I know. I don’t blame you for not believeing me, but it’s just… it’s been a night. I just really need to get this all off my chest.

I’m used to cleaning up urine & excrement. Occasionally vomit. It’s part of the job on Diesel side. The automated bells chime, & one of the numbered lights turn from yellow to red. Whoever's on shower duty takes the cleaning cart to the small restroom & wipes everything down with a sanitizing solution. Once the entire room has been thoroughly disinfected, it’s supplied with a fresh, blue shower towel, & the password is typed into the combination keypad next to the door. The lock mechanism slides into place, & the cart gets wheeled back down the hallway, right behind the register.

It’s a thankless loop. The truck drivers & low income families who use the showers in our gas station usually don’t show any appreciation, not that it’s expected or needed. Past a handful of older men who leave crumpled 5 or 10 dollar bills for my female coworkers, the most we get is usually just a fleeting, awkward glance, or a brief nod with, “‘priciate it,” muttered under their breath.

A giggling young couple exited shower 10 at 12:17AM. When I opened the door to the room, I smelled strawberry shampoo, undercut by something visceral. Metalic, like burnt copper wiring.

The last thing I expected to see was semen or blood. I know, if you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “oh my god, who starts a story like this? Where could this possibly be going?”

I hate it as much as you do, probably more so. See, unlike you, I can't just exit the post & keep scrolling the subreddit. The only thing I could do was follow my manager's instructions.

We had a brief conversation over the old landline in the office. I told him about the state of the bathroom, along with sending him a picture of a bloody handprint, slapped onto the shower wall tiling. In a disinterested tone, he said that he’d handle anything if the cops came asking. He told me not to worry, because I wouldn’t get a follow up from him unless it was serious.

“That’s fine, but like, do you want me to call someone to clean it?”

“Well shit, who do you think we’re supposed to call, Pat?” Hammy’s tone was undercut with a razor blade of condescension. I always had the impression he wasn’t a fan of mine.

“I don’t know dude, isn’t it like, a biohazard or something? Like, can’t you get a disease-”

He cut me off with a dramatic, exhausted sigh, “...hold on, hold on. Disease?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck’s sake, Pat, do you plan on rubbing it into any open wounds?”

“Oh gross Hammy, no, obviously not.”

“Okay, fantastic. You plan on cleaning it up with your tongue? Or scooping it with your bare hands?”

Internally, I groaned. 3 years of working at the Travel Stop, & so far, this was perfectly standard for Hammy. In hindsight, I don't think I expected anything else when I called.

“No, I don’t, sir.”

“Sweet. Double up on gloves, double up on mop water, steal some sanitizer cleaner from the emergency shelf, & toss the rags when you’re done wiping everything down! Think you can handle that?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure, I guess…” I grumble.

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Is that all Pat?”

“I think so.”

“Great… You can hang up now, Pat.”

Trying to hold my breath as much as I could, I attempted to wipe it all up with as little direct contact as possible, ie; mops & rags as a physical buffer. Unfortunately, I had to use my gloved hands to get what the tools couldn’t.

Obviously, I didn’t want to think about what happened to create such a mess. Who would? You definitely don’t, & would probably appreciate it if I didn't describe the explicit imagery, but I’m telling you, it was distractingly excessive, especially the smell.

Semen in a restroom is disgusting & severely careless for whoever has to clean up afterwards, but not unheard of. Blood, while also unhygienic to just leave behind, is a little more feasible. Think used feminine-care products. But this… this was distinctly gratuitous.

I wanted to just bleach my eyes, keep working like a robot, & forget about it just as quickly as I’d seen it, but the sheer quantity kept me from disassociating. Random sized puddles of snotty white scrum decorated the floor & toilet seat like glistening, bleeding marble. A thick, transparent glob was sprayed across the counter, & partially dripped into the sink. Through leftover, strawberry-scented suds & bubbles collected in the center of the shower, I could see that the normally shiny silver drain was streaked with an ugly red hue. To top it all off, slapped like a signature on the shower wall, was the single, crimson handprint. There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

As I tossed the filthy mop head & prepared to replace it, I considered that maybe I was reading into it too much. I mean, clearly, no one was injured. They had left the building in the same giggly, flirtatious mood as when I’d handed them their shower code. Still, I shuttered imagining how so much of either bodily fluid could have ended up there in such a short period of time. It could’ve all just been the product of a freaky, unprotected passion session, right? I mean, who hasn’t had period sex?

At 12:00, I gave them access to their shower. They went in, made the mess, left, then I discovered their leftovers. A phone call & 3 full mop buckets later, it was over. By 12:34, shower 10’s door was shut & locked, the whole room fully sanitized to a near ridiculous level. In less than 20 minutes, they had created so much blood (which again, I had to clean) that I genuinely considered the valid possibility of a small animal being slaughtered in there. But then, why the jizz? That’s the line of deductive reasoning I went down before deciding to just stop thinking about it.

I’d only seen the two of them go in with their shower bag, no small animals, no butcher equipment. I just took a deep breath & carried on with my shift, content to go with the period sex theory.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told my coworker on break as I finished the story.

“Holy fuck, that’s disgusting,” she grimaced, pushing her leftover food away to placate her ruined appetite, “I straight up don’t believe there was that much.”

“Well, I called Hammy about it, & whether you wanna believe it or not, I’d like to not clean up the showers after crackhead sex again,” I rasped, letting the lit end of the joint between my fingers fizzle out. The thick mucus in my throat felt like it was swelling, & I tried (more like failed) to cough quietly.

“You think they were crackheads?” she asked.

“Ah, I honestly have no idea. I shouldn’t speculate, I guess.”

The back of my head resting against the brick wall behind me, I let out a dramatic wheeze. Once I had caught my breath, I stole a blue Taki from her discarded tray & stood up. She quickly checked her watch before following my lead.

“So what, Hammy really said you had to clean all that up?”

I shrugged & pulled out my inhaler. I violently shook it for a second, put the business end in my mouth, & squeezed the top. A flood of cold dust hit the back of my throat, & as I inhaled, the constricting muscles & tendons in my neck loosened. Blissfully, I could breathe again.

“Like I said. Part of the job, I guess…”

“You know, you’re crazy for smoking when you’ve got asthma,” my coworker smirked, understandably changing the subject.

“Oh, I know. I just smoke when this bad boy’s outta juice,” I held up a custom vape that had a picture of Moist Critical as Jesus printed on it.

“Oh shit, is that Andrew Driver?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure is,” I giggled sarcastically. I couldn’t tell if she was being deadass or not.

“Wow. Loved that guy in Megalopolis,” she mumbled thoughtfully.

I walked into the back office, getting ready to leave. Once my radio was plugged back in & my backpack was acquired, I clocked out for the night, listening to the office computer news stream drawl away.

“-olice say that the perpetrators are on foot near the West Plains area, & to call Weston Brady, Howell county Sheriff, if you see any suspicious behavior. The only evidence we have is 2 empty blood bags, which are currently being tested by the forensics department, & tracks matching a size 10 men’s pair of crocs. Experts advise-”

“You leaving?” my coworker interrupted, suddenly standing right behind me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I leave at 2:30am.”

“But Hammy said you’re here til 3.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:50.

“Well, the schedule says I stay til 2:30. I stayed an extra 20 minutes with you for your break. I think I’m good to go.”

She threw up her hands in a defensive motion, sighing dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna git, git. Just take out the trash with the cum stuff in it if you haven’t already.”

I looked at the wastebin in the hallway. I scowled when I realized I hadn’t taken it out when I finished earlier.

“Shit… Okay, fine. But replace the bag for me, please. I don’t feel like comin’ back inside.”

“God you literally are the kind of person to use an Andrew Driver vape,” I heard her grumble from inside the office.

With the negotiation set, I grabbed the bag with a fresh pair of gloves on & heaved it out the door.

Once it was in the dumpster & my jacket was on, I began the trek back to my car. Our employee parking lot was right beside the semi overnight parking, which bordered the woods. As I walked past the idling monster trucks, I felt something was off. Like a pair of eyes were trained on the back of my neck.

Over our gas pumps’ glowing neon roof, an icy moon shone brightly in a pitch black sky, devoid of stars. A series of ghostly whips drifted across the infinite canvas. It looked like an old painting, depicting a eery, winter landscape.

The my warm breath in the November cold gave the illusion of fog faces before fading into nothing. Pareidolia. My hair was all at once standing on end, & I looked around. Seeing nothing, I turned to survey the treeline. Still, nothing. I was alone in the dead of night while tiny snowflakes fell & melted on my warm skin. I concluded that nothing was wrong. I was being paranoid. I just needed to get to my car, warm up, & go home.

“Everything’s fine, calm down,” I told myself.

Just as I put the end of the final 18-wheeler behind me, I heard the sound of something rapidly smacking against a metal surface, like wet hands quickly skittering up the side of the trailer. I spun around to see nothing. Just a normal big-rig. Perplexed & quite nervous, I stumbled backwards a few steps. I didn’t dare look away. I kept my eyes trained on the corner where that noise had come from. I was frozen, both by fear, & the cold.

“Hey! What the fuck is up, pal?!” an angry voice demanded from behind me.

Snapped from my stuper, I whipped around to see a short, hairy woman with an underbite & a dark, disheveled complexion. She was dressed in bright pink pajamas, with a comical nightcap to match. A pair of bunny slippers dangled from her left hand, & a pack of menthol Newports were grasped firmly in her right.

“Huh?” I gasped, confused. In hindsight, I’m sure I looked super suspicious.

“Well? You lookin’ for anything in particular?” She snarled. Light glinted off the worn metal of her steel toes. If I was gonna get my ass handed to me by a trucker who thought I was casing their joint, I did not want it to be this ol’girl.

“Oh shit, hold on ma’am, this isn’t what it looks like! I was just cutting through so I could-”

“Oh, I know what you want, you scoundrel! You mean to bust open some old lady’s trunk, snoopin’ out & about under the cover of night,” she heaved, lumbering forward, “You wanna have your way with me while I’m asleep & defenseless, don’t you?!”

I grimaced & held up my hands definsively, shaking my head. Before I could get another word in, the hag continued, working herself up more & more with each word.

“Oh, you degenerate! You want to take advantage of me, eh? Bully?! Well here I am, so go on, have it your way! But just know, I got a mean turkey waddle downstairs, & she gobbles somethin’ nasty!”

By now, I could physically feel her dank, hot breath on my face. It smelled like old coffee & charred enamel, like a dentist visit gone wrong. She bared her snaggle, uneven molars at me & began to unbutton her vivid, blush colored blouse.

I waved my hands frantically in protest to stop her, clamping my eyes shut.

“Oh gross! Holy shit lady, I just work here! I’m just trying to go home, my shift is over!”

I blindly fumbled my way to employee parking, dry-heaving at the image of the woman in my head.

“Fuck, get yourself a lot-lizard or something! I’m married, for Christ’s sake! Gawd!” I hollered over my shoulder.

I heard her grumble something about Missouri boys having no taste, but once I was sure some distance had been put between us, I opened my eyes & finished my dash to the car. I couldn’t shake the visage of the old broad’s nip-slip, & that only served to worsten my mood.

“God, what a freak,” I said to myself as I shut my car door behind me.

“What an unsettling, freaky night.”

I was so relieved for my shift to finally be over. I took my glasses off & rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to dwell on the night's debaucherous events.

I slipped my spectacles back on & glanced down at the last two messages sent from my phone. One had been the crime scene-esque image that had gone to Hammy, the other was a quick, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes,” text I’d sent to my wife, Charlie, only a few minutes earlier.

As if on que, a response flashed across my screen.

“Dearest Husband,

I regret to inform you that I will be working another double, so we’ll have to postpone our extracurricular activities until a later date. For now, make the leftovers in the fridge, & when I get home, those dishes better be done, or I’m gonna slam you against the bathroom mirror & choke you until your face turns purple.

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

I smirked. I love the way she texts like an old calvary veteran writing a letter to his wife from a battlefield. Believe it or not, some women can be funny. Shocker.

“Kinky,” I typed, “was that a threat or a promise?”

I hit send, & three dots popped up for a second, before her final message appeared.

“Dearest Husband,

Both, depending on the state of those dishes when I get home. Seriously, I don’t wanna have to work another double, just to come home to a full sink again 😢

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

The brief spark of a good mood flickered in my chest. I felt like I was always the one doing the dishes in recent memory. Irritably, I began scrolling for a YouTube video to put on during my drive home, when a new notification popped up.

“McDonalds, 20% off on orders $5 or more, deal applicable at participating locations”

I licked my lips. I had that taki earlier, but I’d skipped eating on my break. The perverted shower discovery had ruined my appetite for a few hours. But now that the atrocity was behind me, I could go for a McChicken or 2. I know, I know. Leftovers in the fridge, but the aroma of crispy fries & greasy burgers wafted into my nostrils, beckoning me like the curling of a thick, stubby index finger.

I looked in the backseat to see the weeks worth of fast food bags that had accumulated on the floor. The frown on my lips deepened. Charlie was keeping an eye on our shared bank account to make sure I wasn’t spending our checks on junk food. For the last month or so, every time I’d pull out cash for rent & edibles, I’d pull out a little extra, just enough that she wouldn’t notice. Discounts & reward points only go so far.

When I looked in my wallet, I saw a measly $2 & a couple miscellaneous cents. I couldn’t spend the pennies, but what about my credit card?

I used the app to check my balance. There was about $3. After a quick calculation, I deduced I could get myself 2 McChickens with the discount, & a large fry using accumulated points.

I pulled into the empty drive-thru on the side of the gas station. I got to the menu screen with my code ready.

“Hello! Will you be using the mobile app today?” The cheery voice crackled through the speaker.

“Yes please,” I responded.

“What’s your code?” The voice was now that of a hormonal teenage boy.

“Um, I think it's 1-9-L-5?”

“For Patricia?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I needed to get that updated to Patrick.

“Kay. If everything looks correct on the screen, you’re good to pull forward.”

“Thanks,” I said, starting towards the first window.

“Wait, actually hold on a second!”

I stopped, “Yeah? What’s up?” I asked.

“Uh, that’s weird, it looks like you tried to stack a deal on top of rewards points. You can only do one per order.”

“So what does that mean…?”

“I mean, I don’t think I can use your points for those fries. Really, it shouldn’t have even let you place your order like that…”

He was quiet for a second. It sounded like he & someone else were whispering on the other end.

“Uh, sorry I’m kinda new. I’ll get my manager, this is weird. Could you pull up to the first window for me?”

Ugh. I just wanted my food, so I could go home. 2 chicken sandwiches & a large fry was not worth all this. I decided on my way up that I would just overdraft my credit card to get the fries so I could leave quicker. I pulled up to the window, where the acne-riddled teenage boy stood next to a manager.

“Hey, are you the pickup order for the 2 McChickens & the large fry?” the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the empty drive-thru, “yep, that’s me.”

“So here’s he deal. Zach here,” she patted the clearly stoned teenager on his shoulder, “said you tried to stack rewards points & a deal in the same order. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, uh, it doesn’t matter, can I actually just pay part with cash, part with card?” I mumbledo.

“You don’t wanna use the 20% off deal?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, but are the points that I used on that large fry still gonna work?”

She shook her head, “no, but they’ll go back into your account in 7 to 10 business days.”

She held out her hand. Defeated, I just sighed, placing the cash & card into her palm. Just like that, transaction complete.

“That’s uh… that’s just the way our app works, we don’t, uh, control it…,” Zach droned, staring off into space.

“Yes, very good Zach,” the manager cooed, “we know buddy.”

Once the card was back in my wallet, I took a hit off my Jesus Moistcritical vape. As the yellow indica smoke filled my lungs, I felt my temper cool a few degrees.

“Just a stressful night, that’s all,” I told myself. As soon as I got home, I knew I would feel better. I just needed to eat & get home.

In a few short minutes, the woman was holding my bag out the window, & I grabbed it greedily.

“Hey, just so you know, you shouldn’t eat this much fast food,” she said, looking in my backseat as I rolled up my window.

“It's not good for you…”

What a bitch.

As I tore down the desolate road, I ripped into the pitiful chicken patty. While the sandwich curbed my hunger,I was still put-off. Buns tar & feathered by mayonayse & too much lettuce. The fries were perfect, though. I tossed the garbage into my backseat & took another rip off my vape, feeling the blissful high run down my nerves & tingle at the tips of my fingers. I was calm, but not unbothered. Something was wrong, the feeling of being watched had still not been shaken.

Given I was in public, I could logically explain my experience in the semi parking lot. But I knew there was no way that anyone should have been watching me as I cleared the winding hills of the secluded interstate. The snow particles zipped past my windshield, giving the illusion that I was going much faster than I actually was. I took another 2 or 3 hits off the vape & cracked my window. That was when the stench hit me. Going 65 miles an hour down the snowy road, it smelled like raw sewage & burning rust.

Just as soon as I registered the awful odor, red & blue lights suddenly appeared behind my car. Police lights. A new fear sparked in my chest, building to a roaring flame that caused my hands to tremble against my steering wheel.

Forming tears licked the edges of my eyes.

I just wanted to go home.

As I tried to find a shoulder of road to safely pull onto, I frantically shoved my vape into my pocket. If I got caught vaping THC while going 70 in a 65, I knew I wouldn’t be going home tonight.

“Just play it cool,” I said, bringing my vehicle to a full stop, & firmly placing both hands on the steering wheel. If I got a ticket, I got a ticket. All I had to do was be compliant, & this might all be over in just a few minutes.

Maybe it was how dark the night was. Maybe I was just distracted by the lights, but on god, I didn’t see or even hear the police man approach my car. It was like he just appeared in my driver’s-side window. His face was so close, it should have fogged the glass.

“Hullo, officer,” I mumbled, rolling down my window.

“License, registration, proof of insurance,” he droned, voice void of emotion. That put me even more on edge. I dug through my glove compartment, grabbing anything that looked like it could’ve been official paperwork.

“Beautiful night, huht?” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. He didn’t respond. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Sighing in relief, I turned the documents over to the cop.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. Everything about this interaction felt off. Alarm bells rang through my head, but I tried to temper them. Was this a trick or something? “That’s my… registration & proof of insurance?”

“Oh,” he said, grabbing the paperwork & stuffing it in his back pocket, “right. License?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” I fumbled in my wallet for a second before passing him my ID as well.

“May I ask why you’re pulling me over?” I asked, & as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. When he glared up at me, I thought that his dialated eyes would burn 2 holes right through me. Despite the cold, unphazed expression on his face, something in his eyes held a vigorous intensity. Like I was the biggest inconvienience he could possibly have to deal with. Like he wanted to be done already.

He was silent for just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he finally grumbled, “Routine traffic stop. Gotta run these through our system. Next time, be faster.”

As his shoes crunched in the snow as he made his way back to his car, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He claimed it was just a routine traffic stop, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.

The whole night so far had felt like a taut wire, pulling more & more, the tensity becoming palpable, building to a breaking point. Like a balloon getting ready to pop.

I gagged on the scent that enveloped me. We had to have pulled off next to a sewage drain or something. That horrible smell just would not go away. It was like it soaked into all the fibers of my car. It made me want to throw up.

Even though he couldn’t have left me waiting for more than 5 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I was scared to move, to take my hands off the steering wheel. Even looking in my mirrors felt sinful, like I was doing something horribly wrong. But as I took my surroundings into account, something clicked in my mind. I wasn’t crazy.

When I turned back to see through my rear window, I could make out the dark silhouette of the massive police cruizer, idling dormant as snowflakes drifted past the hood. Considering the lack of headlights, it really looked more like a huge beast, just sitting there. The details became more apparent the longer I looked.

Why couldn’t I see the silhouette of his side mirrors?

Why did the red & blue flashing lights seem to be coming from inside the windshield, rather than the top of the car?

I saw the outline of the large man step out of the vehicle, but I didn’t see a car door open. It’s hard to explain. You know those Jeeps that don’t have doors? It was like that, as if his state-issued police cruiser had no doors either. His dark visage just seemed to materialize from out of the larger body, like he’d been one with the car only seconds earlier.

I snapped back around, facing forward. I could feel my heart beating its way into my throat, the vessles in my neck flexing & constricting. I felt like I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

As I heard his foot steps slowly crunch closer & closer, I spared a glance at my driver’s-side mirror. What I saw, as the snow drifed into my windows, confused me, made my blood run cold. He didn’t have a reflection. I could see 2 bright red crocs moving seemingly of their own accord. They took step after step, as if being worn by some invisible spectre.

What had I been smoking from that vape cartridge?

I heard the fabric of his uniform brush against the side of my car, but it sounded like something rough & textured, sandpaper-esque, grinding along the metal. As his footsteps became louder, the smell intensified. Just as he was almost to my drivers side window, I looked in my rearview. That was when I saw the full picture. That was when the pieces slid into place.

His car didn’t have a reflection either. I realized that all I saw in the mirror were just 2 disembodied lights, 1 red, 1 blue, hovering in the air, about eye level with me. I swear to god, it almost looked like they were eminating from pair of eyeballs, just floating there amongst the drifting snow.

Tap. Tap.

I slowly turned to look at the cop, who was now, finally, back at my drivers-side door. I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. My nerves were screaming for me to run. What was going on?

“Yeah, we have a problem,” he said.

“P-problem?” I stuttered. I must’ve looked petrified, but he just kept staring at me, dead-faced.

“I tried to run your info through the system. I didn’t get anything back.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hm.”

We just stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.

“Also, not to accuse you of anything, but your behavior during this stop has been highly suspicious.”

He glanced in my backseat, licking his lips as he surveyed all the discarded fast food trash. I could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d worn earlier, in the drive through. He was desperately hungry.

“Highly s-suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he grumbled, turning to look back at me. His eyes drilled into mine, & I began to feel the last of my self-control slipping. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why didn’t you have a refliction?” I stammered. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, his face twisted into a new emotion, but I knew he was just acting.

“Excuse me?”

“When you walked up to my car, where was your reflection?” I asked, more assured this time.

“Are you on drugs, ma’am?” He asked, faking an expression of concern. I was picking out more things now, more wrong things. Little inconsistencies. His uniform was all out of place, I’d seen what the police in our area wore when they’d stop for late-night coffee at the gas-station.

His badge was on the wrong side, there was no radio or body-cam anywhere on him, his shirt was the wrong color, not to mention, short sleeves in less than 30⁰ weather? His facial hair was patchy. There was no way this guy was a cop, he just looked like one. Like if you told someone who’d never actually seen a cop to draw one in a picture.

“Where was your reflection?!” I asked again, my voice catching. I sounded hysterical, I knew it.

“Okay, ma’am, this is ridiculous, may I please enter your vehicle?” He said, rising back to his full height.

“What?”

“I need inside your vehicle, if you don’t let me in willingly, I will place you under arrest.”

“No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Well then step out of the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in.”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

“No!!”

His jaw tightened, I could tell he was angry, “Ma’am, you are directly interfering with a police investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?!” I demanded. He stood, watching me, his fully black eyes narrowing furiously.

“I need to make sure you’re safe to drive,” he growled.

“I thought you said that there’s an issue finding me in your system? Why do you need in my car?”

He gritted his jaw & leaned back down, placing his pimply, blistered hands on the edges of my windowsill. I noticed that even his fingertips couldn’t enter my car.

“There’s… I need to… just let me in your car, I’ll verify what I need to, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you go real soon.”

Under the odor of rotten decay, I smelled something entirely out of place. Strawberry-scented body wash. The juxtaposition nearly threw me over the edge.

I let out a sob, grabbing the gear-shift. Suddenly, I remember what I’d heard in the office. I decided to give him one last test. I dom’t know why.

“Fine, get me Weston Brady, then.”

His look of simmering rage momentarily mixed with confusion. This time, I could tell that his bewildered expression was legit.

“Who the hell is Weston Brady?” He asked, the smell of death, strawberries, & burnt copper whafting off his breath. With that, I threw the car into gear, spinning my tires out & flinging muddy snow all over the fake police man.

“Fucking bitch!” He roared, but I took off before he had time to react.

If I had been speeding earlier, I was flying now. I went from 30 miles an hour, to 50, to 70, to 90 in about 45 seconds. The motor peaked, almost blowing out, but I didn’t care. I gripped the steering wheel, glancing to my rearview for anything suspicious, tears streaming down my face. I could still smell the rot, the disease. Right when I thought I was safe, something flashed just within my periphery.

I only saw it for a split second. I still don’t believe it. I swear to god it looked like a child’s rendition of a massive bat, like a diseased abomination that vaguely held the visage of something discernable. It smashed into the side of my car. It was so dark that it nearly blended into the night, throwing the surrounding snowflakes into contrast against it’s jet-black hide.

When it struck the first time, I felt the vibration shudder through my speeding vehicle, but I held my course. The second time, however, it struck closer to my rear axle. The traction control light came on. I was hydroplaining.

When they warn you about black ice on the road, listen. Shit’s treatcherous.

As my car spun around & around, fully out of control, the beast smashed down onto my hood with predatory precision. The sudden collision sent my head careening into the driver’s-side window, & I felt my temple bash hard against the glass. Concousness begon to fade. The last thing I saw before I passed out, were my headlights illuminating 2 massive black eyes, set deep into the sockets of a diseased, pig-like head. I had the briefest notion that one looked like it was tinted red, & the other, tinted blue.

I woke up only 15 minutes later. My head throbbed, but luckily, I wasn’t bleeding. My hood had a massive dent in the middle of it, & when I tried to pull my car back into the lane, I heard the distinct sound of metal grinding on pavement. I sighed, trying to recall what exactly happened, just moments prior.

I stepped out of my car, phone flashlight in hand, careful to survey my surroundings before going far. I checked my tires, 1 of which was blown out.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance. I was stalled just outside Panoma, a small town 20 minutes away from my home, with a blown out tire. How did I end up halfway off the road? Something had…

Oh my god. That thing that had battered me off the road. It tried to kill me. I fully remembered now. Why had it stopped? I was passed out, completely defenseless. I got back into my car & began searching for towing services. None in the area were open, & the ones that were would take easily over 2 hours to reach me. Not to mention my financial situation. With mounting dread, I made the decision to try & replace the blowout with a spare.

I got out of my car & took another hit off my vape. Dont judge me, I needed something to calm my nerves. Shivering, lungs tightening, I got the spare tire out of my trunk. I used a few small blocks of wood to hold my wheels in place, & hastily pulled the ruined one off using a shitty jack & a 4 way. Within 20 minutes, the donut was secured. Lastly, I popped my hood to check for damage to my engine. To my relief, nothing was smoking. Everything looked normal. Overjoyed, sobbing, I got back into my car to finish the drive home, Something at the edge of the treeline caught my attention.

I looked to see something tall & dark, standing just at the edge of the clearing, no more than 30 feet away. Even though I couldn’t see its eyes, I knew it was watching me. I took one last look at the image of Moistcritical Jesus on my vape, little cricifix in his hand. I held it up, & the beast shuttered.

“I’m going the fuck home!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking follow me, I’m serious!”

I put it in my pocket, took a queeze off my inhaler, & closed the door behind me. Still reeling, I let out a sob & began to drive away. Despite the lack of a reflection in my mirrors, I could feel it standing there, just staring at me as I went further, & further.

The smell dissipated around the time I got to my apartment, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulders every 2 seconds. When I got inside, I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted. Right as I was about to drift off, I remembered.

The sink full of dirty dishes. Even half awake, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt when Charlie got home if they weren’t done. I couldn’t let her down, not after all that. So I took another puff from my inhaler & got to work. It took me forever to finish them, but eventually, the sink & dish drainer were clear.

“Nasty bruise, what happened?” Charlie asked, handing me a cup of Dunkin’s coffee as she stepped through the front door. She gingerly touched my forehead, & I flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No it’s fine babe, you…” she looked behind me, “did the dishes. Good job. Did you just finish those?”

I nodded & looked at the time. Just past 6:15am. The sun would be rising soon. I wasn’t usually still awake this early.

“Yeah, I uh, woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. What took you so long to get home?”

She smirked, “some idiot got into a wreck or something on the interstate we take to get home. Would’ve happened like an hour after you got out. I’m not surprised you missed it. Awful lucky though, huh?”

I stared absently at her.

“Black Ice & all that. Fuck’s sake Pat, you think you wanna go to sleep now? You look like you saw a goddman ghoul or something.”

I chuckled humorlessly, “yeah… or something.”

“Jesus Christ someone needs a nap, don’t ya?”

She led me into our bedroom & put a cool, damp washrag on my swolen temple.

“God Pat, what did you hit your head on? You think you have a concussion?” She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

I coughed.

“Nah, my car’s in way worse shape than I am.”

“Fuck, what happened to the car?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. I looked down at my Moistcritical Jesus Vape for a second & tried to find the words. I felt manic. I couldn’t believe that fast food & backseat trash had been the worst of my worries, only a few hours ago.

Finally, I flicked my eyes up, meeting her gaze. I smiled unsteadily.

“It’s a long story, but I swear to god it’s true,” I said.

“Oh… word?”

I sat up a little. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so sore.

“So like, I’m used to cleaning up piss & shit, right? Occasionally vomit. But last night was a really, really weird night…”

This is gonna sound insane, I know. I don’t blame you for not believeing me, but it’s just… it’s been a night. I just really need to get this all off my chest.

I’m used to cleaning up urine & excrement. Occasionally vomit. It’s part of the job on Diesel side. The automated bells chime, & one of the numbered lights turn from yellow to red. Whoever's on shower duty takes the cleaning cart to the small restroom & wipes everything down with a sanitizing solution. Once the entire room has been thoroughly disinfected, it’s supplied with a fresh, blue shower towel, & the password is typed into the combination keypad next to the door. The lock mechanism slides into place, & the cart gets wheeled back down the hallway, right behind the register.

It’s a thankless loop. The truck drivers & low income families who use the showers in our gas station usually don’t show any appreciation, not that it’s expected or needed. Past a handful of older men who leave crumpled 5 or 10 dollar bills for my female coworkers, the most we get is usually just a fleeting, awkward glance, or a brief nod with, “‘priciate it,” muttered under their breath.

A giggling young couple exited shower 10 at 12:17AM. When I opened the door to the room, I smelled strawberry shampoo, undercut by something visceral. Metalic, like burnt copper wiring.

The last thing I expected to see was semen or blood. I know, if you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “oh my god, who starts a story like this? Where could this possibly be going?”

I hate it as much as you do, probably more so. See, unlike you, I can't just exit the post & keep scrolling the subreddit. The only thing I could do was follow my manager's instructions.

We had a brief conversation over the old landline in the office. I told him about the state of the bathroom, along with sending him a picture of a bloody handprint, slapped onto the shower wall tiling. In a disinterested tone, he said that he’d handle anything if the cops came asking. He told me not to worry, because I wouldn’t get a follow up from him unless it was serious.

“That’s fine, but like, do you want me to call someone to clean it?”

“Well shit, who do you think we’re supposed to call, Pat?” Hammy’s tone was undercut with a razor blade of condescension. I always had the impression he wasn’t a fan of mine.

“I don’t know dude, isn’t it like, a biohazard or something? Like, can’t you get a disease-”

He cut me off with a dramatic, exhausted sigh, “...hold on, hold on. Disease?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck’s sake, Pat, do you plan on rubbing it into any open wounds?”

“Oh gross Hammy, no, obviously not.”

“Okay, fantastic. You plan on cleaning it up with your tongue? Or scooping it with your bare hands?”

Internally, I groaned. 3 years of working at the Travel Stop, & so far, this was perfectly standard for Hammy. In hindsight, I don't think I expected anything else when I called.

“No, I don’t, sir.”

“Sweet. Double up on gloves, double up on mop water, steal some sanitizer cleaner from the emergency shelf, & toss the rags when you’re done wiping everything down! Think you can handle that?”

“Ugh, yeah. Sure, I guess…” I grumble.

For a moment, there was silence on the line.

“Is that all Pat?”

“I think so.”

“Great… You can hang up now, Pat.”

Trying to hold my breath as much as I could, I attempted to wipe it all up with as little direct contact as possible, ie; mops & rags as a physical buffer. Unfortunately, I had to use my gloved hands to get what the tools couldn’t.

Obviously, I didn’t want to think about what happened to create such a mess. Who would? You definitely don’t, & would probably appreciate it if I didn't describe the explicit imagery, but I’m telling you, it was distractingly excessive, especially the smell.

Semen in a restroom is disgusting & severely careless for whoever has to clean up afterwards, but not unheard of. Blood, while also unhygienic to just leave behind, is a little more feasible. Think used feminine-care products. But this… this was distinctly gratuitous.

I wanted to just bleach my eyes, keep working like a robot, & forget about it just as quickly as I’d seen it, but the sheer quantity kept me from disassociating. Random sized puddles of snotty white scrum decorated the floor & toilet seat like glistening, bleeding marble. A thick, transparent glob was sprayed across the counter, & partially dripped into the sink. Through leftover, strawberry-scented suds & bubbles collected in the center of the shower, I could see that the normally shiny silver drain was streaked with an ugly red hue. To top it all off, slapped like a signature on the shower wall, was the single, crimson handprint. There was more, but I think I’ve made my point.

As I tossed the filthy mop head & prepared to replace it, I considered that maybe I was reading into it too much. I mean, clearly, no one was injured. They had left the building in the same giggly, flirtatious mood as when I’d handed them their shower code. Still, I shuttered imagining how so much of either bodily fluid could have ended up there in such a short period of time. It could’ve all just been the product of a freaky, unprotected passion session, right? I mean, who hasn’t had period sex?

At 12:00, I gave them access to their shower. They went in, made the mess, left, then I discovered their leftovers. A phone call & 3 full mop buckets later, it was over. By 12:34, shower 10’s door was shut & locked, the whole room fully sanitized to a near ridiculous level. In less than 20 minutes, they had created so much blood (which again, I had to clean) that I genuinely considered the valid possibility of a small animal being slaughtered in there. But then, why the jizz? That’s the line of deductive reasoning I went down before deciding to just stop thinking about it.

I’d only seen the two of them go in with their shower bag, no small animals, no butcher equipment. I just took a deep breath & carried on with my shift, content to go with the period sex theory.

“Part of the job, I guess,” I told my coworker on break as I finished the story.

“Holy fuck, that’s disgusting,” she grimaced, pushing her leftover food away to placate her ruined appetite, “I straight up don’t believe there was that much.”

“Well, I called Hammy about it, & whether you wanna believe it or not, I’d like to not clean up the showers after crackhead sex again,” I rasped, letting the lit end of the joint between my fingers fizzle out. The thick mucus in my throat felt like it was swelling, & I tried (more like failed) to cough quietly.

“You think they were crackheads?” she asked.

“Ah, I honestly have no idea. I shouldn’t speculate, I guess.”

The back of my head resting against the brick wall behind me, I let out a dramatic wheeze. Once I had caught my breath, I stole a blue Taki from her discarded tray & stood up. She quickly checked her watch before following my lead.

“So what, Hammy really said you had to clean all that up?”

I shrugged & pulled out my inhaler. I violently shook it for a second, put the business end in my mouth, & squeezed the top. A flood of cold dust hit the back of my throat, & as I inhaled, the constricting muscles & tendons in my neck loosened. Blissfully, I could breathe again.

“Like I said. Part of the job, I guess…”

“You know, you’re crazy for smoking when you’ve got asthma,” my coworker smirked, understandably changing the subject.

“Oh, I know. I just smoke when this bad boy’s outta juice,” I held up a custom vape that had a picture of Moist Critical as Jesus printed on it.

“Oh shit, is that Andrew Driver?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure is,” I giggled sarcastically. I couldn’t tell if she was being deadass or not.

“Wow. Loved that guy in Megalopolis,” she mumbled thoughtfully.

I walked into the back office, getting ready to leave. Once my radio was plugged back in & my backpack was acquired, I clocked out for the night, listening to the office computer news stream drawl away.

“-olice say that the perpetrators are on foot near the West Plains area, & to call Weston Brady, Howell county Sheriff, if you see any suspicious behavior. The only evidence we have is 2 empty blood bags, which are currently being tested by the forensics department, & tracks matching a size 10 men’s pair of crocs. Experts advise-”

“You leaving?” my coworker interrupted, suddenly standing right behind me.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I leave at 2:30am.”

“But Hammy said you’re here til 3.”

I looked at the time on my phone. 2:50.

“Well, the schedule says I stay til 2:30. I stayed an extra 20 minutes with you for your break. I think I’m good to go.”

She threw up her hands in a defensive motion, sighing dramatically.

“Well if you’re gonna git, git. Just take out the trash with the cum stuff in it if you haven’t already.”

I looked at the wastebin in the hallway. I scowled when I realized I hadn’t taken it out when I finished earlier.

“Shit… Okay, fine. But replace the bag for me, please. I don’t feel like comin’ back inside.”

“God you literally are the kind of person to use an Andrew Driver vape,” I heard her grumble from inside the office.

With the negotiation set, I grabbed the bag with a fresh pair of gloves on & heaved it out the door.

Once it was in the dumpster & my jacket was on, I began the trek back to my car. Our employee parking lot was right beside the semi overnight parking, which bordered the woods. As I walked past the idling monster trucks, I felt something was off. Like a pair of eyes were trained on the back of my neck.

Over our gas pumps’ glowing neon roof, an icy moon shone brightly in a pitch black sky, devoid of stars. A series of ghostly whips drifted across the infinite canvas. It looked like an old painting, depicting a eery, winter landscape.

The my warm breath in the November cold gave the illusion of fog faces before fading into nothing. Pareidolia. My hair was all at once standing on end, & I looked around. Seeing nothing, I turned to survey the treeline. Still, nothing. I was alone in the dead of night while tiny snowflakes fell & melted on my warm skin. I concluded that nothing was wrong. I was being paranoid. I just needed to get to my car, warm up, & go home.

“Everything’s fine, calm down,” I told myself.

Just as I put the end of the final 18-wheeler behind me, I heard the sound of something rapidly smacking against a metal surface, like wet hands quickly skittering up the side of the trailer. I spun around to see nothing. Just a normal big-rig. Perplexed & quite nervous, I stumbled backwards a few steps. I didn’t dare look away. I kept my eyes trained on the corner where that noise had come from. I was frozen, both by fear, & the cold.

“Hey! What the fuck is up, pal?!” an angry voice demanded from behind me.

Snapped from my stuper, I whipped around to see a short, hairy woman with an underbite & a dark, disheveled complexion. She was dressed in bright pink pajamas, with a comical nightcap to match. A pair of bunny slippers dangled from her left hand, & a pack of menthol Newports were grasped firmly in her right.

“Huh?” I gasped, confused. In hindsight, I’m sure I looked super suspicious.

“Well? You lookin’ for anything in particular?” She snarled. Light glinted off the worn metal of her steel toes. If I was gonna get my ass handed to me by a trucker who thought I was casing their joint, I did not want it to be this ol’girl.

“Oh shit, hold on ma’am, this isn’t what it looks like! I was just cutting through so I could-”

“Oh, I know what you want, you scoundrel! You mean to bust open some old lady’s trunk, snoopin’ out & about under the cover of night,” she heaved, lumbering forward, “You wanna have your way with me while I’m asleep & defenseless, don’t you?!”

I grimaced & held up my hands definsively, shaking my head. Before I could get another word in, the hag continued, working herself up more & more with each word.

“Oh, you degenerate! You want to take advantage of me, eh? Bully?! Well here I am, so go on, have it your way! But just know, I got a mean turkey waddle downstairs, & she gobbles somethin’ nasty!”

By now, I could physically feel her dank, hot breath on my face. It smelled like old coffee & charred enamel, like a dentist visit gone wrong. She bared her snaggle, uneven molars at me & began to unbutton her vivid, blush colored blouse.

I waved my hands frantically in protest to stop her, clamping my eyes shut.

“Oh gross! Holy shit lady, I just work here! I’m just trying to go home, my shift is over!”

I blindly fumbled my way to employee parking, dry-heaving at the image of the woman in my head.

“Fuck, get yourself a lot-lizard or something! I’m married, for Christ’s sake! Gawd!” I hollered over my shoulder.

I heard her grumble something about Missouri boys having no taste, but once I was sure some distance had been put between us, I opened my eyes & finished my dash to the car. I couldn’t shake the visage of the old broad’s nip-slip, & that only served to worsten my mood.

“God, what a freak,” I said to myself as I shut my car door behind me.

“What an unsettling, freaky night.”

I was so relieved for my shift to finally be over. I took my glasses off & rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying not to dwell on the night's debaucherous events.

I slipped my spectacles back on & glanced down at the last two messages sent from my phone. One had been the crime scene-esque image that had gone to Hammy, the other was a quick, “I’ll be home in 30 minutes,” text I’d sent to my wife, Charlie, only a few minutes earlier.

As if on que, a response flashed across my screen.

“Dearest Husband,

I regret to inform you that I will be working another double, so we’ll have to postpone our extracurricular activities until a later date. For now, make the leftovers in the fridge, & when I get home, those dishes better be done, or I’m gonna slam you against the bathroom mirror & choke you until your face turns purple.

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

I smirked. I love the way she texts like an old calvary veteran writing a letter to his wife from a battlefield. Believe it or not, some women can be funny. Shocker.

“Kinky,” I typed, “was that a threat or a promise?”

I hit send, & three dots popped up for a second, before her final message appeared.

“Dearest Husband,

Both, depending on the state of those dishes when I get home. Seriously, I don’t wanna have to work another double, just to come home to a full sink again 😢

Sincerely- your bitch wife. ❤️”

The brief spark of a good mood flickered in my chest. I felt like I was always the one doing the dishes in recent memory. Irritably, I began scrolling for a YouTube video to put on during my drive home, when a new notification popped up.

“McDonalds, 20% off on orders $5 or more, deal applicable at participating locations”

I licked my lips. I had that taki earlier, but I’d skipped eating on my break. The perverted shower discovery had ruined my appetite for a few hours. But now that the atrocity was behind me, I could go for a McChicken or 2. I know, I know. Leftovers in the fridge, but the aroma of crispy fries & greasy burgers wafted into my nostrils, beckoning me like the curling of a thick, stubby index finger.

I looked in the backseat to see the weeks worth of fast food bags that had accumulated on the floor. The frown on my lips deepened. Charlie was keeping an eye on our shared bank account to make sure I wasn’t spending our checks on junk food. For the last month or so, every time I’d pull out cash for rent & edibles, I’d pull out a little extra, just enough that she wouldn’t notice. Discounts & reward points only go so far.

When I looked in my wallet, I saw a measly $2 & a couple miscellaneous cents. I couldn’t spend the pennies, but what about my credit card?

I used the app to check my balance. There was about $3. After a quick calculation, I deduced I could get myself 2 McChickens with the discount, & a large fry using accumulated points.

I pulled into the empty drive-thru on the side of the gas station. I got to the menu screen with my code ready.

“Hello! Will you be using the mobile app today?” The cheery voice crackled through the speaker.

“Yes please,” I responded.

“What’s your code?” The voice was now that of a hormonal teenage boy.

“Um, I think it's 1-9-L-5?”

“For Patricia?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled. I needed to get that updated to Patrick.

“Kay. If everything looks correct on the screen, you’re good to pull forward.”

“Thanks,” I said, starting towards the first window.

“Wait, actually hold on a second!”

I stopped, “Yeah? What’s up?” I asked.

“Uh, that’s weird, it looks like you tried to stack a deal on top of rewards points. You can only do one per order.”

“So what does that mean…?”

“I mean, I don’t think I can use your points for those fries. Really, it shouldn’t have even let you place your order like that…”

He was quiet for a second. It sounded like he & someone else were whispering on the other end.

“Uh, sorry I’m kinda new. I’ll get my manager, this is weird. Could you pull up to the first window for me?”

Ugh. I just wanted my food, so I could go home. 2 chicken sandwiches & a large fry was not worth all this. I decided on my way up that I would just overdraft my credit card to get the fries so I could leave quicker. I pulled up to the window, where the acne-riddled teenage boy stood next to a manager.

“Hey, are you the pickup order for the 2 McChickens & the large fry?” the woman asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the empty drive-thru, “yep, that’s me.”

“So here’s he deal. Zach here,” she patted the clearly stoned teenager on his shoulder, “said you tried to stack rewards points & a deal in the same order. You can’t just do that.”

“Yeah, uh, it doesn’t matter, can I actually just pay part with cash, part with card?” I mumbledo.

“You don’t wanna use the 20% off deal?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, but are the points that I used on that large fry still gonna work?”

She shook her head, “no, but they’ll go back into your account in 7 to 10 business days.”

She held out her hand. Defeated, I just sighed, placing the cash & card into her palm. Just like that, transaction complete.

“That’s uh… that’s just the way our app works, we don’t, uh, control it…,” Zach droned, staring off into space.

“Yes, very good Zach,” the manager cooed, “we know buddy.”

Once the card was back in my wallet, I took a hit off my Jesus Moistcritical vape. As the yellow indica smoke filled my lungs, I felt my temper cool a few degrees.

“Just a stressful night, that’s all,” I told myself. As soon as I got home, I knew I would feel better. I just needed to eat & get home.

In a few short minutes, the woman was holding my bag out the window, & I grabbed it greedily.

“Hey, just so you know, you shouldn’t eat this much fast food,” she said, looking in my backseat as I rolled up my window.

“It's not good for you…”

What a bitch.

As I tore down the desolate road, I ripped into the pitiful chicken patty. While the sandwich curbed my hunger,I was still put-off. Buns tar & feathered by mayonayse & too much lettuce. The fries were perfect, though. I tossed the garbage into my backseat & took another rip off my vape, feeling the blissful high run down my nerves & tingle at the tips of my fingers. I was calm, but not unbothered. Something was wrong, the feeling of being watched had still not been shaken.

Given I was in public, I could logically explain my experience in the semi parking lot. But I knew there was no way that anyone should have been watching me as I cleared the winding hills of the secluded interstate. The snow particles zipped past my windshield, giving the illusion that I was going much faster than I actually was. I took another 2 or 3 hits off the vape & cracked my window. That was when the stench hit me. Going 65 miles an hour down the snowy road, it smelled like raw sewage & burning rust.

Just as soon as I registered the awful odor, red & blue lights suddenly appeared behind my car. Police lights. A new fear sparked in my chest, building to a roaring flame that caused my hands to tremble against my steering wheel.

Forming tears licked the edges of my eyes.

I just wanted to go home.

As I tried to find a shoulder of road to safely pull onto, I frantically shoved my vape into my pocket. If I got caught vaping THC while going 70 in a 65, I knew I wouldn’t be going home tonight.

“Just play it cool,” I said, bringing my vehicle to a full stop, & firmly placing both hands on the steering wheel. If I got a ticket, I got a ticket. All I had to do was be compliant, & this might all be over in just a few minutes.

Maybe it was how dark the night was. Maybe I was just distracted by the lights, but on god, I didn’t see or even hear the police man approach my car. It was like he just appeared in my driver’s-side window. His face was so close, it should have fogged the glass.

“Hullo, officer,” I mumbled, rolling down my window.

“License, registration, proof of insurance,” he droned, voice void of emotion. That put me even more on edge. I dug through my glove compartment, grabbing anything that looked like it could’ve been official paperwork.

“Beautiful night, huht?” I whimpered, tears welling in my eyes. He didn’t respond. Finally, I found what I was looking for. Sighing in relief, I turned the documents over to the cop.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Uh…” I didn’t know how to respond. Everything about this interaction felt off. Alarm bells rang through my head, but I tried to temper them. Was this a trick or something? “That’s my… registration & proof of insurance?”

“Oh,” he said, grabbing the paperwork & stuffing it in his back pocket, “right. License?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” I fumbled in my wallet for a second before passing him my ID as well.

“May I ask why you’re pulling me over?” I asked, & as soon as I did, I wished I hadn’t. When he glared up at me, I thought that his dialated eyes would burn 2 holes right through me. Despite the cold, unphazed expression on his face, something in his eyes held a vigorous intensity. Like I was the biggest inconvienience he could possibly have to deal with. Like he wanted to be done already.

He was silent for just long enough to be uncomfortable, before he finally grumbled, “Routine traffic stop. Gotta run these through our system. Next time, be faster.”

As his shoes crunched in the snow as he made his way back to his car, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. He claimed it was just a routine traffic stop, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was gonna happen.

The whole night so far had felt like a taut wire, pulling more & more, the tensity becoming palpable, building to a breaking point. Like a balloon getting ready to pop.

I gagged on the scent that enveloped me. We had to have pulled off next to a sewage drain or something. That horrible smell just would not go away. It was like it soaked into all the fibers of my car. It made me want to throw up.

Even though he couldn’t have left me waiting for more than 5 minutes, it felt like an eternity. I was scared to move, to take my hands off the steering wheel. Even looking in my mirrors felt sinful, like I was doing something horribly wrong. But as I took my surroundings into account, something clicked in my mind. I wasn’t crazy.

When I turned back to see through my rear window, I could make out the dark silhouette of the massive police cruizer, idling dormant as snowflakes drifted past the hood. Considering the lack of headlights, it really looked more like a huge beast, just sitting there. The details became more apparent the longer I looked.

Why couldn’t I see the silhouette of his side mirrors?

Why did the red & blue flashing lights seem to be coming from inside the windshield, rather than the top of the car?

I saw the outline of the large man step out of the vehicle, but I didn’t see a car door open. It’s hard to explain. You know those Jeeps that don’t have doors? It was like that, as if his state-issued police cruiser had no doors either. His dark visage just seemed to materialize from out of the larger body, like he’d been one with the car only seconds earlier.

I snapped back around, facing forward. I could feel my heart beating its way into my throat, the vessles in my neck flexing & constricting. I felt like I was on the verge of an asthma attack.

As I heard his foot steps slowly crunch closer & closer, I spared a glance at my driver’s-side mirror. What I saw, as the snow drifed into my windows, confused me, made my blood run cold. He didn’t have a reflection. I could see 2 bright red crocs moving seemingly of their own accord. They took step after step, as if being worn by some invisible spectre.

What had I been smoking from that vape cartridge?

I heard the fabric of his uniform brush against the side of my car, but it sounded like something rough & textured, sandpaper-esque, grinding along the metal. As his footsteps became louder, the smell intensified. Just as he was almost to my drivers side window, I looked in my rearview. That was when I saw the full picture. That was when the pieces slid into place.

His car didn’t have a reflection either. I realized that all I saw in the mirror were just 2 disembodied lights, 1 red, 1 blue, hovering in the air, about eye level with me. I swear to god, it almost looked like they were eminating from pair of eyeballs, just floating there amongst the drifting snow.

Tap. Tap.

I slowly turned to look at the cop, who was now, finally, back at my drivers-side door. I felt a teardrop run down my cheek. My nerves were screaming for me to run. What was going on?

“Yeah, we have a problem,” he said.

“P-problem?” I stuttered. I must’ve looked petrified, but he just kept staring at me, dead-faced.

“I tried to run your info through the system. I didn’t get anything back.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hm.”

We just stared at each other for a moment. I didn’t know what to say.

“Also, not to accuse you of anything, but your behavior during this stop has been highly suspicious.”

He glanced in my backseat, licking his lips as he surveyed all the discarded fast food trash. I could see the look in his eyes. It was the same one I’d worn earlier, in the drive through. He was desperately hungry.

“Highly s-suspicious?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he grumbled, turning to look back at me. His eyes drilled into mine, & I began to feel the last of my self-control slipping. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Why didn’t you have a refliction?” I stammered. I didn’t know what else to say. Finally, his face twisted into a new emotion, but I knew he was just acting.

“Excuse me?”

“When you walked up to my car, where was your reflection?” I asked, more assured this time.

“Are you on drugs, ma’am?” He asked, faking an expression of concern. I was picking out more things now, more wrong things. Little inconsistencies. His uniform was all out of place, I’d seen what the police in our area wore when they’d stop for late-night coffee at the gas-station.

His badge was on the wrong side, there was no radio or body-cam anywhere on him, his shirt was the wrong color, not to mention, short sleeves in less than 30⁰ weather? His facial hair was patchy. There was no way this guy was a cop, he just looked like one. Like if you told someone who’d never actually seen a cop to draw one in a picture.

“Where was your reflection?!” I asked again, my voice catching. I sounded hysterical, I knew it.

“Okay, ma’am, this is ridiculous, may I please enter your vehicle?” He said, rising back to his full height.

“What?”

“I need inside your vehicle, if you don’t let me in willingly, I will place you under arrest.”

“No, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Well then step out of the vehicle.”

“No.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

“Let me in.”

“No!”

“Let me in!”

“No!!”

His jaw tightened, I could tell he was angry, “Ma’am, you are directly interfering with a police investigation.”

“And what investigation would that be?!” I demanded. He stood, watching me, his fully black eyes narrowing furiously.

“I need to make sure you’re safe to drive,” he growled.

“I thought you said that there’s an issue finding me in your system? Why do you need in my car?”

He gritted his jaw & leaned back down, placing his pimply, blistered hands on the edges of my windowsill. I noticed that even his fingertips couldn’t enter my car.

“There’s… I need to… just let me in your car, I’ll verify what I need to, and I’ll be on my way. I’ll let you go real soon.”

Under the odor of rotten decay, I smelled something entirely out of place. Strawberry-scented body wash. The juxtaposition nearly threw me over the edge.

I let out a sob, grabbing the gear-shift. Suddenly, I remember what I’d heard in the office. I decided to give him one last test. I dom’t know why.

“Fine, get me Weston Brady, then.”

His look of simmering rage momentarily mixed with confusion. This time, I could tell that his bewildered expression was legit.

“Who the hell is Weston Brady?” He asked, the smell of death, strawberries, & burnt copper whafting off his breath. With that, I threw the car into gear, spinning my tires out & flinging muddy snow all over the fake police man.

“Fucking bitch!” He roared, but I took off before he had time to react.

If I had been speeding earlier, I was flying now. I went from 30 miles an hour, to 50, to 70, to 90 in about 45 seconds. The motor peaked, almost blowing out, but I didn’t care. I gripped the steering wheel, glancing to my rearview for anything suspicious, tears streaming down my face. I could still smell the rot, the disease. Right when I thought I was safe, something flashed just within my periphery.

I only saw it for a split second. I still don’t believe it. I swear to god it looked like a child’s rendition of a massive bat, like a diseased abomination that vaguely held the visage of something discernable. It smashed into the side of my car. It was so dark that it nearly blended into the night, throwing the surrounding snowflakes into contrast against it’s jet-black hide.

When it struck the first time, I felt the vibration shudder through my speeding vehicle, but I held my course. The second time, however, it struck closer to my rear axle. The traction control light came on. I was hydroplaining.

When they warn you about black ice on the road, listen. Shit’s treatcherous.

As my car spun around & around, fully out of control, the beast smashed down onto my hood with predatory precision. The sudden collision sent my head careening into the driver’s-side window, & I felt my temple bash hard against the glass. Concousness begon to fade. The last thing I saw before I passed out, were my headlights illuminating 2 massive black eyes, set deep into the sockets of a diseased, pig-like head. I had the briefest notion that one looked like it was tinted red, & the other, tinted blue.

I woke up only 15 minutes later. My head throbbed, but luckily, I wasn’t bleeding. My hood had a massive dent in the middle of it, & when I tried to pull my car back into the lane, I heard the distinct sound of metal grinding on pavement. I sighed, trying to recall what exactly happened, just moments prior.

I stepped out of my car, phone flashlight in hand, careful to survey my surroundings before going far. I checked my tires, 1 of which was blown out.

“Fuck.”

I didn’t have my license, registration, or proof of insurance. I was stalled just outside Panoma, a small town 20 minutes away from my home, with a blown out tire. How did I end up halfway off the road? Something had…

Oh my god. That thing that had battered me off the road. It tried to kill me. I fully remembered now. Why had it stopped? I was passed out, completely defenseless. I got back into my car & began searching for towing services. None in the area were open, & the ones that were would take easily over 2 hours to reach me. Not to mention my financial situation. With mounting dread, I made the decision to try & replace the blowout with a spare.

I got out of my car & took another hit off my vape. Dont judge me, I needed something to calm my nerves. Shivering, lungs tightening, I got the spare tire out of my trunk. I used a few small blocks of wood to hold my wheels in place, & hastily pulled the ruined one off using a shitty jack & a 4 way. Within 20 minutes, the donut was secured. Lastly, I popped my hood to check for damage to my engine. To my relief, nothing was smoking. Everything looked normal. Overjoyed, sobbing, I got back into my car to finish the drive home, Something at the edge of the treeline caught my attention.

I looked to see something tall & dark, standing just at the edge of the clearing, no more than 30 feet away. Even though I couldn’t see its eyes, I knew it was watching me. I took one last look at the image of Moistcritical Jesus on my vape, little cricifix in his hand. I held it up, & the beast shuttered.

“I’m going the fuck home!” I screamed. “Don’t you fucking follow me, I’m serious!”

I put it in my pocket, took a queeze off my inhaler, & closed the door behind me. Still reeling, I let out a sob & began to drive away. Despite the lack of a reflection in my mirrors, I could feel it standing there, just staring at me as I went further, & further.

The smell dissipated around the time I got to my apartment, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulders every 2 seconds. When I got inside, I threw myself onto the bed, exhausted. Right as I was about to drift off, I remembered.

The sink full of dirty dishes. Even half awake, I knew I’d be in a world of hurt when Charlie got home if they weren’t done. I couldn’t let her down, not after all that. So I took another puff from my inhaler & got to work. It took me forever to finish them, but eventually, the sink & dish drainer were clear.

“Nasty bruise, what happened?” Charlie asked, handing me a cup of Dunkin’s coffee as she stepped through the front door. She gingerly touched my forehead, & I flinched reflexively.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“No it’s fine babe, you…” she looked behind me, “did the dishes. Good job. Did you just finish those?”

I nodded & looked at the time. Just past 6:15am. The sun would be rising soon. I wasn’t usually still awake this early.

“Yeah, I uh, woke up early. Couldn’t sleep. What took you so long to get home?”

She smirked, “some idiot got into a wreck or something on the interstate we take to get home. Would’ve happened like an hour after you got out. I’m not surprised you missed it. Awful lucky though, huh?”

I stared absently at her.

“Black Ice & all that. Fuck’s sake Pat, you think you wanna go to sleep now? You look like you saw a goddman ghoul or something.”

I chuckled humorlessly, “yeah… or something.”

“Jesus Christ someone needs a nap, don’t ya?”

She led me into our bedroom & put a cool, damp washrag on my swolen temple.

“God Pat, what did you hit your head on? You think you have a concussion?” She asked, running her fingers through my hair.

I coughed.

“Nah, my car’s in way worse shape than I am.”

“Fuck, what happened to the car?”

I didn’t even know how to respond. I looked down at my Moistcritical Jesus Vape for a second & tried to find the words. I felt manic. I couldn’t believe that fast food & backseat trash had been the worst of my worries, only a few hours ago.

Finally, I flicked my eyes up, meeting her gaze. I smiled unsteadily.

“It’s a long story, but I swear to god it’s true,” I said.

“Oh… word?”

I sat up a little. I hadn’t realized it, but I was so sore.

“So like, I’m used to cleaning up piss & shit, right? Occasionally vomit. But last night was a really, really weird night…”