As I saw Mary’s bloated corpse rise behind my brother, however, covered in water and seaweed, I knew she wouldn’t be so forgiving.
It started one morning in September. We’d been up late with friends the night before, so we’d slept in. I woke up to Sarah staring at me with an indecipherable expression.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She looked at me, face filled with fear. “Who are you?”
“Very funny. I'm going to make breakfast.”
I leaned over to give her a kiss, like I always did. She recoiled.
“Get away from me!”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?!?”
“Is this some kind of joke? It’s me. Your husband.” I reached for her to diffuse the situation. “Sarah, calm down—”
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she screamed, lashing out and scratching my face.
I pulled back, putting my hand to my cheek and seeing it come away stained with blood.
“What is the matter with you?” I left, frustrated.
I was sitting in the kitchen, confused, when the doorbell rang. I answered; two police officers stood there.
“Matthew Daniels?”
“That’s me,” I replied. “What can I do for you?”
“We just have a few questions.”
“Ask away.”
“Can we see some ID?”
“Certainly.” I showed them my driver’s license.
“What happened to your face?”
I touched the bandage. “I cut myself shaving.”
They looked at each other. “Is your wife home?”
“She is - I’ll call her.” At that, Sarah came out as if she’d been listening.
“Sarah Daniels?”
“Yes,” she replied, showing them her ID.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“This man isn’t my husband.”
“Do you mean you aren’t married?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m married, but not to him.”
“So you aren’t married to Matthew Daniels?”
“I am, but that isn’t him!”
They looked at me; I shrugged my shoulders.
“Ma’am, his ID—.”
“I don’t care what his ID says! That’s not my husband!”
The officers looked at each other. “She’s been like this since this morning,” I said. “We did go drinking with friends last night—”
“I am not drunk!” she screamed. “That man is not my husband! Arrest him!”
The officers shared another look. “Ma’am, according to our information, that is Matthew Daniels, resident at this address. We can’t arrest him without evidence of a crime.”
One of the officers pulled me aside as they were leaving.
“Has she ever had any issues? Mental, or emotional?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, speaking from experience, you may not want to be alone with her. It may not be safe.”
The police left. Sarah glared at me in frustration, then ran upstairs and locked the door. Not knowing what else to do, I called her parents and told them everything. An hour later, they showed up at our house.
“Hello, Matthew,” said her mother. “Where is she?”
“She’s upstairs, Marilyn. She’s locked herself in the bedroom. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Has she said anything?”
“Just that I’m not really me. She thinks I’m some sort of… imposter.”
Her mother looked dubious. “I’ll go speak with her.”
“Please do,” I said. “She won’t talk to me - maybe you’ll have better luck.”
She went upstairs while Sarah’s father stayed with me. I sighed and put my head in my hands.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Paul put his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t know, son. Hopefully Marilyn can get some answers.”
A few minutes later, Marilyn came down.
“Well?” I asked.
She sighed. “She’s convinced you aren’t really you. That you’ve replaced ‘the real’ Matthew and are out to harm her.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know, Matthew. I truly don’t. She’s never acted like this before.”
“So what do we do?” I asked.
They looked at each other. “Just keep an eye on her. If it gets worse, we may have to call someone.”
Her father stood up. “Just do your best; call us if there’s anything we can do.” They hugged me and left; I reconciled myself to a night in the guest bedroom.
That night, I woke up to a glint in the darkness.
That glint saved my life.
I rolled to the side as a blade entered the pillow where my head had been seconds before. I landed on the floor and looked up; Sarah stood there, a knife in her hand, staring at me with a mad rage I’d never seen before.
“WHO ARE YOU?!? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY HUSBAND?!?”
“I am your husband. You’re sick, Sarah. You need help. Let me call someone.”
But it was too late for words.
“LIAR!” She lunged at me; I dodged, but she caught my arm with the tip of the blade.
“I’LL KILL YOU!” I didn't want to fight her, but I needed to end it before someone got hurt. I slowly moved over to the other wall and, when she lunged again, I acted. I stepped aside and opened the closet door; once she flew inside, I closed the door and wedged a chair under the handle. When she realized she was trapped, she started screaming and crying. I just exhaled; it was over.
Later, Sarah’s parents and I were at the psychiatric hospital. They were speaking to her as she was admitted; we’d all agreed it was best if I stayed away for now. After a few minutes, they approached me.
“I’m so sorry, Matthew. I don’t know how it came to this.”
“It’s not your fault, Marilyn. Hell, I’ve never even heard of Capgras delusion. She just needs some help - this hospital has the best doctors in the state.”
“Still, when I think of what she could have done to you…” She started crying, and I reached out and embraced her.
“It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t hers. She’s sick; she just needs help.”
“Thank you,” she said, tears wetting my shoulder.
We left separately. I walked outside, contemplating the day. Sarah had almost killed me because she believed I’d ‘replaced’ her husband.
There was just one thing I didn’t understand.
>!How did she know?!<
I woke up with a screaming headache. I groaned. How much did I drink last night? I shouldn’t have gone out with the guys. Or I shouldn’t have come back.
I felt something beside me and looked over - a naked woman was in my bed. I got up and threw her clothes at her.
“Wake up, sweetie. It’s time to go.”
She got dressed and headed for the door. “Will I see you again?” she asked hopefully.
“Why? It was good, but it wasn’t that good.”
Her smile vanished. “Asshole! You'll regret this!” She flipped me off as she left.
I closed the door, unbothered. I wouldn’t remember her tomorrow. Hell, I didn’t even remember her name now. Amy? Ashley? Angie? Whatever.
I showered, dressed, and headed out the door, ignoring the bright flash of light in the sky. Weird - it wasn’t even raining. Whatever. I couldn’t be late today; my boss had been a real bitch lately. It was like she didn’t know her place.
Walking down the street, I heard a whistle. I looked up - a group of women were leering at me, making lewd gestures.
“Hey, cutie! Can I get your number?”
“Come on, sweetie! Give me a smile!”
I walked by, ignoring them. As I passed, I heard: “It must be jelly ‘cause jam don’t shake like that!” followed by uproarious laughter.
What was wrong with them?
I got to work; a coworker held the door open for me. As I walked by, I noticed her staring at my ass.
“What the hell, Nancy?”
She looked amused. “Come on, Mitch. Why wear those jeans if you don’t want people to look?” She smirked at me and went inside.
I started my workday; soon my boss called me to her office. Great.
I walked in; she kept typing for a few minutes, then turned to look at me.
“Have a seat, Mitch,” she said, indicating the chair facing her desk. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about your work. I have some… concerns.”
That was news to me. “I’ve been hitting all of my targets. You’ve never expressed any concerns before.”
“Sure, you’ve done the minimum,” she said, leaning toward me. “But don’t you want to get ahead?”
She walked around and sat on her desk in front of me. “I think you could go far here,” she said. “If you scratch my back…” she leaned forward, putting her hand on my thigh suggestively.
“What are you doing?!?” I demanded, standing up hurriedly.
“Nothing at all,” she responded, returning to her desk as if she’d always been there.
“Are you serious?!? I’ll report you. I’ll sue!”
“You’re welcome to try. I’ll just tell the truth - that you came in here saying you were frustrated that your progress had stalled and asked what you could do to get things moving again. I found it inappropriate but didn’t want to hurt your career.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Is it?” she asked. “Who do you think they’ll believe?” She turned back to her computer as if nothing had happened.
Frustrated, I went straight to HR and told them everything.
“Are you sure you didn’t do anything inappropriate?” the representative asked.
“What? NO! It was her! She came on to me!”
The rep looked at me skeptically. “Are you certain? Because making false allegations against your supervisor can have adverse implications for your career.”
I sat there, stunned. “Alright,” she said. “We'll look into this and let you know if we find anything.” With that, she looked down in a way that made clear that I’d been dismissed.
I left HR in frustration, then packed up and left work. As I walked around the city, I noticed numerous women staring at me - some surreptitiously, some not. In the past I wouldn’t have minded, but now it made me feel… dirty.
What the hell was wrong with these women? What the hell was wrong with the world?
I needed a drink.
I found a bar near me and went inside. This place I understood. I was finishing my second beer when the server brought another one.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I didn’t order this.”
“I know. She did.” She indicated a beautiful woman sitting in the corner.
Not bad, I thought, taking the drink. Moments later, she approached my table.
“Drinking alone?” she asked, her voice sultry.
“Yeah, just needed a break,” I replied, taking a swig.
“Poor boy,” she said sympathetically. “Can I do anything to help?”
“I’m sure you could find a way to make me feel better.”
“I’m sure I could.”
I was going to reply again, but I started to feel tired. That clusterfuck with my boss and HR must have taken more out of me than I thought.
“I’m sorry. I may have to take a rain check, I’m feeling really—”
…
When I woke up, I had a massive headache. I tried to rub my head, but I couldn’t. I looked - my hand was tied to the wall. I was in what looked like a large truck. And I wasn’t alone - several other men were here too, all restrained like I was.
What the hell was going on here?
“Welcome back, gorgeous.”
I looked at her. “What happened to the woman from the bar?”
“My partner?” She laughed. “She’s
out looking for our next catch.”
“Where am I?”
“In a truck. But don’t worry, soon enough you’ll be in Thailand - we got a good price for you.”
“What?!? Let me go!!”
“Calm down, sweetie. There’s nothing you can do, anyway; your new life will start soon enough. For now, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Oh, and my partner asked me to deliver a message.” She dropped a piece of paper next to me and walked out as I started to read.
“I knew you wouldn’t remember me, but I remember you. My name is Amelia. And I told you you’d regret it, you son-of-a-bitch.”
“Wake up, sleepyhead! We have to leave in thirty minutes!”
Mentally I cursed. What was so damn important? And then I remembered. Today was Revelation Day. .
I got up, showered, dressed in my nicest clothes, and met my mom downstairs. She drove us to the village square, gave me a hug, and wished me luck; then I walked in and took my place in line.
Each year, children came here the year of their sixteenth birthday to find out their Purpose; what they’re destined to accomplish in the world. There was nothing more important than a person’s Purpose - it determined where you lived, what school you went to, who you associated with. Everyone got the Purpose that was perfect for them, even if they didn’t realize it at first.
I stood nervously, watching person after person come back out of the Revelation room. What was said in the booth was never shared with anyone else, but you could tell from reactions how things had gone. Some people came out smiling, others frowning. But everyone reacted.
My turn came. I walked into the Revelation room and the door closed behind me. It was just me and The Machine. It was enormous, filling the room with high-pitched whirring noises and flashing lights. I’d never seen anything like it. I’d heard tales of a time long ago when there was one in the home of practically every citizen, but those were fairy tales only children believed.
I stood waiting for The Machine to do its work. Then it stopped, and I beheld the piece of paper that contained my future.
What? What does that mean?
I exited the room, paper heavy in my pocket, and made my way outside to where my mother waited.
“How did it go? Are you going to be an artist like you wanted?”
“…Absolutely.”
“I knew it! You were always so talented. I can’t wait to tell everyone!”
We traveled home. While mom called everyone in our village, I went to my room. There I reached into my pocket, running my fingers over the paper that had thrown my life into chaos.
What was I going to do?
The next morning, I went to school like it was any other day. But all the while the secret weighed on my soul like an anvil. I had to talk to someone.
I pulled my best friend aside between classes.
“Matt, I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, man. What’s up?”
“Do you swear to keep this to yourself? You can never tell anyone.”
He swore, and I told him.
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone not getting a Purpose before. They’re mandated by the Council, Alex.”
“I know. What happens if they find out?”
“I don’t know,” he said gravely, “”and I don’t want to. Do NOT let them find out.”
“So what do I do?”
“Pretend you got your Purpose and never say a word. To anyone.”
And it worked, until three days later when I received a strange letter. I opened it and felt the blood rush through my veins.
“No Purpose? I wonder what the Council would say? If you don’t want to find out, meet me behind the dome after school.”
Someone knew. But how? I’d told no one. I immediately went and found Matt.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Of course not,” he replied indignantly.
“Well someone knows.” I told him about the letter.
“Shit. What are you going to do?”
“We’re going to meet him there. You’ll come, right?”
“Of course. I’ve got your back.”
Two hours later, we went to the rendezvous point. At first we seemed alone, but then we heard a voice.
“I hear The Machine gave you no Purpose. That’s a first; you must be a real freak.”
“At least I’m not threatening people from hiding,” I replied.
Then three figures stepped out from the shadows. Them. Theo Adams and his lackeys Jake and Simon. They’d always been bullies, and they seemed to get worse with time.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing much. Just 1,000 credits.”
“You can’t be serious,” I replied, shocked. “I’m a student; I don’t have anywhere near that.”
“Your parents do.”
“You want me to ask my parents for 1,000 credits?”
“Ask, lie, steal - I don’t care. Just get them or everyone will know your secret. I wonder what the Council would do to you? To your parents? Your sister?”
At that, I lost my temper. I stepped forward and punched Theo in the jaw. He staggered and looked at me with fury written on his face.
“You little…”
I didn’t hear the rest because my head was ringing from the punch to my jaw. Then I felt two ribs snap from a kick while I was on the ground. I folded in on myself as the blows continued to rain down, but I could just see Matt lying on the ground, unconscious, as feet kicked him over and over again. Then I heard a snap as his neck bent back awkwardly.
“See? This is what can happen if you don’t do as you’re told.”
Matt. He’d been my friend since we were kids. He’d always had my back, even when I’d had nothing to offer. And now he was lying on the ground, injured or dead, because he’d helped me.
I don’t remember exactly what happened, but next thing I knew, I was standing holding Theo’s knife, covered in blood, while he and his gang were all laying on the ground, throats slit and eyes lifeless. I looked down to where the paper from my Revelation had fallen on the ground, the deep red ink of the letters blending in with the blood staining its edges.
Your Purpose, better left unsaid,
comes bathed in pools of liquid red.
I looked at the message and the blood dripping from my hands to the ground below. And I smiled.
I guess I had a Purpose after all.
We waited in the guest interview room. The police psychologist had only wanted to talk to my kid brother, but no way was I letting him meet with her alone. I stood to the side of the room in front of a mirror while he played with toys on the floor.
After a moment, the psychologist walked in and sat down.
“Hello, Timmy. I’m Dr. Marks. It’s a pleasure to meet you. How are you feeling?”
My brother didn’t respond or look up.
“Are you enjoying playing with those toys?”
Silence.
“I always enjoyed legos when I was your age. I liked building things. What’s your favorite?”
He didn’t answer. It was the trains, of course. He’d always loved trains.
“Are you enjoying those trains?”
“They’re ok.”
“They’re from the new Thomas the Tank Engine set. Do you like Thomas?”
“Sometimes.” He loved Thomas and all things Sodor - they were his favorite.
Dr. Marks paused for a few minutes and watched Timmy play with the trains.
“So, do you want to talk about what happened earlier tonight?”
He shrugged.
“I understand you and your big brother were at home with your mom?”
Another shrug.
“And that’s when your dad came home, right?”
Silence.
“How did it make you feel when he came home?”
He tensed up and looked over at me. He’d always been afraid of our father. The psychologist noticed.
“It seems like maybe you were a little afraid of your father. Was he scary?”
Scary? He was a monster, and my mother and I had the scars to prove it. He’d always been a violent man, though mom had always made excuses for him; I grew up seeing her defend him every day, telling us how hard his life was while I looked at the fresh bruises on her body. I don’t even know why she had a second kid with him, but I swore I’d never let him hurt Timmy like he did mom and me.
Timmy kept playing with the trains, but it was obvious that he was uncomfortable.
“I have a very important question, Timmy. Did your father ever hurt you?”
He kept playing and refused to answer, like I knew he would. But you could see it in the wariness in his eyes and the tension in his muscles - the answer was clearly yes. The psychologist reached into the bag she carried with her.
“Timmy, do you want to see something really cool?”
He paused ever so slightly in his playing to look up. The psychologist reached on the bag and pulled out what she’d brought. Timmy’s eyes bulged slightly.
“This is Mantis-man - he’s my son’s favorite action figure. Are you familiar with Mantis-man?”
Timmy nodded enthusiastically.
“Then you know that the best thing about him is that he doesn’t have superpowers. He isn’t invulnerable; he can get hurt. But he’s still a hero. Right?”
He nodded again.
“Because there’s nothing to be ashamed of in getting hurt - sometimes it happens. But does Mantis-man let that stop him?”
“No,” he replied quietly.
“No. Because he’s strong enough to get past it. And I bet you are, too. What do you say? Are you strong enough?”
He nodded.
“Do you know what else I like about Mantis-man?”
Timmy looked at her inquisitively.
“Does he ever lie?”
Timmy shook his head energetically.
“That’s right. He always tells the truth. What about you, Timmy? Are you strong enough to tell the truth?”
Timmy paused, looked over at me, then looked back at the doctor and nodded. This doctor was really good.
“So tell me - did your dad ever hurt you?”
Timmy nodded.
“Can you show me on Mantis-man where he hurt you?”
He paused and then pointed to the figure’s arms, legs, and cheeks. Dr. Marks swallowed and then looked in my direction meaningfully. Not wanting to interrupt, I stayed silent.
“So what happened tonight?”
He paused, then looked up. “Daddy came home and he was mad.”
“Mad how?”
“Like he gets before he hurts us.”
“And then what happened?”
“Mommy tried to calm him down and he hit her.”
“Where did he hit her?”
“In the face.”
“Was that the first time?”
“No. But this time Sammy hit him back.”
“And then what happened?”
“After Sammy hit Daddy, Daddy got back up and tried to hurt Sammy, and they got into a fight. Then Mommy went to her room and came back with a long metal stick. She told Daddy to stop.”
“And did he stop?”
“No. He ran towards her.”
“And then what happened?”
“She pointed the stick and closed her eyes and there were two loud BANGs.”
Dr. Marks looked compassionately at Timmy.
“And is that when your brother died?”
Timmy looked over at me and I looked back. I was sad that I’d never be able to pick him up again. But at least he could still see me, even if no one else could. He was safe, he was with our mother, and our father would never hurt him again. That was all that mattered.
As my hair started moving and she began turning to stone, maybe she realized why not taking ‘no’ for an answer had been a bad idea.
I woke up the Saturday morning of my thirty-second birthday to find the house empty and a note on the refrigerator.
“I’ve planned an adventure, with excitement in mind,
Just heed these instructions, and surprises you’ll find.”
I hadn’t anticipated this, but it made sense. Hope had always been a fan of games, and she’d been a bit secretive for the past few days.
Ok, this could be fun, I thought, and started reading the instructions.
“My directions are strange, but just grin and bear them,
The first stop has these; you’ll stay warm if you wear them.”
Included with it were numbers; eventually I recognized them as latitude and longitude. I drove to the location indicated and found a store for winter wear.
I went in and looked around. You’ll stay warm if you wear them. Them, not it, so not a coat or a hat. I looked at the pants and socks - nothing. Then I looked through the gloves; inside a pair tucked at the back of the shelf I found another note.
“Well done, my dear heart, a fine detective you’d make,
The next stop has something you might use with your steak.”
The next set of coordinates led to a kitchen store. I went inside. What here might I use with a steak? Of course - a steak knife. I went to the knives, rifling through them, until I found the next note.
“I know this must feel like I’m pulling a caper,
But the next place is where you might buy ornate paper.”
The coordinates led me to a stationery store. I went inside and started walking around before I realized that her clue had given me this location but no clue as to where to look.
“Sir?” I looked over at a young woman behind the counter. “Are you looking for something?”
“I am, but frankly I’m not sure what.”
“This might help,” she said, placing a piece of paper on the counter before her. I went over and looked at it. The message read:
“I hope you’re enjoying this ride, man of mine,
The next clue will be shared with you when you sign.”
I signed my name and the attendant took the form and wordlessly handed me a note.
“You’re nearing the end, but don’t think of stopping,
Instead cross the street, to where one might go shopping.”
I walked out and looked; there on the opposite corner stood a farmer’s market. I jogged over, went inside, and realized that, again, I didn’t know what to look for. I’d started circling when someone ran into me.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” a man shouted. I sized him up - around six feet tall, built like a runner. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
“You ran into me, jerk. Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”
He stepped up to me and shoved me in the shoulder. Keeping my balance, I shoved back harder, so hard that he fell backward on his ass. He jumped up and started screaming at me, and I screamed back until management kicked us out of the store. As I sat outside, wondering what to do next with no new note and no new address, a random kid rode by on a bike and dropped a note in my lap.
“You’ve been running for hours, oh how time flies,
Just one final run and you’ll have your surprise.”
Final? Finally. There, at the end of the note, was one last set of coordinates. I followed them to a neighborhood that looked more and more familiar as I approached. I walked up to the front door of a modest suburban house. But not just any house; the house we’d looked at recently. I tried the door; it was unlocked. I opened it and walked inside.
And froze.
There, on the floor in front of me, was the body of my mistress. Next to it was a note.
“I promised the end and I try not to lie,
So find here a secret you cannot deny
Your well-earned bonanza for passing my test
Is the just-murdered corpse of your dear slut Celeste.
I know that you cheated, you’re just not that clever,
So with this, I end our romantic endeavor.
In your time remaining, which isn’t that long,
I’ll paint you a picture of how it went wrong.
The body was stabbed with a just-sharpened blade,
The one with your prints from the shopping charade.
Think back to the second clue shown up above,
And you may remember a lavender glove;
Though she’s deceased now, I’ve left there to find,
A guilty confession on paper you signed.
And as for a motive, a video, vivid,
Of you at the store that she frequented, livid.
And finally, I left her, stabbed through the heart,
In the house I was hoping would be our new start.”
How had she known? I’d been so careful. Yet somehow, she’d not only found Celeste, but she’d killed her and set me up for the murder. From the gloves I looked at, to the knife I touched, to the paper I’d signed, to the stranger who’d provoked me - step by step, she’d arranged it all. I had to get away. If I could wipe my prints and leave before—
The oscillating wail of police sirens filled the air. Dammit! I looked around, but there was no way out. I had no way to destroy everything and run before they arrived, and there was no way they’d believe me with all of the evidence. How had I not seen this coming? Maybe if I told them what happened, showed them this note—
The paper suddenly caught fire, and I read the final lines before it turned to ash in my hands…
“You’re probably thinking this just can’t be true,
But wait - hear those sirens? They’re there just for you!
I’m done with your betrayal, your derision, your lies,
So I just have one final message: SURPRISE!!”
“Were they always your family?” he asked as we hid from the shapeshifting and memory-altering aliens, showing me an old picture of my wife and I and our only child Liam.
I’ve always had trouble making friends. My Mommy died two years ago, and since then no one has wanted to be around me.
I don’t know why. I try to be a good person - I say nice things to everyone, and help my teachers, and let people play with my toys when they ask. But other kids always seem to not like me.
At least my Daddy likes me. He’s a great Daddy - he plays games with me, and makes my favorite foods (he makes the best macaroni and cheese), and reads me stories at bedtime. I don’t even get sad about Mommy anymore - Daddy says she’ll always be with us, and he knows everything.
But Daddy can’t play with me all the time. He has to go to work with the animals at his shop so that we can have a house to live in and food to eat. And I have to go to school so that I can learn all the stuff I need to know. And that’s ok - I like school. The classes are fun and the teachers are nice and we learn about books and countries and airplanes and boats and animals and - all kinds of stuff. I just wish I had friends.
I was sitting outside at recess today and I saw a bunch of girls playing. Daddy always says you can’t give up when you really want something because then you’ll never get it. So I got up and walked over to the girls.
“Hello, everyone! What are you playing?”
Marcy looked up at me. She was the one everyone else followed. “Oh, it’s you. Go away - there’s no more room here.”
“Why not?” I asked, seeing plenty of room.
Marcy looked at me. “Really? ‘Why not?’ Take a hint. Nobody wants you here, loser.”
She looked at me while all of the other kids started laughing. I ran away, crying. Why did they hate me?
That night, Daddy could see something was wrong. He asked me and I told him all about what happened. I thought he might be disappointed in me, but he just took me into his arms and said that everything would be ok, that I’d have friends before I knew it.
The next week, our class went on a field trip to the zoo. I was really excited - I wanted to see the lions and bears and giraffes and hippopotamuses. Daddy had a deer and an elk at home, but the zoo had real, live animals! Even sitting away from everyone else didn’t matter - I was going to the zoo!
Then there was a loud screech and the bus stopped suddenly. I flew into the back of the seat ahead of me, but I was ok. Then I heard a hissing and I looked up to see gas flowing into the bus. I tried to cover my mouth, but I started getting sleepy. Then I don’t remember anything else.
That was a while ago. Today I come home from my new school.
“Hi, sweetheart!” I hear from the hallway.
“Hi, Daddy!” I hug him and take off my shoes.
“Dinner will be ready in a bit. Why don’t you change clothes and go play with your friends?”
I nod and run into the special playroom in the basement, ignoring the faint chemical smell. There, spread around the room, I see all of my friends. There’s Janie, and Samantha, and Cassie, and Teresa. And there’s Marcy, leading them like always. They all gather round, mounted unmoving on their stands, waiting to keep me company.
“Hey, everybody! What game should we play today?”
We all sit around in a circle, having fun, as Mommy stands unmoving off to the side, smiling her forever smile and keeping an eye on me like she always does.
It’s so great to have friends.
As he fell to the floor holding his abdomen and writhing in pain, I explained that me carrying the baby wasn’t what I’d been trying to avoid.
Now that I’d seen how supportive they could be, I knew they’d be even more so when I increased the dosage I gave him the next time.
Billy looked out over his kingdom. He was ruler over all he surveyed.
The sun shone brightly above him, casting a pleasant sheen over everything below. He stood on the grassy field, fists resting victoriously at his sides as his cape billowed in the wind. He observed everything before him with a watchful eye. Rabbits hopped on the ground, while hungry foxes gave chase. Birds flew through the air majestically, occasionally dipping down to hunt for prey that became briefly visible in the tall grass.
Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, a flash of movement appeared. Pretending not to look, he turned his head rapidly to catch the intruder unaware. But, rather than hide, it seemed to want to be seen. A dog! A golden brown Labrador retriever with a white underbelly stared at him, then began moving away slowly. Without thinking, Billy began to follow. The retriever led, occasionally glancing back and matching his pace as if it wanted him to follow. So follow he did.
They danced, pursuer and pursued, through grass and flowers and moss, until they reached the edge of the forest. As they approached, the canine slowed, his two-footed companion joining him as they reached the tree line.
Billy watched his new companion, who looked between him and the forest as if trying to tell him something.
“Is there something in the forest, boy?”
“Woof!”
“Do you want to go in?”
“Woof! Woof!”
Intrigued, Billy followed his newfound friend into the trees, maneuvering easily between trunks, over streams, around animals. Birds tweeted, crickets chirped, deer bleated. It was Billy’s first time this deep in the forest, and he took great pride in seeing the outer expanse of his kingdom.
Eventually they came to a clearing. Flowers grew throughout the grass; sunlight brushed the ground through tree cover. All around him were deer. They dozed on the ground peacefully; he must have stumbled upon a family of them. For a moment he thought he saw circles of red beneath the deer, but he blinked and they were gone; the light must be playing tricks on his eyes. Not wanting to disturb their rest, he tip-toed past them until he reached the edge of the clearing. There he came upon a beautiful stream, its crystal clear water running past him as if on the way to some special occasion.
And walking through the shallow water he found a wolf.
The wolf was tall and majestic, its dampened fur glinting in the sun. It stalked through the stream, eyes darting warily from side to side. Billy didn’t call out to it, reluctant to disturb its concentration or awaken the deer behind him. Instead, he watched it stride through the trees, and, for no reason he could identify, began to follow it.
Not wanting to be heard by the wolf, Billy followed silently, observing as it moved stealthily through the forest until it reached its destination: a clearing filled with other wolves. They stood in a circle surrounding a wounded animal, saliva falling from their mouths as they growled. Billy couldn’t see the wounded animal, but he could hear its whimpers, weak and fearful. It sounded almost like a child. He would like to have helped, but there was nothing to be done. Such was the way of the forest.
Putting it from his mind, he turned and walked quietly out of the clearing. He didn’t want to attract attention; while he had no fear of the wolves - nothing could hurt him here, in his forest - he did not want to disturb them in their ritual or frighten his new best friend.
Walking together, he and his companion reached the stream they had crossed earlier. They carefully waded through it, treading across uneven steam bed and wet rocks alike, until they arrived back to where the deer were sleeping.
He looked around at the peaceful forest denizens; they looked relaxed, completely still beneath the tree canopy and the midday sun. Billy had nothing much to do today; the duties of the kingdom had been attended to, and nothing of particular import demanded his attention. Following his fellow explorer’s lead, he sat down by the stream. There he sat, in the company of the unmoving deer and his canine companion, watching the water flow by until the sun began to descend beyond the trees. Eventually he lay down in the soft grass between two deer that felt familiar somehow and allowed his eyes to close, drifting off to the peaceful sounds of the forest he ruled.
Occasionally, in the back of his mind in places he chose not to look, he saw frightening flashes. Images of men with guns; villagers running and screaming; pained cries; flesh pierced by bullets and blades; bodies lying on the ground, bleeding and dismembered; fearful adults standing in front of children, trying in vain to protect them; two adults he felt he should recognize throwing themselves protectively over a boy whose face looked familiar. Death and destruction everywhere he looked. These images plagued him; though he knew they were his imagination, he was terrified by just how real they felt. He even thought, for just a moment, that he could feel the rubble of destroyed buildings poking his back where he lay, smell the gasoline of the village and everything he knew burned around him. It all felt so real that tears fell from his eyes.
But then his new best friend put his paw on Billy, and the images receded until he remembered where he really was. The softness of the leaves beneath him, the gentle light from the moon above, and the soft purring of his canine companion lulled him back into the peaceful world of sleep. And sleep he did, content in the knowledge that nothing could go wrong here, that evil and violence belonged only to places far away, that his domain was at peace and everything was as it should be.
It was good to be king.
“Nothing lasts forever.” That’s what Amy says to me when she breaks up with me at the Coffee Hut on Main Street.
But it’s the way she says it - so dry and free of emotion, like she’d never cared about me at all, like I was just a diversion to fill her time until she tired of it - that tells me it’s really over.
The sad part is that I was getting ready to make her *my* forever; I’d bought a ring and was just waiting for the right moment, a moment that now would never come.
I leave the coffee shop in a daze, not really going anywhere, just wandering.
I hear a noise down an alley, followed by a woman’s scream. I rush toward it to see if she needs help. I feel a pain in my arm and everything goes black.
*****
I wake up with a number wafting through the recesses of my mind like a fading memory.
*Four…*
That number keeps running through my head but I don’t know why. I walk the road but I don’t know where I’m going. Birds, flowers - they seem familiar but strange. I’m trying to remember, but everything is blank.
I don’t feel right, but that doesn’t make sense. How am I supposed to feel?
I’m surrounded by a group of people, but I don’t know any of them; we just all keep walking in the same direction. Why am I here? Where is here?
*Four…*
I try to remember how I got here, but everything’s fuzy. I do see flashes: a house surounded by trees; a young boy playing in the park while two adults (parents?) watch neerby; the same boy smiling while children and adults laff around him as he wears a funny hat and eats cake; the boy, older, standing on a stage while an adult hands him a peece of paper(?); a young woman, her hair colord like honey, her smile sparking… hapiness?
Nothing makes sense.
*Four…*
I keep walking with group. Sometimez we speed up; other timez we slow down. Once we lie on ground and sleep (almost), then all jerk up at onse. I think we chasing something, but not sure.
We keep shufling and other memries flash: a man being yeled at in a ofice; the man crying while the honey-haired woman walks away, saying “nothing lasts forever;” man’s parents(?) looking at him sadly as they cloze door on him; man siting on ground with nedel in arm; man lying in alley when strang man appro-appro-comes up to him, mouth druling and arms out.
*Four…*
I wak up next day. I feel empte. I with group, but I hav feling. I turn round toward feling. I walk toward city. I find bilding. I walk up stairz but not no why.
I open dor. Insid iz woman. From memri? Har lik hony. I walk to her. She screem. I remember her wordz. I cloze my teth on arm.
“Four…
…evr…”
“This is all for the best, you know.”
My “husband” stood across from me, giving me that look he always gives, like he’s talking to a slow child who doesn’t know any better.
“That would be easier for me to believe if I weren’t tied to a chair. And you weren’t holding a knife.”
I looked over at him, pacing back and forth, holding a chef’s knife, a crazed look in his eye.
“That was always your biggest problem - you always focused on the small details, you could never see the big picture.”
“And what is the big picture?” I asked, fidgeting with the ropes behind me.
“Look,” he said, attempting to sound reasonable. “We both know this isn’t working out. We gave it the old college try, but at the end of the day we just aren’t right for each other. It’s no one’s fault.”
“If that’s true, then how about you come sit in this chair and give me the knife?”
“Is this a joke to you?”
“Not at all. On the contrary, I can assure you that my imminent demise is not something I find humorous.”
“Do you think I’m happy about this, Carly? I’m not. Why couldn’t you just mind your own business?”
“When I find souvenirs from a dozen dead girls in the basement of the house I live in, it kind of makes it my business.”
“You had no reason to be down there!” He took a breath, visibly calming himself. “Look, I can explain those.”
“Let me guess - they all ended up tied up with you holding a knife?”
He sighed. “You’re not even going to try to understand, are you?”
“What’s to understand, Ryan? They deserved it? You couldn’t help yourself? What pathetic excuse could you possibly have to make this ok?”
He shook his head. “It was necessary, but you wouldn’t understand. Look how hostile you’re being. There’s clearly no point in even trying to talk to you.”
“You’d be hostile too if someone had you tied to a fucking chair at knifepoint!”
“Do you see how emotional you’re being right now? This is why we could never have worked in the long run. We just aren’t compatible.”
“You’re right,” I replied. “It wouldn’t have worked out long term. Fortunately, you won't have to worry about that."
He started to cough, falling to his knees.
“What…?”
“You should have checked the handle of the knife; I put something special on it for you. You don’t need to thank me; it was my pleasure.”
I watched him keel over and struggle to breathe. Then he stopped struggling.
I cut the ropes behind my back, stood up from the chair, and moved to him to check his pulse. Nothing. Good.
I had to move quickly now - I was on the clock.
I went to the closet, where an identical version of me sat tied and gagged. I removed the cloth that was tied in her mouth.
“I’m sorry about that - it was the only way I could get you to calm down and watch.”
She breathed heavily. “He was really going to… ki… kill…”
“Yes, he was really going to kill me. Well, to be accurate, he was planning to kill you - he had no idea I was here.”
“Why were you here?”
I spoke while I walked over to Ryan’s body. “Records indicated that this was the day he killed you. The police found your body two days from now, dismembered in the basement along with the remains of ten other victims. When Ryan was eventually caught, he confessed; he said the ‘voices in his head’ told him he had to kill you. I only needed a little plastic surgery to look just like you; then it was just a matter of coming back and waiting for the right moment.”
I began to roll his body up in the plastic I’d stored in the side closet.
“What are you going to do with him?”
“Well I can’t leave him here - not unless you want to explain it to the police.”
“But how do you know they won’t find him?”
I looked back at her, staring into her eyes. “They won’t find him.”
I had to hurry now; I was starting to feel it. I pressed the button I’d brought to activate a gate to my time; the light sparked and a hole opened into dark space. As it opened, I heard the one question I’d been dreading, the one I wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Who are you?”
I was silent for a moment, contemplating as I pushed the body through into the acid bath I’d set up before I left. I decided to tell the truth; if I didn’t do it now, when would I? I turned and looked at her.
“Do you remember the baby you left with your sister when Ryan invited you on this trip?”
She looked confused. “How do you—“
“Her name is May, isn’t it?”
She paused. “Yes, but what does May have to do with this?”
“Do you remember the necklace you left her?”
“The one with the heart? Yes, but—”
I turned and looked at her, holding my necklace so that light bounced off of the heart hanging over my chest. She looked at it and her eyes widened in stunned understanding. Then, as my body began to disappear, a remnant from a future that no longer existed, I said the last words I’d ever say.
“I love you, Mom. Go raise your daughter and have the life you deserve. For me.”
I hummed with them, the chorus of “Now I know my BCDs, next time won’t you sing with me!” reminding me of when I’d first memorized the twenty-five letters of our writing system when I’d been young myself.
I stir from sleep with the weirdest feeling. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like something is missing. Something key, noteworthy. Something I should remember. Something I’ve known forever. But now it’s gone.
Ignoring the feeling, I get up, shower, dress, then drive into work. When I get there, everything seems fine. My boss Todd is like he routinely is - honest, open-minded, but the world’s worst stickler for the rules. The work proceeds slowly, which is the norm here; putting numbers into columns, writing reports, going to meetings. There seems to be no point, no objective, no end.
When noon hits, my friend Steve decides to join me for lunch. The burger joint next door serves the best grilled cheeseburgers I’ve ever experienced, so we both order them with fries, topped off with cokes since we don’t drink during work hours. While we gulp down our food, I tell him of the weird feeling I’ve been experiencing.
“You sure it isn’t just your sleep deficit? You’re not getting much recently.”
“True, but being tired isn’t the issue. I know something’s off. I just feel it.”
“Well, I’ve seen nothing weird. But if I do, I’ll let you know.”
We return to the office, content knowing we only need to hold out for four more hours. I push through them, then clock out to go home. The commute sucks, but soon enough I stride into my third floor unit, where I drop onto the couch, completely worn out. The only thing on my mind is my pepperoni with mushrooms from the freezer, followed by eight hours of sleep.
In the middle of the night, I rise to noise I don’t recognize. I pick up the Louisville Slugger pop bought me when I went out for the club in middle school. I open my bedroom door, slowly inclining to peek down beyond the second bedroom to the edge of the living room. There, I observe some kind of glow, distinct but muted, coming from beyond the corner.
Slowly, I creep through the setting I know every inch of, keeping my eyes open for the unlikely prospect of some intruder lurking in the night. But when I step into the room, I freeze. There, before my eyes, some kind of… sphere composed entirely of light hovers in the middle of the room.
How the hell did it get here?
I move circumspectly, circling it to try to observe it from every viewpoint. But wherever I view it from, I keep returning to one thought:
This is impossible. It shouldn’t be here.
I move to pick up my cell to phone Steve. But before I do, the light gets brighter. Then brighter still. I put my fingers in front of my eyes to try to block the light, but it does no good. It just keeps getting brighter, brighter, brighter, until it’s impossible to see or think. I’ve never been someone who gets frightened often, but right now, I’m terrified. How is this possible? How is it… I must be sleeping! Right, of course! I just need to pull myself out of this! This is just in my mind, I tell myself. It isn’t here. It isn’t here. It isn’t here. It isn’t—
I rise the next morning from the floor. Why—? I don’t remember the night before. I must’ve gotten drunk, then conked out, but nothing I see supports this theory. Still, I’ll need to figure it out some other time; work beckons. If I get behind schedule, the consequences will be distressing. I picture Todd dressing me down; best to not give him the excuse. I go through my morning routine in record time, getting to the office just before nine o’clock.
“Someone looks like their night went well.”
“Honestly, I don’t remember it,” I told Steve while I logged in for the morning.
“Wow, so very well?”
“Very funny. Seriously, I got home, nuked my DiGiorno’s, next thing I knew I woke up on the floor. No clue how I got there.”
“Wow, dude. Hold off on the beer next time.”
“Will do.”
“So you’re good?”
“Sure. Why?”
“The weird feeling? The one you kept bringing up during lunch in the burger joint?”
“Did I? I don’t know, dude. Everything’s fine now.”
“Well good. You were creeping me out.”
I punch him in the shoulder, then turn to my computer for my next boring job.
During my stroll to lunch, I spot some little kids out with their mothers. One of them is singing. I know the song well; I’d memorized it when I’d been young myself.
Something in their song stirred something in me. Funny how things stick with you. It seems like lifetimes since then; it seems like no time’s gone by. “Now I know my BCD’s, next time won’t you sing with me.” Simple, but it worked; I remember how proud I’d been singing every single letter. The whole twenty-five. I stroll on, whistling the indelible tune. I don’t know why I lost my mind before. Everything is just how it should be.
There’s no way my son can have lung cancer, I think as I sneak a drag of my twelfth cigarette of the day - I’ve never let him smoke.
Hello, ladies! Are you wondering how to make your man happy and ensure that your marriage stands the test of time? Well, look no further! This easy-to-follow guide will show you how to ensure a successful marriage.
“Honor and respect your husband.”
When you’re a traditional wife, part of your job is to honor and respect your husband in all things. Whatever he needs - cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, entertaining his friends and business associates - you should do with a smile. God has blessed you with a husband; show them both your gratitude every day.
“Make him feel good about himself.”
The husband is the king of the house, but even a king needs his queen. Make sure to keep your husband’s confidence high by reminding him how amazing he is every day. A sincere compliment, an appreciative look, or a fun session in the bedroom can keep his self-assuredness high so he can go out and conquer the world. Remember, not everyone has an amazing husband. Let him know every day how grateful you are.
“Take an interest in all things him.”
For a true wife, there is no topic of greater interest than her husband. Is he a morning person? Does he like a quiet house? Does he want you to be timid in public but wild in the bedroom? Knowing him completely should be your ultimate goal.
“Know his likes and dislikes.”
A good wife should know her husband’s likes and dislikes. Know his favorite foods and how to make them. Know his favorite outfits and restaurants before he has to ask. And know not just what he likes to dress in, but what he likes you in, and wear it regularly and eagerly (and not just during the day). It will keep the home fires burning and make sure your husband comes home every night.
“Support your husband’s interests.”
A good wife knows her husband’s interests. His favorite television shows, sports, hobbies - learn them all backwards and forwards. That includes the bars he likes to visit after work. And the people he likes to visit them with. Even the ones he doesn’t tell you about.
“Be accepting of his faults.”
While your husband is undoubtedly perfect to you, remember that everyone has faults. Your job is to provide comfort wherever possible and to understand and forgive whenever necessary. An unfortunate dalliance or the occasional angry outburst is understandable and should be forgiven for a marriage to last. Unless it doesn’t stop.
“Respect his privacy/Earn his trust.”
The best relationships are built on trust. But even in those, a man likes to have some privacy. The key is to find the balance of knowing everything important about him and your relationship while still letting him have some secrets of his own. If you can find that balance, you’ll feel secure and he’ll feel respected. Know what you need to, but be careful of diving into too many of his secrets. You may find out things you wish you hadn’t. And you may have to do something about them.
“Be understanding when he has bad days.”
As amazing as your husband is, every day of his can’t be perfect. Maybe things didn’t go well at work. Maybe the commute was difficult. Maybe you asked too many questions about things you should have left alone.
Remember, FCC - Foundation, Color Correctors, and Concealer*. These can go a long way toward hiding those bruises, but only if you’re willing to heal the bruises inside your heart (or stop him from causing new ones).
*See the back of the book for some product recommendations!
“Follow his lead.”
Let your husband lead the way and follow him in all things. He should be the main voice in all major decisions. That doesn’t mean your voice doesn’t count - a good husband will value your input. But there can only be one leader, and your job is to support him. And sometimes, following him may be more than just a figure of speech. Just know that, if you follow too closely, you may see things you’d rather not. And once you see them, they can’t be unseen.
“Keep the magic alive.”
Most relationships die because the people involved don’t put the effort into keeping the spark alive. A truly successful partnership doesn’t just last on its own - you have to maintain it, and that takes effort. Have date nights! Surprise him at work! Learn his fantasies (and yours!) and live them out together! You have to keep the magic alive.
And if you learn things about him you can’t get past, you may need a different kind of magic. Making people disappear is a skill all its own, and sometimes a necessary one.
“Always keep a clean house.”
Never underestimate the importance of keeping things clean. All men like a pristine house to come home to. Dusting, dishwashing, vacuuming, and laundry may not be the most exciting activities, but the effect they have on your home is immeasurable. Find a way to get into them. You never know what, or whom, you’ll have to clean up. Learn to love the process!
“Don’t forget the occasional surprise!”
And finally, if all of the above isn’t enough, don’t forget the occasional surprise! Life can get so predictable - brighten his day with something unexpected! Maybe a nighttime trip on his boat. Just you and him. The gentle rocking, the wine, the atmosphere - things can get frisky. Maybe you both even decide to go for a moonlight swim. And then… well…
Accidents happen.
After all, even the most loyal wife is the first suspect when a husband goes missing. So you have to make certain there’s no evidence. And when that time comes, the hardest part isn’t deciding to kill him. The hardest part is getting rid of the body.
Unless you can get him to do it himself.
Sometimes, the most successful marriages are the ones where you end up alone.
“How are you, Emma?”
I looked up from where I was sitting on my bed to see Sarah looking at me with concern.
“I’m fine, Sarah.”
“Are you sure? I know it’s a big day for you…”
Today would be the first time I went out since I escaped. After the bruises and broken bones, I was focused on getting away more than anything else. I thought that meant I could leave it all behind forever. But life doesn’t always work out like we want it to.
“I’m fine, really.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“You all have helped me so much. I’m ready for this.”
She looked me over carefully. “Ok, if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure. Really.”
“You know you’re safe here, right? We’d never let anything happen to you.”
“I know.”
She stared at me for several moments before she left. I waited until I was sure she was gone and dropped the mask. She was right. I wasn’t fine. But I had to do this or I’d never be ok. I couldn’t stay in this house forever.
Things had escalated with Derek so fast that it had made my head spin. When we’d met, he’d been so sweet, courteous and romantic. He’d held open doors, paid for our dates, even charmed my parents.
But then the mask had started to slip. Kindness had turned to cruelty, gentleness to violence. The first time he’d hit me, I’d excused it. When he’d threatened to kill me, I’d known I had to run. Alone, with no money and nowhere to go, I’d found this place.
I hadn’t left a day since.
But today was the day. Today, for the first time since I’d arrived, I had to leave the safety of this shelter and go back into the outside world. I had an interview for a job. If I got it, I could start to rebuild my life, reclaim what I’d lost.
I just had to get there.
I stood and got dressed. My wardrobe was lacking; I hadn’t had time to grab many clothes when I’d fled, but the shelter had gotten me a couple of interview-appropriate outfits. I then left my room and, buoyed by the well wishes of the staff and other residents, headed outside for the first time in months.
The interview went well. I was nervous, and there was a large gap on my resume that I had to explain (I said I was taking care of a sick relative), but I was determined, and the manager seemed to like me. I left, thinking that maybe I could actually make this work, maybe I could rebuild my life.
I was headed back toward the shelter when I got a feeling. Like I wasn’t alone. Which was weird because I was on the street, so of course I wasn’t alone. But this was different. I recognized this feeling.
He was here. I was certain of it.
I looked around but saw nothing. It occurred to me that maybe it was my imagination, my paranoia at being away from the safety of the shelter for the first time in months. But I knew that, if he found me, he’d be angry. I remembered the other times he’d been angry. I had to move.
I kept the same pace, not wanting to draw attention. At the next gap in traffic I crossed the street and ducked between two cars. I waited a moment, then I ran down a side street. I was only minutes from the shelter.
I turned down an alley, not seeing Derek but knowing he was behind me. But it was a dead end. There was nowhere to go.
I turned around. Maybe I was wrong, maybe he wasn’t following—
“Hello, Emma.”
That voice. I’d hoped I’d never hear it again.
“What do you want, Derek?”
He laughed. “What do I want? You deserted me, Emma.”
“I had to leave.”
“Did I say you could leave?”
“There! That attitude is exactly why I had to get out. You always saw me as property, something you owned and could control. I’m a person, Derek! Why couldn’t you treat me like one?”
He looked at me with disdain. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to listen to you whine constantly? ‘I want to be loved,’ ‘I want to be respected,’ ‘why don’t you appreciate me?’ You’re a child, Emma. And like any child, you need guidance and a firm hand. But it’s my fault; I was too easy on you. From now on I plan to give you the discipline you deserve. You’ll never run away again.”
He began to walk toward me.
“Stay back!” I yelled.
“Or what? What are you going to do, Emma?”
A voice rang out in the alley. “You have more to worry about than her.”
Suddenly shots rang out from every direction. But they weren’t for me. I stood motionless while bullet after bullet penetrated Derek, jerking back and forth until he fell to the ground. Miraculously he was still alive - or it would have been miraculous if he hadn’t been left alive on purpose.
A woman appeared from nowhere and looked down at him. Then she looked at me. “Would you care to do the honors?”
I nodded and took the gun she handed me. I looked down at Derek, lying on the ground, barely conscious.
“You always said I needed you, that I’d be nothing without you. But it turns out that all I ever needed was me. And now, I’m finally rid of you.”
I pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger.
I handed the gun back.
“Thanks, Sarah.”
“No problem. I told you you were safe here. How do you feel?”
“Like I’m finally free.”
“What say we go and celebrate your newfound freedom?”
“Sounds good,” I replied.
“We just have to make sure we don’t get too drunk,” she said as we walked away. “It’s Cindy’s ex-boyfriend’s turn tomorrow.”
It was the scream that stayed with me. and haunting, like someone had recorded their worst nightmare and played it back at three times normal speed.
We entered the house as usual, in the dead of night. My crew and I raid old houses like this, looking for anything that we can sell. Abandoned houses usually mean low or no security, and sometimes people leave behind junk they don’t know is valuable.
Mitch, Jordan, and I entered through the back window and spread out - Mitch took the ground floor, Jordan took the second floor, and I took the top. The top was riskier - harder to get out of if we had company - but I was good at it.
I was going through the place, same as normal, when I entered a room with a large screen and a projector, kind of like a theater. When I walked through the door, there was a “click” and the projector started moving, showing an old movie on the screen. At least, I thought it was a movie.
It focused on a person. I couldn’t make out who because it was dark and the view started from the feet up. But I noticed spikes. Red and thick, one going through the top of each foot.
From there, the camera panned up to the legs, which had been flayed, the skin removed slowly in a way that likely ensured the victim would feel the most pain.
At this point, I looked around, searching for someone who was running the projector, but no one was there.
And then I heard it. The scream.
“AIIEEEEE!!”
I jumped up, looking around frantically as my breathing spiked. Somehow, though the person screaming was on video, the sound seemed as if it were coming from all around me, every direction at once. I didn’t just hear it - I felt it. In my bones. Like some long-suppressed memory that had violently pushed its way to the surface.
I decided to get the hell out of there. I ran to the door through which I’d entered the room. But, although it had been open before, now it was sealed shut as if it were glued to the frame. I pulled with all my strength, but to no avail. While I continued to try the door, I heard a noise behind me. I turned around and another video started to play on the screen.
By itself.
On the screen was a different person. At least, I thought it was a different person; I couldn’t see the face, but the clothes and the lighting were dissimilar from those in the first video. And there were no spikes through the feet.
Because there were no feet.
Instead, the ankles ended in bloody stumps that dragged against the floor. And, as the camera panned slowly up, I saw slash marks. Dozens of slash marks, crossing the body at all angles, so much blood covering the naked skin that the body looked like it had been dipped in red paint. With that kind of blood loss, the only thing I was certain of was that he was dead. No one could have lived through this. Poor bastard.
“AIIEEEEE!!” Though I’d heard it before, the primal scream shook me again. I’d heard screams before - of anger, of frustration, of grief. But there could only be one cause for this scream.
Terror. Complete, utter terror.
Focusing, I looked at the video again, studying it. The perspective was the same as before, except this time, the camera continued to pan up the body until it reached the face. No. No, that wasn’t possible.
The face. I recognized it.
It was mine.
The same nose. The same mouth. The same green eyes. The same scar under my lower lip. The same curly brown hair.
How was this possible?
And then another video started.
The violence was different. The clothes, the wound pattern, the instrument used and spatters of blood, all unlike those from previous video. But the face was the same. And that scream…
I couldn’t stay here; I had to get out. I tried the door again, but it wouldn’t open. I jerked at it repeatedly, with increasing force, but no luck.
Suddenly I heard a noise behind me. I looked - there was nothing there.
Desperately, I threw my body into it, but it wouldn’t budge.
The noise got louder.
I looked around and saw a window in the corner. In a fit of desperate inspiration, I picked up a chair and threw it against a window. Then again. And again. Eventually the window cracked and shattered, sending glass flying outside the room. Without hesitation, I crawled through the window, scraping myself on the broken glass.
I ran downstairs, calling out to Mitch and Jordan as I went.
“Guys! We’ve gotta go! NOW!”
And when I got downstairs, I found them.
Or what was left of them.
Their dismembered bodies lay on the floor, limbs spread around in trails of blood.
My mind went blank - the scream from the video echoes in my ears. All I could think was “get out, get out, get out.” I turned and ran toward the door.
It wouldn’t open.
I looked around - the windows were fifteen feet up, there was no way I could reach them. I turned, ready to fight whatever came down.
Then a noise came from my right, like a ripping. I looked over - a tear was opening in the air. Before I could run, an arm emerged. Then a torso. Then a face.
Oh my God.
“Come on,” said a face that looked exactly like mine. “They’re coming. We don’t have much time.”
“Who’s coming?” I asked, too stunned to move.
He paused, then looked at me with a deathly stare. “You are.”