u/Dry_Evening9650

Working in a cleaning crew at a science facility came with its perks. Company insurance, long vacations, amazing pay. What wasn't there to love? Well, besides cleaning up the projects gone wrong. Usually, it’s mutated monkeys or rabbits, and sometimes it’s deformed piglets. They’re always dead before I arrive, which I'm grateful for. The idea of cleaning up a project before it’s euthanized makes my skin crawl. I'm not sure if I could handle putting them down myself. 

We were tasked to clean a location independent from the facility. Those kinds of jobs never came with a lot of information. The less we knew going in, the better everyone slept afterward. That was the company line, anyway. When we pulled up to the house, the street was already blocked off. A police car and ambulance passed us on our way there.

The house we pulled into was a nice suburban home. One story, with HOA grade lawncare and the colors of grey and white adorning the siding. The vehicle that met us was another company truck with a dump trailer attached to the back. It kind of reminded me of a smaller version of a tonka truck, except this one had a vacuum attachment on the back.

I stepped out of my truck and adjusted my respirator. My coworker met me in the driveway. “Smell that?” Marty asked beside me. I could. Even through my mask there was a faint metallic rot in the air. Like old pennies and roadkill. “Yeah,” I said. “This is gonna be a long morning.”

The man in the passenger seat of Marty’s truck followed us to the doorway of the house. Austin, the sampling department team lead, handed us a clipboard with our directive typed on it. “You’ll gas the basement first,” he said. “Compound is already mixed in the canisters.” On the clipboard, under Target Material it simply said: Organic Assemblies – Avian Configuration

Marty read it over my shoulder. “Avian configuration?” He muttered. “So… birds?” Austin responded with a half-shrug, as if to agree but not confirm Marty’s hypothesis. Instead he pointed toward the house. “The family has been relocated. Your team clears the basement, removes all material, and loads it into the transport bin. The facility will take over from there.”

“What exactly are we clearing?” I asked. “Everything.” Austin responded. He slapped the side of the truck. “Let us know if you fill this and we’ll bring you another truck. I’m gonna start taping off the area.” With that he turned toward the cab of the truck and left us to get started. The sooner this ends the better.

The entrance of the house looked as pristine as the facility. White walls, wooden cabinets, and not a speck of dust in sight. The only thing that looked out of place was all the blood on the ground. A small trail down the hall, and another from the living room through the kitchen. We followed the second trail to the basement, and made our way down the steps.

The kitchen still had dirty dishes in the sink. A mug with orange juice sat on the table. Someone had left their backpack on the floor like they expected to come back. As we got closer to the basement, the smell of rot became stronger.

As we decended the stairs, I shook my canister, ready to gas whatever was lurking in the basement. At the last available step, Marty and I took in the scene. The basement looked like a butcher shop had exploded. The flesh pool was about two feet deep, judging by the furniture.

I crouched as well as I could in my suit, and got a better look at the mass. It looked like the avian configuration label on our paperwork was because there seemed to be beaks, feathers, webbed feet, and eyes in the pond. They looked like toy ducks. Thousands of them floated in a thick red sludge.

I sprayed the ducks closest to my feet, and they seemed to … hiss? Their reaction reminded me of vinegar and baking soda. The sludge stirred, a gurgling sound mixed with squeaks and furniture scraping the walls. The ducks that I sprayed shifted away from the steps, and a renewed set of gore sat in front of my feet.

For a second nobody spoke. Then Marty quietly said, “Well… that’s new.” We’re used to cleaning up unimaginable horrors, but not alive ones. Our more educated colleagues are the ones who are supposed to kill the specimens, yet here we are.

Then another duck opened a mouth where a beak should have been. “Gas,” I said immediately. Marty nodded and sprayed the face of the creature before its purple tongue could escape. The chemical came out as a pale yellow fog and within seconds the basement filled with it.

The reaction was immediate, the mass started screaming. Every small orifice hissed a different tune of agony. Hundreds of wet little voices wailing all at once like broken instruments. Some of them tried to crawl over each other. Others spasmed in the sludge like dying fish. A few dragged themselves toward the stairs before collapsing halfway.

We watched them for a while, spraying whatever tried to fight back. Marty glanced at me through his mask. “I’m never eating poultry again.” 

The screaming stopped after about three minutes. The pulsating mass stopped shifting, and we waited another ten minutes afterwards to ensure they were dead.

Cleanup was disgusting but simple. We waded through the mass, inch by inch. Marty and I shoveled what the vacuum couldn't handle. Once they were dead they were just meat. Heavy meat, sure, and weirdly warm. Some of them burst when you grabbed them. Marty vomited inside his mask after picking up something that had teeth growing out of its wing.

By supper the basement floor was visible again. What used to be white carpet was now stained dark red. Marty sprayed disinfectant across the walls. Whatever kid lived in the basement would not be getting their posters back.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s pitch the rest.” We loaded all the furniture into a truck, and threw all other items into trash bags. By the time we were done, it was well after sunset, and the basement was barren. We had orders to clear the upstairs too, but that can wait for tomorrow.

The facility was two hours away. Tall fencing, no windows, in the middle of nowhere. Typical sci-fi secret building bullshit. We backed the truck up to a loading bay where a group of lab workers waited with clipboards and sealed suits.

One of them tapped the side of the container. “Everything accounted for?” He said through his respirator. “As far as we know,” Marty said. The man nodded. “Good. We’ll handle the rest.”

They opened the bin, and for a moment nothing happened. Then one of the scientists leaned closer. “…That’s strange.” “What?” Marty asked. The scientist pointed. “They’re moving.”

We all looked at the mass, at first I thought he meant settling, but then I saw it. A duck near the center twitched. Then another. Then something deeper in the pile shifted. A wet ripple moved through the entire mass.

The scientist frowned. “That’s not possible. The compound should have-” Before we could react the scientist was snatched by tendrils coming from the mass. We only saw his legs sticking out from the trailer. Dozens of ducks snapped alert at once. Mouths opening. Eyes blinking.

One launched itself straight out of the bin and latched onto the scientist’s helmet with a wet slap. He screamed as he tried to pry it off. Weird veins came from the duck's mouth, and wrapped around the man’s head, then his neck. Constricting so tight, we could see the seams of his suit splitting. Soon, his head was detached from his body.

The entire container exploded with movement as the mound unfolded into a writhing swarm. Hundreds of duck-things spilled over the edges and hit the concrete floor. One of the lab workers shouted, “Containment breach!” 

Too late. The swarm hit them. I saw one man disappear beneath a pile of screaming meat. Another slipped and fell while trying to run. Something with a stitched human mouth clamped onto his leg.

Marty grabbed my shoulder. “Truck,” he said. We didn’t look back. Behind us the sound of tearing fabric and wet chewing echoed through the loading bay. As we reached the truck door, I glanced once over my shoulder.

The pile of ducks was still growing, rearranging itself around something large in the center of the mass. Something that was slowly pulling itself upright.

Marty slammed the truck door. “What the hell? How are we gonna get out of here?” His brown eyes wide with horror, and I’m sure my face mirrored his. “I don't know, the trailer’s still attached, and we don't have an opener for the door.”

I peered out at the scene around us. The ducks were busy tearing our coworkers to shreds. The man who had his head torn off was being drilled into like swiss cheese. Lumps of ducks sticking out of his body like ripe pimples. They were eating him.

I turned back to Marty “Call HQ, we need backup” He fumbled with his phone and held it to his ear with shaking hands. “Hello, it’s Marty. Uhhh 24612. Yes, cleanup crew. We need backup at the loading bay. Case uhh…” He grabbed the clipboard. “Case 738 is going rampant. Yes, the avian configuration.” He was holding his head in frustration. “We need help now! The loading bay is contaminated and so far three employees have died. Bring heavy artillery, test on their bodies, just please get us out of here!”

He hung up after being told that reinforcements will be on their way. We decided to keep the truck off and hunch below the windows. The mass hasn't gone after us yet, they seem to be busy feeding on our former colleagues. 

We sat there for around an hour when we finally heard the bay door open. I peeked up from the floor of the truck to a crowd of employees holding gas canisters and pistols. They sprayed the flesh blobs while shooting the ones advancing. It seemed like gunshots only separated the masses for a moment, before they reconfigured and lunged again.

Slowly, they herded the chunks of flesh away from the exit. Cornering the mass into the back of the loading bay. We decided that this was our moment to escape. I nodded at Marty as we slowly opened our doors. “Dont shoot!” I yelled as I stepped out of the truck. “We called about this earlier.”

Our hands were in the air, a sign of innocence. One of the agents in the back of the crowd said something indistinguishable, and soon Marty and I were being rushed by our coworkers. An agent on each side, holding us in place. We were guided to an ambulance outside the bay, and shoved inside.

“What the Hell?” Marty yelled. The door we entered was locked. Great. We went from one metal box to another. I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. “We’re probably compromised.” I mumble. Marty shoved his head in his hands. “Fuck! I don’t want to die!” I opened my eyes and looked at him. “You won't die. They’ll run some tests, take some blood, and observe you for a few days. You’ve never been quarantined before?”

Marty matched my stare, a look of guilt creeping in. “No. I’ve only cleaned the failed experiments. The non-contagious ones.” I patted his arm and gave him a reassuring look. “Well, this isn't my first rodeo. Just keep your head down, and answer all of their questions truthfully.”

We were transported to the quarantine sector of the building. Which used to be chambers for our ape experiments, before PETA became a thing. Marty and I were separated, for independent monitoring. This was no surprise to me. I’ve dealt with many cases where fluid, gas, or spores get on my suit, and I've grown used to the sterile room used to observe me.

They provided books, TV, random craft projects, but I never stayed long enough to finish anything. This seemed to be a different case. I’ve been in this room for about two weeks. The only info I get about the situation is when I get my meals. The doctors are always kind enough to give me a status update, but they never linger too long, or say too much.

My symptoms started on day two. My vision blurred, and I would get hourly headaches like clockwork. When I slept, I felt something tickling my eardrums. Like a moth flying around my brain, trying to find light that doesn't exist. When my vision came back, I lost my hearing.

The doctors kept monitoring me and let me know that my heart rate was abnormal. Ba-dump Ba-dump Ba-Ba-Ba-dump. They gave me a notepad, and instructed me to write. So, here I am, writing about this experience. I think they wanted me to write my will, but as a man with little possessions and even less family, I think the state can take care of my junk. I don’t think my extended family would want my collection of baseball cards, and that’s the only thing I own with value.

I’m going to keep writing when things happen, I think they would like that.

The doctors keep bringing me dog food. They made me a tray of dog food between hamburger buns. I couldn't eat that, so I asked for something else. They gave me a bag of chips, but when I opened them, the contents looked like peeled sunburn skin. Oily and flaky and salty smelly. I decided to just drink water.

I'm so bored. The cartoons on TV are all reruns, and I don't like the news. My toenails are getting long, but the doctors won't give me clippers. Fine. I’ll cut them myself. I brought my foot to my mouth, and started chewing.

I woke up to my feet being wrapped. What the heck? If they cut my nails I wouldn't have to chew them. I miss Marty. I saw him sleeping on a stretcher in the hallway. Lucky. I wanna go outside.

The doctors are mean. They took my walking and my hearing, I'm hungry, and I can’t pee right. I can only write I guess.

Im so hungry. I dont like the food they give me. It all looks weird. I dont wanna lay down anymore, but I cant walk. I crawled around a bit, but my vision keeps being spotty.

I miss mom. She used to make really good breakfast. Pancakes are so good.

i feel bad. my stomack hurts and i cant get up. i think im gona nap.

I can't take it anymore. I'm so fucking hungry. I smell something. Something sweet coming from my stomach. Like a honey roasted ham, or brown sugar bacon. I'm so hungry. This fucking room is so quiet and the nurses only check on me if I press my call button. I don't want to see them. They’re judging me. I’m a monster. My belly is the size of a fucking watermelon. I should just get some sleep. Wait until tomorrow. I know those lumps are ducks. I just fucking know it. I hope they cut out every single one tomorrow.

I’m cold, freezing. My hands are warm though. And, my mouth. I look at my hands, red. My favorite color. I miss my room. I miss my cousin. I miss my old body. I sat up to find a hole where my stomach was. What? How am I alive? Where did the mass go? I lick my lips, and spit out a chunk of skin. Oh. It was me. I wanted to see Lisa, but in the end I was too ashamed. Of course I should be, especially now. I’m a fucking cannibal. I should jump. Mom would be free, and I wouldn't bother Lisa and Rick anymore.

Dad told me that Kyle and Carol are in the hospital today. Apparently, Kyle’s not feeling too great, and I can relate to that sentiment. I can walk in short bursts, but I have to be very stiff to avoid irritating my stitches. My strength is slowly renewing itself, but my muscles are sore from the stretches that Miss V has me do every morning. I feel so stiff, like an old gumby doll. The nightmares are lessening, but so is my weight. I used to sit at a steady 150lbs, but within the past week I’ve lost about 20lbs. The nurses basically force feed me protein shakes and pureed food. My mouth aches when I eat solid food. I miss eating, but I miss my family more. Yes, Kyle was annoying, and Carol was irritating, but having a strained sense of community was better than being alone with my thoughts.

I don't dream much anymore, a blessing I cherish every morning. The few dreams that I did have were not consistent, and I often forgot them by the time the nurses switched shifts. My stitches were healing every day, and the only places that stayed irritated were my joints and under my chest. The constant shifting, sitting up, and my slow walks made my skin stretch, and I often would spend my evenings being completely still to make up for my morning exercises. I hope that I can convince Miss V to take me to Kyle’s room in the morning. Since he still hasn’t made his way to my room, I’ll go to him.

That morning, I begged Miss V to let me visit, and she relented, on the account that I don’t get out of my wheelchair. I was so excited, I could feel the scabs on my cheek crack from my smile. Carol stopped by my room as I was beginning to sit up, and she had a small bag of clothes with her. Miss V helped me into a loose dress that covered me better than the hospital gowns. I wasn’t a fan of my underwear peeking out of the back of those gowns, and was glad to finally have something more appropriate.

Hey everyone, it’s Kyle. So I'm not feeling too good. Between living in an airbnb and going to school, the ducks are still following. I chose to keep going to class, just to give myself a sense of normal. Pretty shitty, right? My cousin is hospitalized and I’m caring more about school than seeing her. It’s just that, I don’t want her to get dragged into any more of this. The nightmares, they’re haunting. I’m stuck in this warm dark mass, like I'm in a water balloon, but I'm so hungry. The liquid in the balloon isn't water, but some type of sauce. I’m so hungry, so I try to eat some, but every time I do the balloon moves. So, I grab the walls of the balloon and take a bite. I’m so hungry, so I take another bite. I eat my way out, but I'm still hungry. It’s dark outside of the balloon, and cold. The only warmth is the red puddle on the ground. I lay in it while licking the floor. It’s so cold and I’m so hungry. When my eyes adjust to the dark, I see Lisa, Dad, Mom, Rick, even my dead childhood Dog. Every dream, it’s a different body facing me on the ground, but the same gaping cavity from the bottom of their ribs.

I can’t look at anyone without worrying about them being in my dreams, so I go to school. I’m not close to many people at my school, and I would rather have a nightmare of a teacher than my dead Dad. After vomiting up that brainy duck, I’ve been skipping meals. Every time I eat I feel drained, and my stomach keeps bloating. I'm a pretty thin guy, but once food enters my system, my stomach seems to expand more and more. My new clothes had to be returned, and I’ve never had to wear a size large before. I hated how the clothes fit me. My toothpick arms and legs swimming in the fabric, while my stomach made me feel like I had a beer belly. The weight of my stomach made my back ache, and I would wear baggy hoodies to school to avoid weird looks.

From the outside, our house looks like it’s being fumigated. It has a big white tent covering it and unmarked vans in the driveway. Mom said that a cleaning crew is going to try to salvage the house, so we won't have to start over. I really enjoy living with Lisa and Rick. I mean, it beats the house we used to rent, and I hate being alone. These past few days without Lisa have been so quiet. I miss her snarky remarks and the company she gave me. I have an appointment this afternoon to check out my stomach. I have to get an ultrasound, blood drawn, and who knows what else.

During the ultrasound appointment, the tech smothered warm jelly on my swollen belly. She ran the scanner over my skin and was watching the screen. She had the monitor facing away from me, which made me really anxious. I was curling and uncurling my toes trying to ease my shaking. She captured a few images but wouldn't share them. She gave me a calm smile and said that she will discuss the images with my mom and one of the doctors in this building. Well, she was a bit more professional than that but you get the gist.

I was guided to a waiting room where I met Mom and a doctor. Her name was Doctor Gilman, and she shook my hand while saying “let’s have a seat and discuss your screening and lab results.” Mom and I sat while Dr Gilman gave us a diagram of a digestive system on a piece of paper. “This is what the average human digestive system looks like. However, Kyle, yours seems to have unknown masses growing throughout it.” She glanced at me. “I trust you haven't seen your ultrasound images?” I shook my head, knee bouncing under the table that separated us. She reached into her binder and revealed the images. My stomach, intestines, and all the other organs that I don't know the names of were being squished and cramped by these huge clumps of, well, I don't know.

Dr Gilman gave me time to absorb the images, and suggested that we schedule an operation to remove the masses immediately. I asked her if we could wait until tomorrow. I just, I really need time to mentally prepare. She agreed but under the condition that I stay at the hospital tonight, just in case of an emergency. I’ll be on the floor above Lisa’s, and decided that I should see her before the surgery, just in case.

My body ached, my eyes were raw, and my skin was burning. I survived Hell, I'm not sure how, but I did. My throat was dry, and my tongue was now swollen at the tip. I couldn’t talk, and the groan I emitted was weak and wispy. My eyes were unopened, but I could feel the presence of someone. “Lisa? Are you awake?” It was Carol. Out of everybody I expected to be here, she was the least likely candidate. Producing a fainter sound, I groan to confirm my sentience. Carol must have been crying, because her voice was wavering as she spoke. “I’m so sorry Lisa, you were right. I should have tried harder. I should have been there. If I had done something. If I was better. Maybe you and Kyle would be safe.” The last thing I wanted was to deal with Carol’s pity party; her wake up call was too late.

I strained to open my eyes, and through a squint I realized that I was at a hospital. The room was dark, and as I scanned my surroundings I saw the starry sky through the window. I tried to sit up, but Carol was quick to put a hand on my collarbone. I guess the rest of my body was too cut up to touch. “Don’t move Lisa, I’m going to get a nurse.” I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath in. Seconds later, two nurses are on either side of me, with Carol sitting next to my bed. I opened my eyes again. The skinny brunette to my left checked my vitals, while the older Mexican woman on my right spoke to me. “Hello Lisa, my name is Miss V and the pretty lady to your left is my colleague Maria.” I look to my left again and see Maria smile.
Miss V explained how Maria will take care of me at night, while she will take care of me in the morning. I tried my best to give a quizzical look and it seems like Maria understood my unspoken question. “Shannon is our afternoon nurse, and she’ll check up on you in the time between the morning and night shift.” I give a slow blink to show my understanding. Miss V approached me with a wet cotton pad. “I’m sorry honey, but can I see your tongue?” I groan and slowly move my jaw. Miss V gently held my jaw and guided my mouth to the “Aaah” position kids do for checkups. She touched my tongue with the cotton pad, and I winced as the chemicals purified my flesh. “Oh honey, you’re being so brave. It’s almost over, and then I’ll get you some water.”

The idea of water helped me endure the pain as Maria and Miss V cleaned each stitched up wound. Maria held my limbs up while Miss V cleaned the cuts on the backs of my legs, neck, back, and even rear end. Tears leaked from my eyes, and snot ran down my sliced nose. Carol was quick to dry my tears while the nurses worked on me, and I understood why my Dad and Kyle were absent. I was completely naked and scarred. I wasn’t too happy to reveal every nook and cranny and botched basement tattoo to Carol, but at this point I had no choice.
As I was settled into my hospital bed, Maria put a dose of morphine into my IV. Miss V gave me a small wet sponge to suck on, since I had barely any strength left to swallow. I felt so helpless and idiotic; I was a mute, cut-up, zombie sucking on a sponge. Miss V asked if she could brush my hair and check my scalp, and I had no way to refuse, so I slowly blinked at her. She gently brushed through the ends of my hair, and worked her way up to my roots. She asked me to blink twice if I wanted braids, and once for a bun. I blinked twice, and enjoyed the feeling of my hair being swept away from my aching body.
The morphine fully took over when Miss V finished. Her hands were on either side of my face, and she was leaning me back onto the pillow Carol had positioned for me. As I drifted into a hazy slumber, Miss V took the now spit soaked sponge from my mouth. “Get some rest Lisa, I’ll be here when you wake up.” Those words were so comforting in that moment, and I gave her a weak smile before being enveloped in a cloud of warmth and relief. I don’t even remember closing my eyes.

I dreamed of rubber ducks. Ducks with tentacle tongues. Ducks with baby arms. Ducks with pus-dripping acne. My limbs ached as the ducks multiplied before my eyes. I was standing, looking down at my bleeding body. Then a surreal pain shot through my thigh, and a beak plunged through the already-there gash, the duck that crawled out of me had a lizard tail and bat wings. Before I knew it, a mob of ducks emerged from every cut on my body. I crouched over as my tongue gave birth to a duck made up of writhing maggots. A bloody concoction of ducks was surrounding my knees. I tried to scream, but I choked on the maggots that caught in my teeth.

I woke to a pain pulsating through my body like a heartbeat. Every cut screamed at me - from my split-tipped big toe, to the sewn hole in my cheek. My throat burned, but I managed a loud enough yell to alert whoever was near me. My eyes snapped open as I heard Miss V enter my room. “Oh dear, let me get you some morphine.” She rushed out and back into my room with a needle before I could say anything. “This should help honey.” I couldn't see the tubes connected to my IV, but I knew she gave me a good dose when my senses dulled. The pain was gone and my eyelids grew heavy again. “Can I clean your stitches while you rest?” I nodded and closed my eyes. Miss V’s medicine taking me into a dreamless slumber.
I felt sore after Shannon, the noon nurse, made me sit up for a bit. “Laying in one spot will only make you feel worse.” She said while adjusting my neck pillow. Shannon was nice, short, and always busy. I tried not to ask for too much so she could focus on other patients, but she insisted on having me wear a proper hospital gown. My stitches stopped weeping and only wearing a blanket made it hard to have my door open. Around noon, Dad visited me. I was delirious on morphine and only remember sobbing in Dad’s arms as he sat next to me on my bed. I grew tired after he got my crying to stop. “I’ll visit tomorrow sunshine.” Dad kissed my forehead as he got up to leave. I spent that afternoon and night in a blur of nightmares, nurses, and piercing pain.

Around seven A.M., before the shift change, Maria’s goal was for me to use the restroom. I’ve been using a bedpan, which made me feel ashamed and dirty. So, Maria helped me sit up and got me a walker, which I appreciated. I put a lot of my weight on it as I shuffled to the bathroom attached to my room. Maria walked alongside me, one hand on my gait-belt and another on my IV pole. It felt good to walk again, my rear was going numb from being idle for too long, and we walked at a slow pace. Eventually we made it to the restroom. 

I was shocked at what I saw in the mirror. My skin was stretched and stitched crudely, as if I was a patchwork quilt. The ducks left so many cuts over my body that I appeared reminiscent of an Ed Gene antique. Each slice was red and puffy, fused by the black thread that held me together. I knew the side of my nose was cut, and it seemed the ducks bit off more than the doctors could repair. The patched hole in my cheek didn’t seem too irritated, but the chunk of my ear missing was a bit alarming. How did I manage escaping with my eyes still intact?

The next week was a routine of sleeping in, sponge baths, afternoon visitors, and repeating nightmares. The swelling in my tongue reduced, and I was able to talk for short moments without the rest of my face hurting too badly. There were moments where I actually felt relaxed, that was usually when I was drugged up and half awake. In my moments of clarity, I had so many questions. How’s Kyle? What happened to the house? Will I be fired for missing work? What about my degree? That last question made me tear up whenever I contemplated it. It’s so painful to bend my fingers. The tendons in my hands, wrists, and fingers were shredded. I couldn’t feel my left pinky at all, and the only way I knew it was still attached was by observation. Being able to create art is everything to me. It’s my retreat from the world, my therapy, and is a way for me to express myself. But now, I can barely hold a cup of water.

I haven't seen Kyle at all. Carol and Dad visit at least once a day, but not Kyle. Apparently, based on Carol’s halfhearted excuses, Kyle has been going to school. While Dad’s repeated “He’s not feeling too good right now.” tells me another story. I’m not sure what to believe, but I know that Kyle wouldn’t ignore me like this unless something dire came up.

“Come on loser! Race me again!” Kyle was standing above me. “You barely tried that time.” He said, stomping his Lightning McQueen light-up sneakers. I pouted and laid in the grass. “It’s not fair! Your legs are longer than mine.” He was hopping over me like I was some type of hurdle. “Come oonnn! We gotta race again before my Mom makes me go home. I cringed at the idea of Kyle’s house. It wasn’t really a house, more like a part of a house. Like that movie Coraline. I stood up and bolted off before Kyle knew it. Since he’s taller, I deserve a head start, right?
I ran past the tree that was our goal post, and into the wooded area of the park. I could hear Auntie Carol yell for us to turn around, but I kept going. I jumped fallen branches and played parkour with rocks and stumps. I ran until I made it to a muddy patch. Out of breath, I leaned against a mossy tree and waited for Kyle to find me. Not even a few seconds after I caught my breath, I saw Kyle screaming and running into the mud. He didn’t see me hiding behind the tree, and tried to run through the mud. His shoe got stuck and he fell face first into the mud. I burst out laughing so hard my sides hurt.
I walked up to him, still laughing, and gave him my hand. “Come on silly, let’s get you cleaned up.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the mud before I could catch my footing. It was his turn to laugh, and I scowled at him and shoved a mud pie in his face. We began throwing mud at each other until we looked like we were wearing camouflage. “Kids! Where are you?” Auntie Carol was calling for us. Kyle and I made eye contact, knowing that we were going to be in trouble for the mess.
I leaned toward his ear, so Auntie couldn't hear me whisper: “Wanna go to the pond?” Kyle’s eyes got big, and we ran past Auntie before she could catch us. We were going to be in so much trouble, but wet trouble is better than muddy trouble. We ran to the pond next to the parking lot. Cat tails and reeds circled the edge, and we had to break through the parallel curtain of greenery to cannonball into the pond. We splashed around in the pond, cleaning the mud out of our hair. “Kyle Wayne Mitchell, get your soggy butt over here right now! You too Lisa Marie!” Oh Auntie is MAD. 
Auntie dropped me off at my house, where Dad greeted me with a towel and a PB&J. He gave one to Kyle through the car window, and he ate it greedily. After Auntie and Kyle left, I looked at dad with a guilty smile. “Sorry for getting wet, I just wanted to play more.” He gave me a small smile, and we went inside. Inside, I cried when I found a tick on my leg, and had Dad pick it off. I realized that I had a sunburn on my shoulders, and some type of rash on my ankles. Later that night, Dad and I watched Full House in the living room until I fell asleep.

Jeeps are considered rugged, outdoorsy, vehicles made for the untameable wilderness. Or so that's what they used to be. Here in the midwest, we see jeep owners as three types of people. One, basic teenage girls whose parents can actually afford a sweet sixteen present. Two, wannabe outdoors people who have taken their jeep “mudding” when really they drove it on a gravel road in the rain. And lastly people who customize their jeep, invest loads of their time and money into it, only to have it sit in the garage for most of the year. For those who don't know, Jeeps are top-heavy, and tend to wobble or sometimes shake when it's slightly windy. Carol, my aunt, is terrified of driving her Jeep when it's not completely still outside. She tends to be finicky when driving, and is even more sensitive in her Jeep. Honestly, I don't understand why she even bought the thing.
Lately, Carol has been letting my cousin drive the Jeep. He’s about seventeen and sold his beater starter car so he could afford a “down payment” on his mom’s Jeep. Aka, aunt Carol finally gave up on her Jeep dreams and is letting cousin Kyle try his luck. He's a bit rough around the edges, but in all the fun ways. Drinking, smoking, sleeping around? Not Kyle’s thing. He’s more about D&D, building Legos, and skateboarding. He’s like if an early 2,000’s emo, a nerd, and a ball of energy were all mixed into one person. Aunt Carol is the type of parent who doesn't really care what her kid does, as long as he keeps his phone's location on, and is quiet at home. Which can be a challenge for someone as energetic as Kyle.
Now, why the hell am I ranting about my cousin and aunt? Because my dad is a pushover and let them move in. Aunt Carol convinced my dad that it’s smarter in this economy to live in one household and split the bills. Which would make sense, besides the fact that my dad bought this house by himself and just got the mortgage paid off. I’m glad dad wanted a house with a basement and an office. Which now serve as Kyle's bedroom in the basement, and aunt Carol’s room being the office. Carol is usually working or watching TV in her room, so I don’t have to worry about her disrupting my life too much, and I don’t mind Kyle when he’s ranting about nerdy shit or building with Legos, but OH MY GOD is he hyper. I know he doesn’t mean to be over-excited about everything, and I can tell he feels bad for talking a bit too loudly or quickly. I wish aunt Carol would let him see some mental health professionals, but she’d rather buy a Jeep and a Honda Civic in the same year than spend her money getting her son some medical care.
One night, while I helped Kyle dye his buzzcut bright red, I saw a nasty scar on the back of his head. “Mom said that it’s easier to get stitches at home, that way I get a really badass scar.” Now I know what everyone is thinking: Bright red? What a weird color choice. Well, Kyle liked everything bright red or black. Kyle decked out his room in an array of superhero and rock band posters. He really made the basement go from a storage room to an actual cool place. Now, I’m not huge into how the entire place was red and black, but I had to admire his dedication to the aesthetic. In fact, his love for red bled into his newly used Jeep. His seat covers? Black with red spider webs. His steering wheel? Red with black spider webs. He had bright red fuzzy dice with black dots hanging from his mirror, and even got black licence plates. If his car had a mouth, it would probably sing My Chemical Romance.
About a month after Kyle and aunt Carol moved in, life was steadying into a new normal. I went to my college classes in the morning, and worked at Casey’s at night. Kyle was a senior in high school, and had a part time job at Subway. Dad was a blueprint maker for a construction company, so he was often traveling to work sites and sometimes didn’t come home for a few days. Aunt Carol worked as a manager at Hy-Vee, so she sometimes brought home supper, which was nice. 
One September evening, Kyle knocked on my door. “What's up?” I asked while working on my most recent sketch. I'm an art major, and I guess this would be considered homework. “Wanna go to the skate park? I’ll buy you Culvers.” I had a pretty long day at class, and the last thing I wanted was to watch Kyle fall off his skate board, but it’s been a minute since we both had a day off work, and if he’s going to get me food, who am I to complain? “Sure, you okay if I take pictures of you doing some tricks for reference material?” Kyle was spinning his keys in the air, his finger holding the red lanyard attached to them. “Hell yeah!” As I grab my tote bag and phone, Kyle asks “Can we take my Jeep?” with an excited look. I honestly couldn't care who drove. In fact, it would be easier for Kyle to order and pay for my Culvers at the drive through if we took his car. “You bet!” I respond to Kyle, matching his enthusiasm. Saves me from wasting gas money.
After getting my butter burger, cheese curds, and root beer, we arrived at the skate park. It was about 6pm but it was still pretty warm out. I perched myself on a bench, phone in one hand, root beer in the other. I didn't want to pressure Kyle into doing tricks, because that’s when he messes up the most, so I pretended like I'm not paying attention to him. Once I saw he’s trying out a trick, I pressed record. I found that it’s easier to save a still frame in a recording than trying to take the perfect shot at the perfect time. After about an hour of Kyle testing out some different moves, he biffed it off the edge of a ramp. I was recording when it happened, and saw his elbow hit the concrete. “Shit man, you alright?” I ask hurrying over. Kyle sucked air through his teeth, trying not to look like his elbow just got skinned. “Ya know how you can't lick your elbow?” He said with a wince “Well, it's also a bit hard to get a good look at one too.” I held his arm gently as I inspected the wound. “There’s a bit of blood, but I can’t see anything extremely vital. No bones, no muscles.” Kyle frowned at my description. “Can I keep skating or should we fix it up now?” I examined the skinless elbow once again. Blood trickled down on my fingertips as Kyle elevated his elbow to my eyes. “Yeah, no. We’re going home.” Kyle sighs but doesn’t put up a fight “Okay boss lady.” 
We start to make our way to his Jeep when I notice something on his door handle. A little red rubber duckie. “Cool! I knew having a Jeep would pay off!” Kyle exclaims. I made a scan of the parking lot. We were the only people at the skate park, and I didn’t see anyone near the Jeep. It was kinda odd, but maybe someone snuck it over as a surprise. There’s a playground nearby, so maybe a fellow Jeep owner partook in the ritual of duckie trading. I drove us home, and Kyle put the duckie on his dash. “He fits right in!” 
Aunt Carol works a closing shift tonight, and Dad is heading back from the city, so I get to be the adult who puts ointment and gauze on Kyle. He’s used to crude injury cleanup, and mentions how nothing hurts as bad as stitches in the head. Once Kyle is in his room, I head back upstairs to check out the videos from today. As I lay in bed, watching the videos, I’m surprised at how good some of these shots are. My hypothesis of a park-goer gifting Kyle the duckie was right on the money. A lady around the same age as aunt Carol, with dark skin and long braids, snuck between the trees that divide the skate park and the playground. As soon as she placed the duckie onto Kyle’s Jeep, she snuck back into the trees.
I screenshotted a somewhat descriptive frame of her, and sent Kyle the image. “Found your duckie donor.” I type to him. A few minutes later, I got a notification of Kyle's response “He’s really tall.” What is he talking about? The woman in the video is a short woman, not a tall man. “What are you talking about? That doesn’t look like a dude to me.” I type back. As soon as I press send, I hear footsteps from the basement, and before I know it, Kyle is at my door, phone in hand. “Look.” He says, shoving his screen in my direction. I roll my eyes, it’s the same lady. “Man, did you hit your head too? Maybe you should take it easy.” He threw his hands in the air. “Whatever art major. I don't know how you draw people when you can’t even see them correctly.” I threw my stuffed dolphin at him as he turned to leave my room. I wanted to ask aunt Carol to take him to the hospital, but I knew better. 
I decided that I should get ready for tomorrow, and set out my clothes for the next day. The rest of the night was the same as always, Kyle watched loud superhero movies in the basement, aunt Carol came home and instantly went to her room, and I watched YouTube on my TV until I drifted off. 
I woke to Kyle's loud voice from the basement. “What are you doing down here?” What the hell was he on about at four in the morning? I made my way to his room, and as I passed the front door, I saw that it was unlocked. Dad must have forgotten to lock it when he got home. “Kyle, you better shut up before you piss both of our parents off.” I announce while entering his room. “Why is the duckie down here?” Kyle responds holding the little red rubber duckie in his palms, like some type of treasure. For all I knew, he could have grabbed it from his Jeep and is trying to fuck with me. I put a hand on the back of my neck, stretching it in annoyance. “That's what you’re yelling about? Kyle, its four in the fucking morning. Aunt Carol works an opening shift today and Dad got home late last night, so do us all a favor and quiet down.” 
I made my way back to my room, double checking the door locks and making sure dad and Carol are asleep. As I enter my room, I lay back on my bed, simmering in an ensemble of annoyance and sleepiness. I wake to my 7:30 alarm, dress in a cut off tee and paint-stained jeans, and head to the kitchen for breakfast. I see my dad already up with a mug of Sunny D. He believes that breakfast is the best time to drink out of mugs, even if the drink isn't warm. “Mornin.” I say, watching him look out the window. “Good morning sunshine!” He basically beams towards me. Sometimes I feel like Kyle got his energy from my dad, as if by osmosis. I open the fridge and make my own concoction of cold coffee, oatmilk, and a splash of hazelnut syrup. I find it easier to make my own fancy coffee than to spend my money on a nine dollar watered down replica.
I sit next to dad at the table. He watches the sun rise every day and during winter, when work is less busy, he sometimes wakes early enough to hear the birds start singing. I miss these mornings of quiet, but dad has a hard time saying no to Carol. He’s an optimist, and finds himself admiring nature often. He believes that mom is a part of nature now, and honestly, I agree. I’m not sure if he believes it as reincarnation, or if he perceives it as I do. I believe that the souls of loved ones find us through nature, and if we take a moment to admire it, we can hold appreciation for those who came before us. Poetic, right? Being an art major doesn’t just apply to physical art. Sadly, I’m no scholar with grammar, so physical art it is.
Our moment of quiet appreciation for the September sun is interrupted by the one and only Kyle, accompanied by a botched British accent. “What's for brekkie dear Lisa?” I reply in an even worse Scottish accent “Well, you know that dad and I don't eat anything for breakfast? You oughta get your brain scanned, especially if you're speaking weird.” Every morning, Kyle asks me what's for breakfast, and every morning I tell him a similar response. Dad and I aren't big into breakfast, we prefer a light lunch and a big supper. Not Kyle, he likes to eat a big breakfast, a big lunch, and a big supper. Kyle inhales his fill of a Scooby-Doo breakfast: Poptarts, with a fried egg, two types of cheese, ham, turkey, and syrup wedged between them. Even watching him consume the creation is making my stomach hurt. Once he is finished, he cleans up his dishes and decides that he better get going. Since he’s a senior, he doesn’t have to be at school until 9:40, and it's currently 9:15. My first class starts at 10, and since campus is further away than the highschool, we usually leave around the same time. I grab my school bag, give dad a hug, and walk towards my car.
About halfway through my drive to class, I get a call from Kyle. “What's up Red Robin?” I say as soon as I pick up. “Lisa, there’s another duck in my car.” I sigh, being tired of this conversation before it even starts. “Are you sure it’s not the same one from yesterday? It seems to teleport, since it magically ended up in your room.” I say with sarcasm. “No Lisa, this one looks different.” He responds. “It has teeth, but like, maybe human teeth? I don't know if someone is pranking me but I’m not a fan of whatever is going on here.” Sounds like he’s the one pranking me. I don’t mind Kyle’s pranks, since they’re usually harmless, but this one is just annoying now. “Send me a picture of it. If you really don't like it, just throw it away. It’s not that deep man.” I hang up.
I noticed that with hyper people like Kyle, the best thing to do is to not feed into the illusion. He can relay whatever information he wants to me, and I’ll keep it in mind, but I’m not going to encourage his panic. One of us has to be the voice of reason. Once I reach campus, I check my phone for Kyle’s duckie picture. Yeah, it's definitely an ugly duck. Haha. But seriously, this one is maroon with bright red features and a human mouth in a grin where the beak should be. The teeth were no pearly whites, and its lips were swollen and chapped. Okay, yeah that’s weird, but if he doesn’t want it he knows where the trash can is. I message him “Wow that's gross, just throw it away.”
I check my phone after my first class is over, and watch a video of Kyle tossing the duck like a basketball into the cafeteria trash can. I reply to the video with a dumpster fire image. Hopefully whatever is happening fixes itself; being Kyle's problem solver is tiring, and I have my own life to worry about. Speaking of which, I need to head to my next class. Pottery is therapeutic for me, and I’m glad to get a moment of respite from the annoyances of the world around me. Changing something from a wet grey mass to an exquisite vase, a poetic sculpture, or even a cute trinket makes my mind feel at ease. Being able to focus on one thing while the tune of piano emits from my headphones is so entrancing that I didn’t notice the plethora of notifications on my phone.
Once I finished my second class, I got ready to head to work. After putting on my Casey’s uniform, I checked my phone to see a good handful of texts and missed calls from Kyle. “Lisa, what the hell is going on? I opened my bag after lunch and found three fucking ducks.” He sent me a photo of the ducks. I recognized the first two - two shades of red, one normal and one grinning - but the third duck made the hairs on my arms stand on end. The duck was certainly not rubber, and its body was covered in an array of different skins. The skins colors, textures, and even hairs varied greatly from each patch. Even its “beak” was made of the cartilage of what I assume is an ear lobe.
“What the fuck Kyle. That’s disgusting.” I reply as I walk to my car. Soon after starting my car, I get a call from Kyle. “Dude you’re at school, why are you calling me?” I answer. “Lisa im so fucking scared.” He responds, ignoring my question. “I found one in my water bottle, while I was drinking out of it. When I pulled it out it looked like a naked rat or something. I don’t know, it's all fleshy.” I gag at the idea. “What did you do with all of them? I mean, they seem to find their way back to you.” Kyle responds “I’m going to burn them later. If they want to stay with me until then, I’ll have to deal with it.” It’s nice to see Kyle solving his own problems. 
During my shift as a cashier, I spent most of my time thinking about the source of the ducks. I mean, Jeep owners have been trading rubber duckies since 2020, so the appearance of the first duck wasn't too odd. But the appearance of the other ducks is just so gross. Between processing payments, cleaning bathrooms, and changing trash bags by the gas pumps, I got about three texts from Kyle. He talked to aunt Carol about the Jeep and gave me a consensus of their conversation. “Mom said she’s never once got a duck on her Jeep, and that she's never been in any accidents with it. Her Jeep is fresh off the lot. It was the only Jeep at the dealership.” I didn’t think this information would help us find our duck dealer. Since aunt Carol’s Jeep history mainly exists within a garage, I wouldn’t expect anything but a clean record with that vehicle. If this is a person who is planting the gross duckies, then we need to be gathering different information.
“Ask her about the salesperson, if she’s ever hit any animals, or fuck, maybe she pissed someone off on the road. We need more info on who or what could be planting these ducks.” I instruct Kyle. He’s always been better at communicating with aunt Carol and her cold demeanor. I continue with my nightly tasks at work, leaving my phone on the counter behind the register. My manager is kind of an ass, so I prefer not to give her a reason to yell at me. About an hour passes of processing payments and conversing with my coworker when I see a familiar figure approaching the entrance. It’s the woman in the video, who gave us the first duck. I internally thank whoever provided me with such luck, and wait until she approaches the register. 
While scanning her items, I attempted a conversation with her. “How has your night been?” She offers a polite smile. “It’s been good so far, my daughter just started kindergarten, and it’s been nice having a quiet house for a few hours.” I smile back. “That’s sweet. By the way, you seem familiar, have you been at the playground near the skatepark recently?” The woman gave a confused look, and slightly shook her head. “Oh no dear, I’ve never been to that playground. Is it nice?” I try to continue the conversation without sounding weird or accusatory. “I think it’s really nice, every time I’ve been there’s always people around. Someone even left a rubber duck on my cousin's Jeep yesterday. She had the same hair as you.” Her smile reappears. “She must have a great sense of style then.”
After finishing up her transaction and bagging her items. The woman in the video walked to her car, a red Ford Escape. Usually only Jeep people partake in the trend of duckie trading. Maybe it was a woman who looked exactly like her? Then again, Kyle said he saw someone else in the photo, a tall man. Maybe this wasn’t a regular person, maybe this was some supernatural phenomenon? Hopefully burning these ducks will end whatever is going on. 
I checked my phone after clocking out. Twenty missed calls from Kyle, three from Carol, and five from Dad. I call Dad before anyone else. “What's going on dad?” He sounds exhausted, scared, and a bit confused. “Lisa, dear, when was the last time you were home?” I answer. “The last time I was home was this morning, you saw me leave with Kyle. What’s wrong?” Dad responds. “The basement. It's flooded.” I interrupt. “What? It hasn’t rained in weeks.” He raises his voice. “It’s not water. It’s a mix of nasty shit. Please just come home so we can figure this out together. Kyle is freaking out and Carol is as confused as I am.” I rush to my car. “I’m on my way. I’ll be home as soon as possible.”
The scene when I got home was definitely uncanny. The basement looked like a soupy Jell-O sea of ducks. Every duck had some type of grotesque malformation. One was all eyes, another was made of a horde of toes, and the one that stuck with me was the uterus duck. I’m not joking, it looked like a uterus with the ovaries where the duck wings should be, and the worst thing was that it looked like it was actively bleeding. A smaller duck-shaped blood clot fell out of it. I sprinted upstairs and vomited into the kitchen sink. “What the fuck. Let’s just burn the house. Dad, you have insurance right?” Carol responds in dad’s place. “We can’t make ourselves homeless just because of the mess in the basement. What did you do?” Of course she blames me. “Kyle and I found a rubber duck at the skate park on his Jeep.” I answer, emphasizing the fact that I'm not to blame. “I caught someone on video sneaking the duck over, but the person looked different to Kyle and I.” I continued, looking mostly at dad. “Can you show us the video honey?” He responds.
Apparently the person providing the first duck looked different to everyone, including me. The woman was now replaced by my college art professor. A tall skinny man with greying hair. Dad saw his district manager, and Carol saw one of her coworkers. Kyle’s reaction to the video was reminiscent of a dog with a shock collar on. He flinched while watching the person approach his car. He turned to me, wide-eyed. “That's not a person. It’s worse than the basement.” I have never seen Kyle so still. The energetic, somewhat annoying, cousin was nowhere to be seen. Sitting on the couch, staring at his hands, was a statue of fear.
Aunt Carol, suddenly caring about Kyle, crouched in front of him. “What did you see? What did it look like?” Carol pleads. Before Kyle could respond, the little color he had left escaped his complexion. He gagged, eyes panicked, and wheezed out a garbled squeak before vomiting onto Carol. A mass of mostly digested cafeteria food mixed with a blood-soaked duck fell onto Carol's lap. “What the fuck!” She screams, backing away from Kyle. His complexion was an ensemble of shock, disgust, and dread. I sat next to him and let him cry into my shoulder. He's a lot taller than me, so seeing him crumpled into a scared mess was heartbreaking. Sure Kyle was a lot, but he’s also family.
Dad grabbed a towel for Carol, and inspected the vomit duck. This one appeared to have the wrinkles of a brain. In a look of disgust, dad grabbed the duck in a towel covered hand and walked it to the trash can. As he stepped on the button to open the can, Kyle screamed. “Put it in the basement! Don’t throw it away!” Dad paused at the order, confused by Kyle’s intentions. I gave him a look that said “Please just do it.” and I think dad got the hint that I was trying to calm Kyle down. Dad tossed the duck down the stairs and walked toward the kitchen. He returned with a wet washcloth and a glass of water. Kyle thanked him and proceeded to clean himself up to the best of his ability. 
Kyle couldn’t exactly go to his room to get a new shirt, and his jeans were mostly spared. The majority of the mess landed on Carol, who ran to her room to change clothes while dad and I took care of her son. We reconvened at the kitchen table to discuss the situation. Dad cleared his throat. “You okay bud?” Looking at Kyle, I don't think he could be any further from okay. The whites of his eyes were crimson, his mouth and teeth were stained from the bloody vomit, and his clothes stank of iron and bile. He shook his head and gave a weak laugh. “Not really. I saw someone before…” I don’t think he wanted to finish that sentence. “It looked like my dad.” He leaned his forehead on the table, trying to control his breathing.
Kyle’s dad died while trying to see him for Christmas. Like my dad, he also traveled for work. He was able to finish work early, and was going to fly home Christmas eve to surprise Kyle. He never made it back. His plane crashed on his way back from Texas, and everyone died in the crash. We still don’t know what caused the accident. Carol gives Kyle a somber look when her late husband is mentioned. She refused to speak about him to anyone but my dad, and even then she barely mentioned him. She still wears her wedding ring. If she were a present mother, I would feel sorry for her, but I won't forgive her for leaving Kyle by himself.
She looked at Kyle, in shock. “Why would you bring him into this?” She asked her son in a stern voice. He looks up from the table, tears streaming from his eyes. “You think I chose this!? All I did was go to the skate park, and now my room is a flesh pit, I’m seeing my dead father, and I vomited a brain duck!” Carol looked appalled, I don't think she's used to her son standing up to her. “Well, you must have done something. Otherwise none of this would be happening.” I decided to not hold back anymore. In the most professional manner, I look at my aunt, and I rip her a new one.
“All we did was go to the skatepark. While we were there, your son was trying out different tricks. He then fell and scraped his elbow. Thanks for noticing that he’s injured by the way. We decided to head back home. We saw a rubber duck on the Jeep, and thought nothing of it. Throughout the past 48 hours your son has found duck after duck with different abnormalities. Do you wanna know who has been there for him the entire time? Not you. His own mother. Your son would rather reach out to his cousin than you. Think about why.” I turned to my dad, who wore a look of shock, and maybe pride? “In the meantime, let’s try to deal with the basement.”
Dad and I got up while Carol stormed off to her room. Kyle tried to stand to follow her, but my dad put a hand on his shoulder. “Please say here bud, we need you close. I'm sorry that this is happening to you, but we’re family, we have your back.” He said that last part loud enough for Carol to hear. “While Lisa and I check out the basement, think over why you saw your dad. Do you need anything before we go down there?” Kyle gave my dad a weak smile. “Thank you sir.” Dad squeezed Kyle's shoulder before turning to me. “Are you ready sunshine?” I nodded, kitchen knives in hand.
Standing at the entrance of the basement, I had this pit in my stomach. The feeling of disgust and unease would not settle; it increased with every step that we took. Once we reached the bottom of the steps, and witnessed what we could only imagine as Hell on earth, I leaned down. I chose a duck that reminded me of what I found in the shower pipes when the drain was clogged. I raised my knife toward the greasy entangled clump, and decided to stab it.
As my knife entered the duck, it let out a garbled squeak that alerted the rest of the basement. Within lightning speed, I was pulled by my wrist into the flesh pit. I heard Dad scream my name as the intestine-like appendages wrapped around my ankles and throat. The ducks were pecking over my body. Their meaty beaks masked razor sharp tongues that plunged into my skin. “Help me!” Was the only words I could scream before a duck sliced into the tip of my tongue. Every puncture was met with the feeling of being drained, and as I looked at my arm, my fear confirmed. I was being sucked dry. My muscles weakened as my body went cold. My head was fuzzy, and the pain was too much to register. I could only feel my warm tears mix with blood as I closed my eyes. I wonder if I’ll meet my mom, hopefully I make a good first impression.

Flesh and Beak *Lisa & Kyle*