This whole thing started a week ago. I had done my time in the absolute zoo that was on-campus housing and was overjoyed at the prospect of finally living on my own. My freshman year roommate was, to put it mildly, oblivious to the concept of both personal space and personal hygiene. It was all I could do to avoid strangling the guy when I came home to find a pair of boxers on the edge of my bed that didn’t belong to me. When the year finally came to an end, I was more than ready to close the book on that chapter.
Thankfully, I was able to find an affordable studio in an older building not far from campus. It was nothing special, just a ground floor unit, a washer/dryer setup, kitchenette, and storage closet. Though after my previous situation, it damn near felt like a penthouse. After unloading all the boxes from a U-Haul, I spent the next few days unpacking. That was when I first noticed the stain.
I had just finished organizing my kitchenware when a small, smudgy black spot caught my eye. Peaking from underneath the corner of my rug, it was faint against the wooden flooring, but noticeable all the same. Darker in color, it looked as though someone had smeared a muddy boot print against the floor and left the slimy residue to soak into the wood. I first tried wiping it away with a washcloth, but when Clorox failed to provide satisfactory results, I resolved to employ the age-old adage, “Out of sight, out of mind.”
Pulling the rug out from under my bed to obscure the stain, I felt satisfied enough to finish unboxing the last of my kitchen supplies. Once I’d broken down and disposed of the final cardboard box, I sank into bed with a contented sigh, the soft mattress embracing my weary body with a warmth that seemed to melt away the senses. Despite it being midafternoon, I couldn’t resist the allure of sleep. It wasn’t long before I fell away from the waking world.
Dream journals were always a foreign concept to me. I was never one to place any sort of belief or superstition within such things, so I never saw a point to recording or remembering them. Dreams were little more than the background noise of our subconscious processing and organizing information. Nothing prophetic or supernatural about them. In short, I was content allowing dreams to fade away with the sunrise. But that evening, when I awoke damp with sweat and gasping for air, the foundations of my convictions began to crack.
Even now, as I attempt to make sense of the past week, I can recall in vivid detail that first dream. The sights linger behind my eyes, the sounds buzz in my ears, the smells hang in my nose, and even the tastes still dance upon my tongue.
In the dream, I laid upon a grassy hill, the horizon stretched far off into a vast expanse of rolling meadows. A light breeze caressed my cheeks as I gazed upwards into a sky unblemished by clouds. I breathed deep and the air smelled of Spring. Crisp and fresh, like flowers freshly in bloom.
This place, vast and devoid of civilization as it was, did not however feel empty. Instead, I would describe it as “unfinished”. In a way, the expansive landscape and sky gave the impression of a canvas before the first brush of paint.
Then, something shifted beneath me. The soil heaved and churned with lazy undulations. Soon, I began to sink. The earth swallowed me up. Soil piled on top of me. The sky shrank to a tiny cerulean square, framed on all sides by shifting dirt and rock. The air grew thick and heavy with moisture, and I tasted something rotten.
I awoke when something coiled around my leg.
I bolted upright, my fresh sheets now damp with sweat. My head swam and waves of nausea choked my throat. I stumbled to the bathroom, and with my hands locked around the toilet bowl, I fought to keep myself from retching.
Before long, my head stopped pounding and the knot in my gut subsided. Rising to my feet and turning the sink faucet as far as it would go to cold, I gently splashed my face with water. My first thought was to check for a fever. Perhaps such an intense nightmare signaled an oncoming illness. My thermometer, however, quickly dismissed such a notion. If not sickness, I reasoned that I must be coming down from the stress of moving. Even with the help of my parents and the relative ease with which we selected new furniture, perhaps the actual process of packing and moving had taken a far greater toll on me than initially thought.
Checking my phone, I realized I’d slept for around an hour, and with evening approaching, I decided that perhaps a good meal was what I needed. Seeing as I had yet to buy groceries for the coming week, I threw on a jacket and prepared to venture out in search of comfort food.
As I laced up my shoes, my gaze drifted towards the rug. Sure, I was a bit of a clean freak. Afterall, that was the main reason I’d clashed so strongly with my previous roommate. But as I stared at the spot where I knew the stain was hiding, I felt a singular and overpowering need to be as far away from it as possible.
It was all I could think about. Even as I sat waiting for a warm and juicy burger, I couldn’t shake the feeling. Cold and primal, it reverberated through my mind with a clawing urgency. Something deep within me was unsettled, and it dreaded returning home to the stain. At the time, I dismissed it as an after effect of the dream, as well as a byproduct of being both physically and mentally exhausted. I’d spent so much effort moving into my new space, and with the excitement of no longer having to tolerate a slobby roommate, perhaps I was just being hypersensitive.
But hindsight is 20/20 for a reason.
I slept fitfully that night. My mind was restless and on edge. The creaks and groans of the old building echoed in my ears. The sheets felt constraining, and whether I lay on my back, stomach or side, one muscle or another would cry out in protest. I spent those hours mentally preparing myself for the effort it would take to slog through the next day.
The following day was spent on autopilot, my only goal being to simply survive each lecture and social interaction that crossed my path. When I at last returned home, I wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
My senses snapped to attention however, when upon opening my front door, a smell hit me like a freight train. My apartment stank of something sour and rotten. It conjured images of roadkill, old fish, and mold all rolled into one putrid bundle. My first thought was that something must’ve died in the walls. I knew it was an old building, but it wasn’t falling apart to the point where I imagined dead animals finding nooks and crannies to expire in.
Then, with a creeping realization, I recalled the stain. Covering my nose with the collar of my shirt, I approached the corner of the rug and gingerly lifted the edge. My heart sank.
The stain seemed to have darkened at the center, and though faint, I could almost make out what resembled veiny tendrils creeping out from the edges. At this distance, the smell was beyond pungent, and I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from gagging. Old building or not, this reeked of a hazard I could waste no time addressing.
I phoned my landlord, who rather curtly explained that they would need to call the maintenance contractor. When I pressed the issue and asked how long it would take for them to arrive, I received the disappointing answer of 3 business days. To make matters worse, the contractor took Mondays and Tuesdays off instead of a typical weekend. The result: it would be nearly a week until maintenance arrived!
Stuffing my phone into my pocket, I hastily packed a bag and decided to complete my assigned homework in a nearby café. If I was going to be stuck with that stain and smell for a week, I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary in that apartment.
When I returned home that evening, I immediately opened all the windows and turned the AC up. If it was indeed some sort of mold, better to allow for more air flow. I figured at the very least, that would help minimize the smell. As I settled into bed, the gentle melody of crickets drifted in from outside. I was thankful for this, as their rhythmic chirping, combined with my sheer exhaustion, finally managed to lull me to sleep.
Once again, I dreamed of the fields that night. This time, things were different. I could see the horizon dotted with what looked to be trees. From afar, it was clear they lacked any sort of foliage. Instead, their gnarled branches seemed to twist and claw towards the sky. No breeze swept across the land, and yet, those strange trees danced in a wind I could not perceive.
The ground beneath felt warm and moist. I looked around and the grass, once a verdant green, was now a sickly yellow, the blades coated in dark, viscous slime. Breathing the thick, humid air, I could again taste something sickly sweet. My skin felt damp and hot, like I had the worst fever imaginable.
As before, the ground began to engulf me. I sank beneath the decaying earth, thick and slimy things coiled around my body, pulling me deeper into the darkened depths. Bugs and maggots writhed across my skin, biting and burrowing into my flesh. I felt the weight of the soil crushing from all sides. Each labored breath drew in mouthfuls of rancid muck, and just when I was sure I’d suffocate, entombed by rotten earth, something new broke through the darkness.
All around me, countless, pale white eyes opened, decorating the abyss like stars in the midnight sky.
I awoke with a frantic scream and deep inhale, as if surfacing from the depths of the ocean. Despite the open windows and AC turned to the max setting, the room was awash in that cloying stench from before. Reaching for my phone, I despaired at the time: 3:15 am. I was in for another sleepless night.
The next couple of days were more of the same. I woke up, left for the day, did my best to stay lucid, then returned for a night of restless sleep and bizarre dreams. Thursday evening, I found myself walking through a park not far from campus. Young couples strolled hand in hand, the sunset painted the sky in rosy golden hues, dogs enjoyed endless games of fetch, and children climbed on a nearby playground. The scene reminded me of days spent with my mother and brothers. It was a tradition to pack a cooler of sandwiches and frozen treats as we enjoyed Saturday picnics at a park just like this. We never had much, and mom always tried her best, but looking back, I seem to remember the small moments more fondly than anything else. Back then, we had not a care in the world.
Whether I was lost in thought or feeling the lack of sleep, I failed to see the protruding tree root in my path. Tripping onto my hand and knees, I cursed with more frustration than warranted, much to the irritation of nearby parents.
Embarrassed, I began rising to my feet when I noticed something on the ground in front of me. Next to the root I’d tripped over was a small, raised portion of dirt. Protruding ever so slightly from the ground, I at first thought it to be another portion of the roots. Upon further inspection however, it more closely resembled a buried object.
Then the mound shifted. It seemed to pulse and spasm slightly. Before I could react, the dirt split open and a single cloudy eye met my gaze.
I screamed and fell backwards, frantically kicking at the spot where the eye had been. My heart beat a mile a minute, and my breath came in hitching gasps. It was only after my initial panic subsided that I realized I’d quickly become the center of attention at the park. Every pair of eyes regarded me with emotions ranging from confusion, pity, suspicion, and fear. When I looked back to where that eye had opened, I saw only a bare patch of dirt. Scrambling to my feet, I hastily fled the park. I could feel everyone watching my retreat, their eyes boring holes into my back.
As I sulked back to my apartment, the sun was well and truly set. Night wasn’t too far off. The evening breeze nipped at my exposed skin, and though I pulled my jacket tighter about my frame, I shivered not against the cold. My mind was fixed on what I’d seen. An eye, dead and milky with decay, had opened in the ground beneath my feet.
I desperately grasped for an explanation. I wanted so badly to believe that my exhausted mind was playing tricks on me. I needed sleep. I just wanted a singular night’s rest. For three days now, I’d endured bizarre nightmares, that horrible smell infesting my apartment, and the torment of waiting for someone to come remove whatever that goddamn stain was!
As these thoughts roiled within my head, I was halted in my footsteps by a sudden and sharp clanging sound. Up ahead, there was a small alleyway. The dull yellow light of a nearby lamppost provided scant illumination. Long shadows stretched across the cracked pavement, eventually crawling up the faded and peeling paint of nearby buildings. The structures themselves seemed to decay in the sickly glow.
Another sharp, metallic clang broke the silence. The sound echoed from the alley ahead. Slowly, I made my way forward.
Inching towards the mouth of the alley, I peered around the corner towards the source of the sound. There, just barely illuminated, was a man. At a glance, he appeared middle aged, dressed in a thick jacket, plain denim jeans, work boots, and a beanie pulled low over his head. The man knelt on the ground, his body hunched forward. With his back facing me I was unable to see his face, but his demeanor gave the impression of reverence. As if the man was in the middle of prayer.
Then, I watched as the man raised both arms above his head, revealing a long, steel pipe. With a quick, jerky motion, he swung the instrument downward with violent force. The clash of cold metal against concrete pavement produced a loud, painful whine that rang through the night air. Again and again, I watched as this strange man, with a steady, almost robotic cadence, swung the pipe towards the ground.
Slowly, I began retreating from this bizarre scene. The man seemed far too enthralled in his strange task to notice me, but nevertheless, I held my breath with each step. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself, especially as I continued to eye that steel pipe. Though just as the man was about to fade from view, I heard a new sound.
A dull crack accompanied the metallic clang of the pipe. The man had dislodged a chunk of the pavement. I watched as he discarded the pipe and scrambled to the ground with a sudden zeal. As the man lie prone, I watched as he pressed his ear to the small indent he’d made. In the silence that now followed, I could hear him muttering to himself. Though faint, it sounded almost as though he was having a conversation. I couldn’t make out the words, but every now and then, he’d pause his ramblings, as if receiving a response.
Thoroughly creeped out, I began back-peddling as quietly as I could. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and that weirdo as I possibly could. Only when I finally reached the end of the block did I turn my back on the alley and continue towards home. However, the relief I felt as my front door clicked shut was short lived.
That smell assaulted my nostrils as if it had been eagerly awaiting my return. Without thinking I opened the windows and cranked the AC, desperate to once again air out the foul stench. I didn’t know how much more I could take. In a twisted sort of way, I was almost starting to miss my old roommate.
With the open windows and AC, the smell did eventually somewhat subside. Sighing with exhaustion, I ate a quick dinner consisting of a hot pocket with a side of popcorn, showered, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed. That night, I had a different dream.
Invisible weights pined my body from all sides. Darkness swallowed every ounce of light. A foul, sour taste coated the inside of my mouth, and all around me, I felt the sensation of shifting earth and writhing vermin.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry out for help that I knew would not come. Wherever I was, I was alone, trapped within the crushing depths of the earth. I willed my body to move, panic pumping through my veins, granting me the strength to squirm ever so slightly. Each movement caused stinging pain as my flesh scrapped against jagged dirt and rock. Blood began to ooze forth, wet and warm across my limbs and torso.
Then, as I struggled within the crushing void, a small pin prick of light broke through the darkness. I ceased my movements and focused on the yellow glow. Slowly, it began to swell. As the light grew, I felt my fear subside, replaced with a sense of quiet comfort. The pain in my limbs faded, the weight of the earth disappeared, and suddenly I felt as though I was floating. I could move again. With sluggish movements, I half crawled half swam towards the light. As I approached, warmth flooded my senses. I felt cradled in the soft glow. Held as though in the loving arms of a mother. My body seemed to melt away in the all-encompassing warmth. My senses faded
It was then that my alarm sounded.
I awoke with a start, shivering in the crisp morning air that drifted from the open windows. My alarm continued to blare from my nightstand, prompting the realization that I was not in fact lying in bed.
My blood froze as I found myself curled around the stain in the fetal position.
I sprang to my feet and frantically backed against the wall. My skin crawled as if swarming with insects as I struggled to process the situation. I could think of no explanation as to why I’d done what I’d done. I lacked any history of sleepwalking or sleep disturbances. Yet this morning, I’d awoken to find myself sleeping on the floor, my body curled around a stained and rotting portion of the wood.
This was the last straw as something within me finally snapped.
Without thinking, I began packing a bag. Forget missing class, forget waiting for the maintenance team, I wouldn’t spend a second longer in that apartment. My plan was to get a hotel and pay whatever it took to stay there until the stain was removed.
As I pulled on my shoes, I rushed to place my backpack on my bed to more easily pack my laptop. In my haste, I miscalculated my footing and stepped a tad too close to the epicenter of the stain. With a sickening crack, my foot sank beneath the floor as the rotten wood collapsed from under me. I screamed in pain as jagged shards of splintered wood dug into my leg. Though my jeans prevented them from breaking skin, the pain and shock still caused tears to well in my eyes.
Gritting my teeth, I locked both hands around my bed post as I attempted to free my leg. Something held me tight. It was as though I’d stepped into a thick pit of mud. With each successive pull, I felt my foot sinking deeper.
Then the smell hit me. I didn’t think it could get any worse, but somehow, the stench that crept up from beneath the floor was 1000 times more rancid than before. Like a mixture of rotting meat, sewage, and pus, it choked my senses and left me dry heaving as I struggled to free myself. Sucking in as much air as I could stomach, I braced my free foot, gripped the bed post tight, and with all my might gave one final heave.
With a thick, wet popping sound, I at last managed to wrestle my leg free. My shoe, however, was missing. I spared a glance downward.
I saw Hell beneath my feet.
Below the floorboards churned and oozed a mass of mud, dirt, eyes and teeth. My shoe was swallowed into the writhing substance. The dead eyes fixed their unblinking gaze upon me as the teeth chattered ceaselessly. A chorus of infernal gibberish echoed up from the earth, causing my head to swim and my vision to blur. Thick, ropey, tar-like tendrils began rising from the mass, lazily exploring the borders of the collapse in the floor. Soon they began reaching for me.
Screaming, I grabbed my bags and crashed through the apartment door. I sprinted all the way down the hall, into the lobby, through the front door, and didn’t stop running until my lungs burned and my legs throbbed with exhaustion. When I was sure I’d put as much distance as I possibly could between me and that apartment, I promptly vomited all over the curbside.
Shaking with fear, I collapsed onto a bench and stared blankly into nothingness. Looking back, I don’t think I was able to process what I’d just experienced. It was like my brain had been pushed beyond the limits of what it could handle, leaving me in a numb state of shock.
I don’t remember how long I sat there with a vacant expression, but eventually I managed to call an uber. I must’ve looked like shit because my driver hardly said a word to me as they drove towards the nearest hotel. We rode in silence as I gazed out the car window. Buildings, trees and people all assimilated into a canvas of warping shapes, colors and lights.
Eventually, we passed the park where I’d found that buried eyeball. Life was continuing as normal. People walked their dogs, road bikes, jogged along foot paths, and children enjoyed the nearby playgrounds. My focus shifted however to a group of people lying upon a grassy section of the park. By the looks of them, they seemed to be some of those meditation and mindfulness types. As the uber halted at a red light, I was able to better observe the group. They lay in a circular formation upon intricately woven blankets, their heads all facing inward towards the center. Their bodies were curled into the fetal position, their ears placed firmly against the earth. I was glad when the uber finally drove away.
My sleep has only been marginally better in this hotel room. While less vivid, I still dream of that strange landscape. Though now, the fields are dead and rotten, the sky turned a sickly yellow hue. Those twisted trees have multiplied, their limbs dancing and grasping like tendrils. And beneath the earth, a sea of eyes, teeth, and mud writhes endlessly.
Even during the light of day, I can’t help but feel as though there is something watching from below. Like a shark eager and ready to drag its prey down to the crushing darkness. I still haven’t heard anything from my landlord or the maintenance crew, but at this point, I don’t have any intention of returning to the apartment. They can sue me for breaking lease all they want. Any punishment from them is nothing compared to whatever fate surely awaited beneath that stain.
When I first sat down to recount these events, I did so with the hotel TV on. Background noise always helps me write, and in this instance, I was desperate for anything that filled the silence and drowned out the memories of that apartment. However, there was a recent news story that gave me pause.
A teacher at a local school had called to request a welfare check on a family. Neither the mother nor father were answering their phones, and after a week of no contact and no sign of the children, the teacher had decided to act. When the authorities arrived at the family’s home, they discovered all 4 of them lying dead in the backyard. They each appeared to be partially submerged or buried within the dirt, and all were curled into the fetal position. The cause of death was ruled to be starvation and exposure.
While the reporter was as thorough as could be allowed on a public news station, I decided to dig a little deeper. After a while, I eventually found a couple articles online. From the accounts of the first responders, they described the scene as though the family had begun sinking into the earth. As if the ground had opened up to embrace them.
There is something lurking beneath our feet. I don’t know what it is, but every night, when I dream of that once lush and verdant field, now decayed and rotting back into the soil, I feel its presence just below the surface. I feel it reaching out for me. To be as it were in eons long past. To return to it. To be as one with it. Like that dark and rotten stain, I fear it is spreading. And from what I’ve seen, I think people are starting to listen.