u/Savings-Cut-3465

The sour scent of death stagnates on my breath, as I’m chewing on your pieces cause I’ve got nothing left. I didn’t mean to eat you whole, I just wanted a taste of your soul, but when I got it I lost control. 

Memories choke me like tendon and bone, as I reminisce bloated and alone. Happy or sad they splint just the same, and tear at my throat as I croak out your name. There’s no one left for me to blame, but I’ll do my best to find something to frame.

Woe is me all these lonely year, cause I’ve eaten all who dare come near. I’m sorry to you if you can hear, I’ll always hold your memory dear even after I choked on your ear. Aren’t you proud that I regret the things I’ve done and will do yet. As long as you feel sad you can still get away with being a cancer to everyone you’ve met.

 My sweet rose in my stomach settle, so I’ll not long have to mettle, with just another fallen petal. And when I do shit you away, I’ll sit with the emptiness and wish you would stay. 

The sour scent of death stagnates on my breath, as I’m chewing on your pieces cause I’ve got nothing left. I didn’t mean to eat you whole, I just wanted a taste of your soul, but when I got it I lost control.

Memories choke me like tendon and bone, as I reminisce bloated and alone. Happy or sad they splint just the same, and tear at my throat as I croak out your name. There’s no one left for me to blame, but I’ll do my best to find something to frame.

Woe is me all these lonely year, cause I’ve eaten all who dare come near. I’m sorry to you if you can hear, I’ll always hold your memory dear even after I choked on your ear. Aren’t you proud that I regret the things I’ve done and will do yet. As long as you feel sad you can still get away with being a cancer to everyone you’ve met.

My sweet rose in my stomach settle, so I’ll not long have to mettle, with just another fallen petal. And when I do shit you away, I’ll sit with the emptiness and wish you would stay.

The cab smelled like sweaty cigarettes and stale sex, as the old leather seats flake like dead skin under my every shifting move. The smokey night reflects the neon to make the air a metachromatic tunnel of psychedelic light. Apathetic depression was a wet blanket strangling itself around my thoughts since she left. Standing in a field of yellow stood a man in a too small green plaid suit and wearing glasses with a crack that reflected as a luminescent yellow worm. He looked like the type to skip out on pay, but I needed a distraction. Thick bottles clanged percussively like a drunk drummer.

“Where ya going.”

“Here’s $100. Take me anywhere, I’ll tell you when we’re there.” His voice was soaked in whisky and dried with smoke, his hot breath blew past my shoulder like a long devil's tongue, hot and wet as it kissed my skin. 

“Sure pal.”

“So what’s your name?” I asked after watching him take a slow gulp of his bottle.

“You want a drink.” He said posturing an unlabeled bottle of whiskey towards me..

“No thanks buddy, I don’t drink on the job.”

“Come on friend, don’t make a man drink alone.”

“Really, I shouldn’t.”

“Just a sip won't hurt.”

I let out a chuckle. “Fuck it, I could use one. It’s been a hell of a day..” I said, grabbing the bottle.

The liquor burnt down my throat, but there was something off about it, a bitter rasp faintly under the taste of whiskey. 

“What the hell is that?” I said through a cringe.

“Just some homebrew my friend, the good stuff.”

“Strong.” I said before clearing my throat.

“So what’s your plan for tonight?”  I asked him, but the words came out a bit slurred. My tongue felt flat and lazy, and my words felt delayed like the dialogue of a foreign film.

“The plan is to find a plan, but I don’t know where it is yet.”

“Well I can drive til we find it, but the meters running.”

The reds, greens, yellows and oranges spiraled and flowed into each other as if pulled by currents of air. I couldn’t tell if the wild silhouetted crowds walking down the sidewalk were frenzied with hedonistic lust or maddened with righteous indignation, but I could tell there was something they wanted. 

“How long you been doing this?”

“You mean tonight or since I started.”

“All of it.”

“I’m thirty four.”

“Over thirty past what ya asked for, yeah?.”

“Tell me about it, I got piranhas snapping at my balls when I try to sit down and I’m standing on ice.” I said looking back at him.

“Stop!” The man shouted.

The breaks sounded like a castrato with phantom pains as I slammed my foot down. Snapping my head forward I saw there was a red light, and five men in identical gray suits and hair walked down the crosswalk. They turned to face me in the middle of the walkway.

“Good evening, can I tell you about our lord and savior Jesus Christ." They said in unison.

“Uhm, I’m good. Thank you.”

“You seem to be going through a lot at the moment, wouldn’t it be nice if someone could take the weight off your shoulders.” 

“Lights green, go.”

“I can’t, the christians are in the way.”

“They’re not christian they’re mormon.”

“Oh.” I said as I slammed on my gas. One of the mormons flipped over the car, but the other had turned to run and became perched on the hood screaming with my hood ornament stuck up his ass.

“I know it feels rude, but the only way you can deal with those guys is to ignore them.” The passenger said over the mormons wild screams.

Blood smeared over the front end of my yellow cab, rendering my headlights a dark red. 

“It’s a sign.” The passenger said, grabbing my shoulder and leaning forward.

“Take us to the red light district.”

The city around me went black, even the mormon and his incessant screams disappeared from my vision leaving only two glowing white parallel lines. There was nothing else that I could see, so I followed the path through all the bends and turns until a sudden surge of red light stunned my vision. The mormon was still on the hood, but he seemed to have passed out from blood loss. What a relief I thought, that guy was annoying. On the sidewalk were neon women posing seductively for crowds of silhouetted men who pushed and grunted. The air was hot, my clothes were drenched in sweat.

“You looking for a good time baby?” A gravely echo’d voice from my left.

I looked over to see a woman cloaked in red, her face was smooth but her body was covered in deep wrinkles. She wore a red tank top and a little red skirt that showed red varicose veins spidering down her red legs. 

“Uh no thanks, I’m married.” I said holding my ring to the woman.

She approached the car and leaned against the open window, and before I could react she put her mouth around my finger. She began to suck. I tried to pull away but the suction from her mouth was too strong. Vertigo struck me as my finger swelled to feel like it would burst in a geyser of blood, I looked down at my body and watched as it grew thin and saggy. The sound of metal on metal came from her mouth, and she let out a deep gulp before releasing her grip on my finger.

“You sure sweetpea?”

“Get in.” Came sternly from the back. 

The door opened and she climbed into the back. 

“So what do you want?” The woman asked.

Thousands of crunchy pops rang out as the woman’s legs began to curl in on themselves like a spooling rope,  before she threw them behind her back.

“I can do this.”

She limpy flopped her legs from behind her back and planted them on the floorboard. 

“Or I can do this.”

A thick snap like a fell’d tree sounded as the woman bent her spine in half to place her face below her ass.

“Or if you want it at the same time.”

She snapped back into position like she was made of rubber, she spread her legs facing the passenger while turning to face me. Her already wrinkled skin showed deep twisted folds on her neck as she turned her head 180 degrees to face me before opening her mouth. In the dim light of the car I could see her face wasn’t red it was white, significantly whiter than the rest of her body. I reached my finger out to touch the woman's face, and it sank through the pearlescent skin like clay. I began to peel at the soft flesh on the woman's face, as the thick caked on white rained to the floor in a muddy powder. 

“What are you doing?” The woman shouted, but I’d already torn away chunks of the white clay to reveal grey wrinkled skin.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Fuck you!” She shouted.

“You know what! Take your money back and go!” She shouted before unhinging her jaw to a wide circle.

Her mouth was warm and dry, and her throat was a damp leather tube that meshed around my arm like fleshy plaster and made high pitched squeaks as I pressed farther. I felt short horizontal marks going down the length of it that felt carved in, and assumed it was from a measurement of some sort. As my elbow went into her mouth I felt a pool of something wet, hot, thick, and sticky on my hand. My hand clumsily pilfered around the sticky wet until I found the ring wrapped around a length of latex. Her throat was a tighter fit as my hand was balled to hold the ring, the moist warmth of her flesh wrapped around my fingers as I pulled it out. I was surprised that her teeth didn’t scrap my arm at all.

 “You’re a fucking creep.” She said through deep inhales as I wiped my soaking wet arm on my shirt.

She stepped out of the car and began to shout. “Big Daddy! He done me wrong!” 

From the alleyway I saw a massive shadow that cloaked the car in its length. My heart sank in my chest as my mind dreamt up what this brute of a man might look like and what he might do to me. The shadow drew and grew before the assailant emerged from the shadows. A dwarf in a furry green suit was riding on the shoulders of a man who was the size of a sumo wrestler, but wore a gimp suit and had a gag in his mouth.

“What’d you do to my lady pal?” The small man shouted in a high pitched voice as the large man stared blankly ahead at us. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

“Well you did and now you gotta pay for it.” 

I cowered away guarding my face from the inevitable pounding laid upon me by the small sadist and the monolithic masochist.

“That’ll be one hundred and five dollars.”

“Oh? I have a hundred.”

“Wont do.”

I turned to face the passenger. “Hey can you help me out here?”

“It’s kind of rude to ask your customer to pay your debts isn’t it.”

I let out an exasperated sigh.

“Is there anything else I can do?” 

“Wait, who's that on your hood?” 

“Oh, it’s just a mormon.” 

“Wake this guy up for me.” The tiny pimp ordered his crony.

The sound of metal being pounded rang out as the massive hand patted the mormons' kept hair.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Smith that hurts!” The Mormon shouted as the hood dented around his ass, knocking him deeper onto the ornament.

“Hey you, you need a job?” The small man asked the Mormon.

“I already have a job, I’m a Mormon.”

“Not anymore, you’ve committed sodomy.”

“Oh god! My faith is the only thing I have in this life!”

“Quit your whining, you need a new job or not?”

“Well, I do need something. Tell me, will you always tell me what to do and threaten me with pain if I don’t follow your command?”

“Of course, and I’ll also make you feel guilty for obliging your basic human instincts to seek freedom and self fulfillment."

“Say no more, I’m in!” The man said, holding his arms in the air.

The massive man put his hands beneath the Mormons arm pits and plucked him off of the car sending blood pouring onto the hood.

“Alright we’ll call it even Stevens this time pal, but I don’t want to see you fooling around with any of my gals again. You got it?

“Yeah, no worries.”

“Alright then, scram!”

A sigh of relief escaped my lungs as we started back down the road, but my calm was interrupted by the sound of snotty sobbing behind me.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked the passenger.

“I loved her man, I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” The passenger leaned his head back and held the bottle over his gaped mouth, but only a few droplets fell out.

“Hey, let’s go to a bar.” The passenger said before throwing the brown bottle at the windshield. 

I cowered my face from the shattered shards of glass, but the fragments hit me as a cool liquid that rivuleted down my face thick and pungent as it soaked into my clothes and hair. My gaze shifted hastily back to the road to see the road through a downpour of brown liquid. The light refracted and bent over it’s surface but the white lines stayed as clear as ever.

The trail led to a dingy bar that I could smell before I could see, it smelled like a drunken orgy held in a musky attic with no AC. The building was a dilapidated shack with planks falling out of place, and as I got closer I could see what looked like bullet holes lining the walls. There was one massive round hole on the front exterior that gave a clear view inside. It wasn’t the chaotic party one might expect, the energy seemed to be reserved, maybe even reverent.

“You sure this place is safe.” I asked.

“What, you think cause it’s in a poor neighborhood it’s not safe?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“It’s not but you still shouldn’t be biased,”

“Let’s go in.”

As I walked into the dingy bar, the door fell off of its hinges and hit the floor with a wet, dull thud slumping limp on the ground like wet cardboard. The muttering that prevailed the room ceased suddenly as they all turned to face me, their faces were all grey and apathetic.

“Sorry, I’ll pay for that.” I said meekly before taking a seat at the bar. 

The stool creaked under me to sound like a heroin junkie having an orgasm, the legs had a little bit of give to them and bent down a few inches when I sat. In front of the hole that I’d seen in the wall coming in there was a round hole in the floor a few feet in front of it.

“What’s your poison?”

“I’ll take a whiskey.” The passenger said.

“Just give me a beer.”

The bartender who wore a bow tie and a mustache that curled in on itself so much as to look like indescript cursive poured the whiskey before filling a pint for me from the tap.

“What kind of beer is this?” I asked, cringing after taking a gulp.

“Hey what kind of beer is this!” The bartender shouted.

“Mostly Busch.” Came a slurred yell up from between the cracked floorboard.

I gave an inquisitive look at my drink before taking another sip.

“Ya know my life feels like an endless cycle of pain, an ouroboros but I’m a cock fucking myself in the ass.” The passenger said.

“My wife left me.”

“Better than losing yourself.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Does anybody? You could be a brain in a jar dreaming your reality, so why are you dreaming it so morbidly?”

“Maybe.”

“But there’s no point, at least there’s a point to suffering which is to stop suffering.”

“Huh, ya know this is making a lot of sense. So the point is to find happiness in whatever form that comes.”

“What? Are you drunk? Barkeep, these guys had enough, give us the bill.”

“Twenty for the beer and whiskey.”

“Can you break a hundred?” I said reaching into my pocket.

“Three-thousand nine hundred and fifty seven for the door.”

“Well I don’t have that much.” I said sliding the bill back into my pocket.

“Well then you’ll have to settle your debts with the owner, he’s in the basement.”

The bar stared at us as we headed down the stairs, shaking their heads with looks of pity on their faces. Opening the basement door I was hit with the sickening stench of sweat, liquor, and shit. The stench grew in strength with each step, as the stairs cried out to sound like bullfrogs screaming. 

“Hello? Is the owner down here.”

“Oh yes, please come down.” The man said in a heavily slurred voice.

The room was dark, other than a spotlight from the floor above that shone through a hole in the floor and lit the owner. He must’ve been close to half a ton, he was naked in a bed of crusted over diarrhea, with vomit around his mouth and a mix of the two streaking along his body. HIs legs were pinned down under a cannon ball, his calves curling in on themselves like the wicked witch of the East. He had a catheter extending from his limp cock that went up to the floor above between a gap in the planks.

“How can I help you?”

“Uh yeah, well we accidentally broke the door when we were coming in.”

“Oh well accidents happen, roll me to my desk and we’ll get the bill figured out.”

I let out a sigh that I regretted when I could taste the smell of the room. 

“Help me push this guy.” I said to the passenger.

“Alright you get that side and I’ll get the other.”

Filthy slathered onto my body as I pressed my weight into the belly of the man, hot sweaty folds engulfing my arms as I put all my strength into flipping him. 

“Ah.” The man said in relief as his legs were removed from under the cannonball for a brief second.

“Ah!” The owner said as the cannonball flipped back over onto his legs. 

I did this until we reached his desk, at which point he put on a pair of glasses and began typing frenetically at a type writer.

“The guy said it’d cost Three-thousand nine hundred and fifty seven, but I don’t have that.”

“Nonsense, let me figure it up.”

We sat in the foul smelling room for ten more minutes as the man keyed in figures, before ripping the figures from the receipt and reading.

“It comes out to Three-thousand nine hundred and fifty seven.”

“So why’d we waste all this time figuring it down here, that’s the same thing the bartender told us!

“You didn’t let me finish! Three-thousand nine hundred and fifty seven and fifty cents.”

“I still don’t have that.”

“Hey we need a beer up here.” I heard shouted from upstairs.

“Hold on one second.” The man said before closing his eyes, and sending amber liquid flowing up the catheter.

I began to dry heave, but was interrupted by the owner.

“Well there is one way you can make it up if you can’t pay, the massive man said with a smirk.”

I sighed and began to take my shirt off.

“What are you doing! Not that! God what do you think I'm some kind of sicko.”

“Look man, it's been a long night!”

“I want you to kill me. Life is so miserable down here, all I can do is drink my sorrows away all day. But there isn’t really any drinking it away, just makes sorrow more bearable company.”

“I can’t kill you man, how would I even go about that.”

“It’s the only way. I want you to pull that catheter from the tap upstairs and make me drown on it.”

“You gotta do it, it’s the only way.” The passenger said. I looked at him and noticed how clean he was while I was drenched in filth.

“Fine.” 

I grabbed the still warm tube and began to pull it through the cracks, hearing the crowd complain about the tap stopping as I did. His bloated lips pursed around the end of the tube and I watched as the tube once again turned amber. The man's eyes looked so sad and defeated, he shook as the liquid poured down his throat. His stomach began to swell, followed by his face, and the amber liquid turned to a slow moving dark red. The man's face turned violently red as his cheeks and neck swole to twice their “normal” size.

“Oh shit,” The passenger said.

“He’s gonna blow.”

The passenger started up the stairs before me, leaving me trapped as the stairs crumbled beneath him.

“You bastard!” I screamed as I watched him disappear into the bar.

I looked around for another exit, there was a ladder leading to a closed hatch outside the bar. I hurried to it, but before I could get my feet onto the ground a torrent of warm water geysered me into the air. For a moment I felt like I was flying, but as I came down the last thing I saw was the cannon ball landing right in front of me. My head crashed hard into it, and everything went black.

I woke up in my cab, with the worst headache I’d ever had in my life. There was a note sitting on my lap.

“You passed out, so I brought you back to the cab. I hope you learned something from this.

-The Passenger"

I thought for a minute, what had I learned? The entire experience seemed devoid of any meaning or reason. I disregarded this as I started back onto the road. As I was passing an intersection a drunk driver ran a red light and smashed hard into my car, flipping it multiple times into oncoming traffic. My head looked slacked at the roof as blood dripped out of my mouth. I let out a laugh as my consciousness gave way to the cold hands of death. I finally got the point.

​

My sweet thing, my dearest lover, said we'd always be together. Til the day I lay down to die, your taste on my lips I can't deny. We spent so many nights together, huddled in bed away from the weather, or sitting out on humid nights too lost in love to feel the swarming mosquito bites.

But you demanded all I had, and I always needed more, so one one hot July day I left out the door. I thought without your weight, that I would fly and soar, but I have just continued walking and my feet have gotten sore.

No matter how far I go, in the grass or in the snow, when I turn around I know the door is there to find. On winter nights or in summer hue I turn around and think of you, of all things we used to do.

Yet I march ahead instead, with no sense of aching dread, for the lies that I've said, cause I know if I look you're right there til the day I'm dead.

My sweet thing, my dearest lover, said we'd always be together. Til the day I lay down to die, your taste on my lips I can't deny. We spent so many nights together, huddled in bed away from the weather, or sitting out on humid nights too lost in love to feel the swarming mosquito bites.

But you demanded all I had, and I always needed more, so one one hot July day I left out the door. I thought without your weight, that I would fly and soar, but I have just continued walking and my feet have gotten sore.

No matter how far I go, in the grass or in the snow, when I turn around I know the door is there to find. On winter nights or in summer hue I turn around and think of you, of all things we used to do.

Yet I march ahead instead, with no sense of aching dread, for the lies that I've said, cause I know if I look you're right there til the day I'm dead.

​

Since I was a boy, I had been plagued by the calling of the void. I had always sought to not only know but to touch the strange, otherworldly and mysterious. I had made a career as a journalist, meeting witchdoctors, voodoo practitioners, those absorbed by the dark and occult. Such a career has hardened my sense of wonder and shown me that these such worlds are drenched in fraudulence.

So, when I found a flier for Sir Beauregard's so-called greatest freakshow on the planet, I was skeptical. But since the show was only a short train ride away, I decided that I would see for myself.

The dark room was musky with the stench of sweat, an insulated heat pervading the enclosed tent. Spotlights suddenly began roving around the expanse of darkness, as if searching for a suspect in the sea of identical farmers looking for a brief respite from their banal existence

“Ladies and Gentlemen, would you please give a round of applause for your host. The one and only, emperor of insanity, the king of all that is crazy, the ambassador of absurdity. Beauregard the Magnificent!”

All the spotlights suddenly casted onto the stage, illuminating a man with a build something like a bulldog standing on two legs. He had a stout barrel chest, stubby little legs and arms, and a mustache that curled in on itself like a worm on hot pavement.

“Good people, I welcome you.” He said in a sultry deep voice, wearing the faintest hint of a French accent.

“What you see here may astonish you, it may terrify you, it may even make you question the infinite power and wisdom of God above to allow such atrocities of the human kind. If this experience proves to be too much for you. If your modest sensibilities are unable to reconcile the abominations put in front of you, you may leave. But as you dash back towards the light of and normality of day, do not stop at the concessions. Because there are no refunds.” This broke the silence in the room into controlled laughter.

“So, without any further a due. I present our first oddity. A slimy half remembrance of evolution passed. From a time before man was king of the land, instead battling for rank in the early ocean. I present the aquatic abomination; Fish Boy!”

I heard the sound of heavy wheels turning before the curtains parted to reveal a figure floating in a cylinder of water. His skin was pale white and macerated, almost corpselike under the spotlight. His mouth was wide and jagged like a catfish, his body was slimy and glossy, and his fingers and toes were webbed with jagged and incongruent skin. His head hung above the water; he took in deep breaths of air through his bloody mouth as his gills flexed under the water in sync. But his eyes, his eyes were all too human. They glared around the room of shocked faces as if seeking an inkling of pity, but all they received was the shock and disgust of the audience.

Nearly half of the audience left before Fishboy was put away, and my skepticism was replaced with an intrigue I hadn’t felt since I was a boy digging through folklore compendiums.

“Fishboy is what separates the boys from the men it seems, but if you think you’ve seen our worst then you’d better hold on as we’ve only just got started. Our next featured freak is barely recognizable as sentient life. I present The Primordial Goo.”

I heard something wet and sticky moving before the curtains once again opened to reveal it. A viscous gray pile of flesh, leaving a trail of blood as it slowly slithered out onto the stage. Barely recognizable as a human, just a pile of slop with two blood shot eyes. Once it stopped moving a hole opened at the center of its mass, and it let out the blood curling scream of a woman. Gasps shot out through the entirety of the audience, and I saw men visibly shaking as they left out of the room.

I was transfixed, in all my time of curating the strange and mysterious I had never seen something so indisputably preternatural and vile. Once the creature began returning back into the curtains, I looked around to see that I was the only person left in the room.

“Well, it seems we have one brave soul here at least. Is it bravery? Or do you crave something more than what is offered in the natural world? Do you long for the macabre and unnatural? Well, I hope this last exhibit will sate that craving. And remember, there are no refunds, you can’t go back.”

The curtains opened and a naked, gray, emaciated man came out onto the stage. His head was massive, but his eyes and mouth were tiny and slacked open like a dullard. He stood at the front of the stage for a moment, and I watched as a red line perforation began to go from the top of his head, down to his neck. The line started to bleed, before a wet noise cried out and I watched as his head parted in half. Though warped, his anatomy seemed to be human, all except for a spiral of black that sat below his brain. I felt drawn to the black void, my eyes focusing on it as the world around me turned black.

My body feels so sensitive, everything hurts. Everything is black, until.

“Now presenting, the seeker.” I hear before I roll out onto stage.

The Eastmister Kennel Club: Pure bred show

I took my seat in the dark, crowded theater, surrounded by shadowed silhouettes dressed in avant garde dresses and suits to look like the ghosts of eccentric aristocrats made rich off a bizarre circus. I was engulfed by a thick mist of competing colognes and perfumes that tickled at my nostrils like the breath of an alcoholic, covering the smell with a mix of pungent gums and sprays.

On my left was an obese woman, a glance would tell her to be in her thirties, but a closer look would reveal the unnatural tautness of her skin, how it lifted away from her eyes and mouth, leaving her with a permanent expression of shock. She wore only a tank top made of snakeskin that swapped between red and black to black and red and a muskrat thong.

On my right was a man whose chubby, flat, pale face shone in the dark like pearl in the ocean depths. He had massive sagging jowls and an upturned nose; a string of drool rolled down the corner of his mouth.

“Honey, you're drooling.” The woman said, then reached past me, scooping the squirt of spittle up with a wet squelching noise before smearing the slobber around his face. His pale, wet skin looked luminescent under the dim light and smelled of chewing tobacco and spearmint.

“Do you want to sit next to him?” I asked.

“Well, I would, but we were too late to get the tickets.”

“Yeah, but I mean, I’ll switch with you.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be allowed, would it? The rules are in place for a reason and to break them would be uncivilized.”

The man made a grunting noise that I understood as agreeance.

Spotlights began to quickly rove around the room, as if in search of a suspect in the sea of people, before finally settling on the obvious: on the stage, a fat man wearing a bright red suit and top hat. He sported a mustache that curled in on itself like a worm on hot concrete.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I am your host Ferdinnand Pascello, please, allow me to welcome you to the fiftieth edition of the Eastmister Kennel show for purebreds.”

“Let me first thank our benevolent administration for protecting our show from those that would have our way of life taken away.” He paused to let the audience shout their cheers.

“Without further a due; let me introduce you to our first contestant, and last year's winner, Toby! And his owner Kathy Bryerson.”

Underneath the burning spotlight a ball of sagging, brown, skin began to emerge onto the stage, it struggled not to trip over the folds of thick, leathery, skin that draped onto the floor below it. He was guided by a woman whose face was caked in white makeup, and wore a Victorian dress entirely made of black sheep wool.

“Hello again, Toby, You look as dashing as ever.” He patted Toby's head who returned the affection by lethargically opening his mouth and extending his tongue which moved quickly compared to the rest of his sluggish body. His long tongue swept around the hosts hands leaving it glistening, this got a rousing aw from the crowd.

“Haha well that’s just great.” The host said before wiping the spit onto the dog under the pretense of a pet.

“Now Mrs. Bryerson, why don’t you tell us a little about Toby.”

“Ah yes of course!” She said in a voice that had an artificially high pitch.

“Toby is twenty-seven years old as of last month, he loves to chew on his ball, and he eats a lot!” The audience bursted out in laughter at this.

The host lifted the folds of skin covering his face to reveal blood shot, sad looking eyes, and a nose that was mostly flat but which but a narrow sliver of his nostrils peaked forward out at its center to show protruding nostrils.

“Oooh, under the new rules set this year, despite not being visible without grooming, that nose is going to lose you points.”

He reached between the breed’s legs and squeezed its scrotum for too long, to which the dog stood still and solemnly.

“Now for the trick segment, Toby, if you wouldn’t mind running this obstacle course we have arranged.”

Toby broke into a slow sprint, going through the serpentine tunnel, around the cones, and rearing back to leap through the hoop that stood one foot off the ground. As he leaped he caught onto the bottom of the hoop, falling onto his back where his skin piled over him in an avalanche, with only his legs rising above the pile as what looked like the legs of a brown baby.

The audience sighed as the owner rushed to flip the dog around so he wouldn’t suffocate in the pile of loose skin.

“Let’s all give a hand for Toby, truly a spectacular specimen.” He followed with a purposeful cringe.

The band played as the pair walked behind the curtains.

“Next up, we have a first time contestant in our show. Everyone give a big round of applause for Spot! And his owner Mcdanielson Mitchkunnel.”

A long and lean breed emerged, its feet were round and compact but still sported deformed fingers and toes that curled up into a wrinkly paw. Its skin was so pale as to look like a cream white, and with massive black birthmarks covering its body. Its snout was long but still had thick lips covering its teeth, which would be extra points deducted. Leading him was a very tall thin man, but a deeper look would show the man had clearly had a massive height extension surgery, his legs were ⅔ of his body. He wore a suit made of ostrich feathers with jutting edges that made him look remarkably aerodynamic.

“Hello there, Spot.” The host said, crouching down next to him.

“Aroughaaa.” The dog shot back which got a hearty chuckle from the audience, looking closer you could see a scar on the dog's smooth throat. The dog looked upset as he looked around, as if desperate to be understood.

“Heh, sorry he’s very talkative.” Said the owner.

“Haha well that’s fantastic. Now if you don’t mind sharing a bit about Spot here.” The host made no attempt at being genuine in his laugh.

“Certainly, Spot here is nine-teen years old, I keep him on an all organic diet of fresh meats and vegetables. He keeps us both in shape with his love for running!” The man said, subtly striking a pose to flaunt his lean physique.

The host looked into the dog's coned ears, grabbing his fleshy nub tail before his scrotum. A tear fell from the dogs all too human eyes.

“Now for the obstacle course.”

The dog ran through the course in record time, sprinting through the tunnel, going past the cones with elegant grace and easily bounding through the hoop.

“Wow, what an incredible performance by Spot, everyone give a big applause for him and his owner.”

The band played them off as the owner and dog walked back behind the carpet.

“Next up is a young fresh face in this competition, please everyone give it up for Rubble!”

Rubble stood a little under a foot off the ground, his skin was a yellowish tan that looked the color of a man with jaundice, his face entirely flat. His eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head, looking wet and glowing, seeming as though they may burst out of his head at any moment. His tongue stuck slightly between the dog’s thin lips, his carnivores hanging over it. His owner was a chubby man with a thick mustache and a mouth that seemed to take half of his plump face. He wore a onesie that was just a panda skin with a zipper down the middle. A bubble of snot blew from his nose and exploded onto his face, getting an obvious cringe from the host as he turned to the audience.

“Well, Rubble, not off to a great start, are we?.” He said to it and waited for the owner to respond.

“Yes, sorry, he’s been feeling a little under the weather lately, but I’ll ensure this doesn’t happen again.” He said, his words having a hint of spite to them. The dog looked up at him when he said this, his bulging eyes stared at him nervously and started to reverse sneeze, his body seizing up as his eyes bulged out even further from his head

“That aside, why don’t you tell me a bit about the scamp.”

“Well, Rubble is eighteen years old, and while he struggles with certain things like breathing, he is a loving and friendly little guy.”

The host began to inspect the body of the contestant, it shook violently through this process, its eyes the only part of its body remaining still.

“Alright, well everything checks out here, lets see how Rubble looks on the obstacle course.”

The dog got through the tunnel, but as it was going through the cones it tripped over its own stubby legs and fell onto its chin. As it did one of its eyes burst out of its socket like a bottle of champagne, blood spurted out from the socket onto his face and the floor around him as the eye rocketed forward two feet.

The owner rushed over, grabbing the eye and shoving it back into the socket before taking a bow.

“My that sure was something! Everyone give it up for Rubble and his owner.”

“Next up is a long-time contestant, runner up in the the last three shows, Spike! And his owner Alexaynya Pringleton.”

A muscular dog with a wide head emerged from the curtains, its skin was pure white with black spots that looked like moles covering his body. His owner was a wide and strong looking man that wore a suit made of ants stitched together. A closer look at the suit would show millions of tiny legs writhing.

“Welcome back, dear Spike, we all have missed you gravely.”

“Now, why don’t you tell us some about Spike.”

“Spike is thirty-two, he likes to chew on his bones.”

The man spoke in a thick deep voice. Looking at the dog's legs would reveal a trail of flat teeth marks.

The host looked into the dog's ears, lifted his chin, and looked at his paw before grabbing his scrotum too hard due to his familiarity.

The dog's eyes shot open wide, and he clamped down onto the wrist of the host, blood being drawn instantly as the dog's teeth gnashed down hard on the man's forearm. His teeth easily pierced through the coat made of whale placenta, and the dog writh his head from side to side, peeling up strings of skin and digging a trench through which blood and fat puddled onto the floor around them, His teeth were sharper than most, but not made to bite so the host was able to slip out of the dogs gnawing grip.

The host reached into his waistband, drawing out a revolver pressing it to the head of the dog, who closed his eyes in seeming acceptance. A muffled bang rang out over the squealing sound of meat becoming liquid, a splattering of blood and brain matter blended into the red suit of the host.

The woman next to me shouted past me to the man on my other side.

“Hmmph, some just can’t be civilized no matter how much you try to breed the aggression out of them. Your first litter would never do something so vile and uncivilized now would they?”

I looked over at the man his nose was flat and the jowls drooped.

“Arooooo.” The man responded.

Since his stroke, my dad’s been bedridden, and out of all his bastard children, the burden of nursing him back to health was placed on me. I agreed off the promise that I’d be put in his will to inherit the house after he passed. A nice two story in the suburbs, mild mannered for his taste, but to a late twenty's apartment renter of ten years it was paradise. Our dynamics seem to be untouched by the gradual changes of time and separation. Despite my resentment toward the man, I can’t help but follow his beck and call. I don’t know if it’s from intimidation set in from a harsh childhood or just an unquenchable desire for paternal validation. Regardless, every time he gives me a command, I find the words “Yes sir.” coming out of my mouth before my mind can even register the request.  

 

Ever since mom passed, I had known him as a serial womanizer, even in his bed-ridden state he would oogle the women on the television, comparing their parts to the ones he’d encountered in his escapades. His rhetoric would unfailingly fill me with disgust for his entitlement to women's bodies, and a bitterness that the women who I’d shown respect unfailingly would throw themselves at a pig like him.   

 

The stroke was minor, and he was expected to be on course for a full recovery in four to six months, but that hasn’t been the case. The doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong, but over the last two weeks he’s been developing these horrible scabs and marks over his body that cause him pain even from just lying in bed. 

 

It just kept getting worse, at first, it was barely noticeable, but now he looks like a burn victim an hour removed from the encounter of which he’d doubtfully survive. He wore open sores still damp with fresh blood and flakey scabs that rain onto the mattress as crumbs while he scratches them uncontrollably. Pus would squelch out of the wounds and soak into the linen, and I would have to wash it every day to avoid him getting an infection.  

 

Despite my general ill feelings towards the man, it’s been a hellacious experience seeing someone who I’d spent my life thinking of as so strong and capable, now so despondent and horrifically marred. The silver lining of the whole thing was that at least spending my days as a volunteer nurse hadn’t interfered with my thriving social life. To tell the truth, coming home to care for the dirty old man those last couple of weeks had been the most socialization I’d had in years. 

 

I got out of bed like any other day, slowly the extra thirty pounds on my otherwise meager frame weighing me down as I rolled my sweat sodden body to the end of my mattress. I put on my slippers and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee before going to check on dad.  

 

I gave a gentle knock on the door and heard the sound of creaking that told me he was making an effort to answer it himself. This was a good sign, I thought; he’s recovering. Despite wanting to inherit the house I didn’t hope for the old man to die. Even if he was a creepy old windbag, he was still my dad. The sound of creaking continued but got no closer. 

 

“Dad? Are you okay?” 

 

Still just a steady sound of creaking. 

 

I knocked harder this time, if he was coming to the door I didn’t want to take his sense of independence, but I had begun to worry that he could be in danger or may have needed my help. 

 

As I banged on the door, a loud crash rang out in the room, and I flung it open thinking he must have fallen during his prideful shuffle towards self fufillment. 

 

I was correct that he had fallen, but that couldn’t have prepared me for the sight that awaited. Of the noose wrapped around my father's purple and bleeding throat, blood soaked into the fabric of the rope. The bed he had laid on caked with a layer of gore, in the shape of him, like a snow angel made on hot coarse asphalt. His face was swollen to be completely unrecognizable and covered in bloody sores gone black. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character that’d seen an attractive woman, which struck me as perversely ironic. 

 

I rushed in and began trying to loosen the noose. I untied the knot behind his neck, but when I went to throw the rope aside, I felt his limp body jolt forward with my hand, before thunking back to the hardwood floor. I gripped the bloody rope grafted to his skin, and began peeling it away, watching as soft stringy red flesh peeled with it. After I’d removed the rope there was a deep tread mark circling the length of his neck. 

 

In an act of desperation, I decided to administer my best approximation of CPR. His lips felt so hard, crusty, and cold, and I could feel what I thought was bubbles of air bursting as I pressed below his sternum. The bubbles popped rapidly, giving way to gaseous fumes that smelled of dank earth and iron and burnt as they passed into my throat. I removed my mouth with a choking gag but continued to apply chest compressions. Shards of scattered bone clicked together faintly audible under my heavy breaths, as bloody bubbles brewed from the back of his throat with each shove.  

 

There was no use, he was dead, cold and dead, and all I’d managed to do was further mangle his already horrific corpse. I sat back holding my head in disbelief, I knew he was struggling, but I could never have imagined him taking his own life. Cynically, the thought occurred that it was perfectly in character for the selfish old man to make his final weeks and death as painful as possible for those around.  

 

I couldn’t take my eyes from his lifeless body, I shook and hugged my knees for any sense of self soothing comfort I could muster. When a soothing voice cut through the chaotic static of my mind, a voice I hadn’t heard since I was six, but still recognized in an instant. The angelic yet firm voice of my mother. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.” A phrase she would often repeat to me as a child, and to herself as dad spent long nights at work, leaving her pacing the kitchen. It was also the last words she said to me the night before she killed herself. With the sound of her voice, I felt tension leaving my body, the chaotic haze that clouded my mind fading in a cool vibration that swept down my body and left my thoughts clear for the first time in many years.  

 

“Mom?” 

 

The voice of my dad cut in after. “Quit your crying Darell and do what I say.” A phrase he’d said to me many times as a child. 

 

“Have I lost my mind?” 

 

“Listen Darell, do what needs to be done.” Dad said. 

 

So I did, I called an ambulance. I had to feign a dread in my voice despite the almost sedative calm that my mother's voice had induced upon me and my hand steadied by the firm and decisive command of my father. 

 

“I missed you mom.” 

 

“Oh, quit all the sentimentality son, just do as I say.” Dad said. There was something about the way he said it, that seemed all too familiar. 

 

I waited at the door for them to show and when they did, two men and a woman exited, stretcher in tow. Seeing the woman something came over me, a feeling, a compulsion that I’d never felt before. She was tall for a woman, about 5’10, and stunningly beautiful despite the lack of makeup on her face, or maybe in part because of it. I’ve never been good with women, a fact that is largely responsible for my status as a virgin at twenty-nine years old, and under normal circumstances I would never have worked up the courage to talk to her on the best of days. But as I watched her long thick legs hastily carry her up the driveway, I felt I had to have her. 

 

“What’s his name and how long has he been like this?’ She asked hastily, her eyes fixed on her clipboard. 

 

“Well, I discovered him about twenty minutes ago, but he felt cold, so I have no idea.” 

 

“Ask her.” My father said in a cutting voice, he’d always been on me to be more forward with women. I couldn’t do that, I thought, not only was this woman out of my league but under these circumstances it’d be completely inappropriate. 

 

“Ok sir, well just stand aside and we’ll do all we can.” She said, walking past me. 

 

I was about to let her go, but my dad's voice came in again this time angrier. 

 

“Do as I say boy!” 

 

“Hey, I know this is a strange time to ask, but would- uhh- would you-” 

 

“Say it with some damn confidence boy.” 

 

“Would you like to grab dinner with me?” 

 

She turned around with a look of disgust on her face, but then I saw something twinkle in her eyes and her expression softened. 

 

“Ummm I mean, I really shouldn’t, but there’s something about you. Do you want my number?” 

 

“Yeah definitely." 

 

I handed her my phone and watched as she typed her number into it while looking over her shoulder to ensure her colleagues didn’t see. 

 

“I’ll see you then.” She said, blushing slightly. 

 

“I can’t believe that worked.” I said to myself quietly. 

 

“I told you to listen to me!” My father's voice cut in too harsh for the context as his lifeless corpse was wheeled into the room. 

 

As they hauled my father out of the door, my feeling of grief was outweighed by my elation to have gotten the beautiful paramedic's number. Besides, there was no feeling of loss, they were still with me, weren’t they? They were talking to me at least. 

 

After the paramedics left, I went to my room and started getting ready for work, slipping on my khaki pants and polo shirt. My father’s voice came through, this time harsh and jagged. 

 

“You look like a fool in that boy!” My Dad's voice said, and it brought me back to high school, me experimenting with various clothes that seemed “in” to me at the time. 

 

I looked into the mirror and suddenly felt ridiculous, had I always looked so childish in these?  

 

“Don’t you want some damn respect boy?” Dad said. 

 

I suddenly felt embarrassed and knew that it was time for me to make a change. I went to my dad's closet and saw a nice black suit hanging there. I pulled it from the rack and started to slip on the pants, but they wouldn’t quite fit around my bulbous hips. I struggled against them, tugging them as they cut into the sagging layer of fat, but they wouldn’t give. 

 

I hung my head in disappointment and threw the pants aside. A sudden and sharp, burning pain surged in my stomach that made me curl over on the cold wooden floor. I felt so hot, I could barely stand it, my whole body was slick with sticky sweat. I began to hack up a thick yellow substance from my mouth and nose and made me feel like I was drowning in a thick hot thick snot. My skin started to swell, my pores gaping open to the size of a matchhead as the dull yellow goop came out like a sputtering tube of toothpaste. It felt like my body was attempting to turn itself inside out as I violently writhed on the floor. I was drowning, encroaching shadows bordered my vision, as I pawed into my throat in a desperate scramble for even a sliver of air. Just as the darkness began to close in on the center of my vision, one last spurt of slimy vomit gave way to a gasping breath of air. 

 

I laid on the floor, soaking in a puddle of my own filth, cradling myself in the fetal position and softly crying through deep frantic breaths. I stood up and looked down and at the floor. There was a puddle of thick yellow fat with deposits of clear water bubbled atop it, a schizophrenic snow angel outlined in the puddle. After a horrified moments of grimacing at the mushy mess, my eyes glanced over to my body. It was leaner than it’d been since high school, my hands searched around my still sore torso in disbelief of my eyes.  

 

“What the fuck was that?”  

 

“Stay Calm and Breath.” 

 

“No, what was that? That’s impossible.” 

 

“That’s how I stay so thin.” I heard my dad's voice say. It reminded me of when I caught him wiping his face of vomit as he exited the bathroom after a night of particularly heavy drinking. 

 

I took a shower, and when I got out, easily slipped the pants on and looked into the mirror with a wink before heading off to work. 

 

I walked through the automatic door, and was greeted by the receptionist, Susan. Susan was a mostly plain looking woman, with tall curly hair and squeaky high voice that wore its jersey accent thick. 

 

“Sorry I’m late, there was a family emergency.” 

 

“No worries, Darrell, you’re on time every day. How you feeling this morning?”  She said without looking up from her computer. 

 

I started to put my hand up to give my standard platitude, before father interrupted. 

 

“Ask her.” Dad said. 

 

I felt uncertain, sure it’d worked last time but I couldn’t now just start hitting on every woman I pass, and besides I’d known Susan for too long. It’d be weird at this point I thought.  

 

“Have some damn confidence boy.”  

 

“Fuck it.” I thought, if nothing else, I’ll do it just to shut up my dad's intrusive voice. 

 

“Susan, did you do something different today?” Approaching her my nostrils became intoxicated on her fruity perfume laid on too thick. It was like a sweet wine that stifled my nerves. 

 

She looked shocked for a moment, I suppose I had never said much to her besides good morning and goodbye. 

 

“Umm, no? Why do you ask?” 

 

“Well, I suppose I just never noticed how beautiful you are.” Shock passed over her face briefly, before her expression relaxed, and a slight rosiness took hold over her cheeks. 

 

“Um thanks? I think.” 

 

“Of course, hey, we should grab lunch today.” 

 

“Yeah, alright.” She said with a twinkle in her eyes. 

 

I went to my cubicle and pretended to do my work as I alternated between fantasizing and worrying about the meetings to come. My fingers hit the keys randomly and with too much force as thoughts of failure creeped through my mind and manifested as a tension in my shoulders and at the bridge of my nose.  

 

Lunch came and I made my way to the lobby, where Susan waited near the door for me wearing a thick winter coat and a knee length skirt. 

 

“So, what do you wanna grab?” She asked. 

 

“Ya know there’s a great Chinese restaurant on main, we might be a little late to get back but trust me it’s worth it.” 

 

“Yeah, okay that sounds good to me.” She said with a smile. 

 

As we walked into the restaurant the smell of her perfume blended with the smell of Asian cuisine to form a bewildering concoction that overwhelmed my senses. I once again heard my dad’s voice. 

 

“Women love it when you pull their seat out for them, makes you seem like a gentleman and lowers their guard.” I was revulsed at the manipulative suggestion, but he’d pointed me in the right direction so far. So, despite the coarse reasoning I did it, even taking a slight bow as she sat down, before taking my seat across from her. 

 

“Oh, why thank you Darrell, I never knew you were such a gentleman.” 

 

“I got it from my dad.” I said with a smirk. 

 

“Well, he taught you well.”  

 

“Have you been here before?” I asked. 

 

“No actually, I always thought it was sposed to be good but just never got around to it ya know?” 

 

“I know exactly what you mean, I feel the same way about you.” I said with a nervous laugh. 

 

“...Right.” 

 

We ate the rest of our meals in heavy silence and decided it was time to head back, we were already ten minutes past lunch. 

 

We stood outside the restaurant waiting for our cab to arrive, huddled closely together to keep warm against the cold New Jersey January. 

 

“Well thank you for buying me lunch Darrell.” I stared at her lips as she spoke, full and glimmering a crimson red, slightly messy around the edges. 

 

“Do I have food on my mouth?” 

 

“Ask her.” 

 

“Can I kiss you.”  I said blushing and nervously. 

 

Her face showed shock at first, she cringed and pulled away. Then the familiar glint of light rolled over her eyes and she leaned in, eyes open and showing no emotion. 

 

She wiped her mouth with her arm and looked shaken after the kiss. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m not usually so forward…I have to go.” 

 

That afternoon I decided to call the paramedic, who according to my contacts was named Veronica. 

 

“Hello? Who’s this?” 

 

“Uhm Darrell, you remember we met yesterday morning; you gave me your number?” 

 

“Oh….yeah, umm how are you dealing with everything?” 

 

“Yeah, I mean surprisingly alright. It was hard at first, but I guess I realized it was for the best.” 

 

“Well, it’s good that you’re coping well. So, what did you want?” 

 

“Well, you said you wanted to go to dinner tonight, so I thought I’d take you up on that.” 

 

“Oh…right, I did say that didn’t I?” 

 

“Yeah, I guess it seemed like a good way to get my mind off things.” 

 

“Right, yeah, I guess we can do that. Did you have a place in mind?” 

 

“Well, there’s this great Italian place downtown I thought you might like. On me of course.” 

 

“Yeah, well that sounds good.” 

 

“What’s your address? I'll send a cab?” 

 

“You want my address?” 

 

“Yeah, just so I can send a cab.” 

 

“I don’t know that I feel comfortable sharing that with you, and I’m more than capable of paying for my own cab.” 

 

“Oh come on, you can trust me just so I can pay for your way.” 

 

“Uh no dude, I’ll get there myself.” 

 

I was surprised, it was the first time a woman had told me no since dad died. 

 

“Alright, yeah sorry, I’ll just see you there.” 

 

The cab dropped me off and I entered the restaurant. I saw Veronica sitting on a table with two chairs uneasily, her hands squeezing her chair under her firm ass. 

 

She finally looked up and saw me, and I watched her face swap from visible unease to a nervous smile as I waved at her. I found myself more nervous for this date than I’d been for the last. 

 

“Hey, I wish I got here before you so I could have pulled your seat out for you.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“I said I wish I got here before you so I could have pulled your chair out for you, ya know to be a gentleman.” I said with an awkward laugh. 

 

“Umm, I managed ok, but thanks I guess.” 

 

Shit, I’m blowing this. 

 

“You look really beautiful tonight.” 

 

“Thank you, that’s a very nice suit. It looks good on you.” 

 

“Thank you, it was my dad's.” 

 

I realized what I’d said at the same time as her, and I watched an inquisitive expression creep over her face. 

 

“Wait, sorry if this is impolite, but have you lost weight?” 

 

I panicked slightly at this. 

 

“Uh since yesterday?” 

 

“Yeah, I just could have sworn you were a bit bigger than your dad.” 

 

“Well black is sliming.” 

 

“Right.” 

 

I ordered us both a plate of chicken parmesan and saw her roll her eyes as I spoke for us both. 

 

“Did you want to order for yourself?”  

 

“Does it matter?” 

 

“I guess not now haha.” I was dying inside. 

 

We ate our meals with a red wine, and I could tell she didn’t have a good time. 

 

“Ask her.” I was shocked at this, as the night had seemed a disaster, but he hadn’t steered me wrong yet. 

 

“Can I have a kiss?” 

 

I watched as her face cringed in an instance, before uncurling to a blank expression, a bit of white passing over the yellow flame in her iris. 

 

“Yes.”  

 

I leaned forward and her lips met mine. We kissed passionately, but when I gleamed my eyes open for an instant, I saw her staring blankly ahead. She quickly pulled away, her eyes wide as she stared at me across the table. 

 

“Was that okay?” 

 

“Yes.“  

 

I began to feel like I could do whatever I wanted, women were crazy about me now, I could do no wrong. 

 

“Come back to my house with me.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

After we got home we sat down on my couch, I left the TV off because I had other plans. 

 

“Let's kiss again.” 

 

“Alright.” 

 

She leaned forward and I put my lips to hers, my hands began to slide around her back and side. I could feel an erection coming on, hot blood heating my member. I needed her, my desire was unquenchable, I slid my right hand over to her breast and squeezed. 

 

She pulled away instantly, pushing me off her. 

 

“Hey, don’t do that!” 

 

“I'm sorry.” 

 

“It’s ok, I’m getting a little tired I think I-” 

 

“Oh just take my bed, I’ll sleep in my dads.” 

 

“Alright, goodnight Darrell.” 

 

The next morning, I woke up and immediately knocked on her door, and as her footsteps heavily approached, it brought me back to the day before. I shook the thought, unwilling to allow myself to fret when I had a woman for the first time in my life.  

 

She opened the door, looking bleary eyed and disoriented. 

 

“Good morning, do you want to go get breakfast?” 

 

“Ok.” You started out of the room still in your pajamas. 

 

We went to a diner near my house, and one thing leading to another, we decided that she’ll stay with me the whole weekend. 

 

I woke up that Monday and knocked on her door before work; there was no answer, so I assumed she must have left for work herself. I once again went to my dad's closet and put on one of his suits, before leaving. 

 

As I walked through the automatic doors, I laid eyes on the familiar red curls of Susan as she bowed her head in diligent work. 

 

“Susan! Nothing like a weekend to recharge your batteries right?” 

 

“Don’t fucking talk to me! I already reported your ass to HR.” She said her face still ducked, staring at the papers on her desk. 

 

“What? What did I do?” 

 

Her head shot up from her desk, and I immediately saw around her mouth was covered with horrendous dark red scabs that had slimy yellow and brown infection at their centers. 

 

“What? That’s impossible, I don’t have that?” 

 

“Well, I haven’t done anything else different? Then I kiss you and the next day it starts blistering up?” 

 

My manager stepped out from the elevator. 

 

“Darrell, I need to speak with you in my office. Now.” 

 

I followed him into the elevator where we stood in the most tense and pungent silence I’d ever felt in my life. I was desperate to breach this heavy silence in any way I could think of. 

 

“Sir I really don’t think that could have been from me, she’s the first person I’ve kissed in ages besides-” My shock punctuated my sentence as I thought back to the bleeding scales that ate away at my fathers face, of my lips pressed to his as I desperately tried to pump air to his lungs. 

 

“Wait until we get to the office Darrell.” 

 

The elevator finally stopped and my boss took his large chair, its shadow casting through the room as a jagged slope. 

 

“Darrell, I don’t know what to say to you.” 

 

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

 

“You’re sorry? You spread a horrible, lifelong disease to our secretary of seven years, and you’re sorry?” 

 

“I don’t know what else I can say, I didn’t know I had it.” 

 

“That’s enough Darrell, our decision has been made.” 

 

I hung my head down in shame, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.” The words were unable to penetrate the wall of shame that barricaded my mind as I made my way back to the lobby. I wondered what’s come over me these last few days, how I’d gone from being so meek and unassuming to chasing every woman I met. Did dad know he had this condition? And if so why had he continued his womanizing ways for so long after mom died.  These thoughts were suddenly unimportant as a realization dawned in my mind. 

 

“Shit, I’ve gotta call Veronica.” I put my hands to my face at this thought, I’d really found myself taking a liking to her, and this would surely crush any hope we had of forming the relationship I’d been hoping for. Fuck when had I become so selfish? I may have given her a virus that will last for the rest of her life, and all I can worry about is how that may affect how she thinks of me. 

 

“Don’t be a fucking pussy boy.” My dad said, which is a phrase he’d said to me often. 

 

The elevator door opened and I was immediately met with the glaring eyes of Susan, as she peered over her desk hiding her scabbed face. Those eyes followed me as I made my way through the office, vinegar stinging at the raw exposed shame I felt. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.”  

 

“Shut up.” I said aloud unintentionally and tucked my head away from the room of eyes that suddenly turned to me. 

 

After I walked outside, I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone and called Veronica. 

 

The phone rang five times before she answered. 

 

“Darrel? What do you need?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry I just needed to know if you’ve seen any changes lately?” 

 

“Changes? What? You’ll have to be more specific.” 

 

“Well, it’s…it’s-” 

 

“Look I gotta go Darrell, I just got a call, I’ll see you this afternoon and we can talk then ok?” 

 

“Yeah, no worries, sorry to bother you.” 

 

“Fuck, what a day. I just need to get home.” 

 

I hailed a taxi, and got inside, it smelled like sex and sanitized vomit, which told me he’d been driving all night. We exchanged nods that we understood as an agreement to comfortable silence. 

 

Once I got home, I began to carefully inspect my face, but there were no markings. Until I pulled down my lower lip and saw a patch of exposed red tissue, I stared at it for minutes on end and thought I could see its border slowly growing. The sores sizzled slightly with bubbling pus, and if I let things go real quiet, I could faintly hear it like carbonation in my mouth. Purple veins were visible under the raw flesh, and I began slowly hovering my finger towards it. As my finger touched a stinging sour pain shot through my lip, I put my other hand to my face in excruciation, sticking the finger responsible in front of my face and watching the blood dripping from its tip. I began taking off my shirt to inspect the area and saw nothing. Then I pulled down my pants, and there was also none visible, until I brushed my fingers through my pubic hair and felt the familiar searing burn sear into the base of my penis.  

 

This voice was no longer that of my mother or father but sounded like a thousand tiny voices whispering in unison. “Spread us.” They whispered.  

 

“What? I can’t, I can’t knowingly pass this to other people, how could dad have done this for so long?” 

 

“Don’t end up like me Darell.” Mother said, but it wasn’t really her saying it; the words were jaggedly pieced together of things she’d said. 

 

“No, no you committed suicide like dad.” 

 

“Your dad gave it to me; he caught it from one of his whores.” 

 

 I fell to my knees, my whole life had been a lie. 

 

“You’re not her!” 

  

“Stay Calm and Breathe.”  

 

“No, no I can’t, if not spreading this means death, then so be it, this ends here.” 

 

I felt a pressure building in my stomach and pressed my hands to it in anguish feeling clusters of small round and gelatinous balls under my skin. 

 

I spent the rest of my day pacing around the rooms of my house, waiting for three, when Veronica would be getting off work. Running through imagined scenarios of how I could explain this insane and unbelievable realization to her. Until the time came, I heard her knock at my door. 

 

I took a deep breath before opening it. 

 

“Hey Veronica, you might want to sit down. I have a lot of news.” 

 

“Umm sure? Is something wrong?” 

 

“Yeah, honestly it’s pretty bad.” 

 

“Oh, so what is it?” 

 

“I found out today I have a disease, and that it spreads through kissing.” 

 

“Oh like mono? That’s weird, I’ve been feeling fine.” 

 

“Sort of like that, it’s hard to explain really, and when I do, you’ll probably think I’m crazy.” 

 

“Just tell me.” 

 

“Well, the day I met you, before our date, I kind of kissed this girl at work and now she’s got this horrible skin infection the same one my dad had.” 

 

“Oh? Well, why haven’t I been affected?” 

 

“Well, this is the crazy part, the only way to stop its progression is to kiss someone else, have you been kissing anyone else lately?” 

 

“Is this some convoluted way to ask if I’m seeing someone else? No, I haven’t kissed anyone else.” 

 

“You’re sure? No one?” 

 

“I mean I’ve given the kiss of life to people at my job?” 

 

“Shit.” 

 

“Listen Darrell, there’s no disease that you have to spread to slow its progression, this is paranoia.” 

 

“Veronica, you have to trust me.” She started to roll her eyes, then the glint of light rolled over her iris once again, and she looked at me deadly serious. 

 

“You’re serious? So, what do we have to do?” 

 

“I’m gonna let it take me, I can’t spread this to anymore people. Do you want to stay with me and do the same?” 

 

The same glint passed over her eye. 

 

“Alright.” 

 

I suddenly realized the level of control I have over her, I couldn’t force her to die alongside me. 

 

“Are you sure? Really think about this, you know, it’s a big decision, I don’t want you to do it because it’s what I want you to do.” 

 

“Darrell, I can make my own decisions.” 

 

“Yeah, but you could go to a doctor, experimental surgeries maybe, I just don’t want to live with it anymore ya know?” 

 

“I’m staying.” 

 

“Ok, so we’ll hold up here until it's over.” 

 

We sat in front of the TV, watching Baywatch, my dads favorite show and one that grew on me. Pamela Anderson was on her way to an emergency in a slow motion strut that seemed entirely impractical.  

 

“Don’t you think this show’s kind of sexist?” 

 

“What? How’s that?” 

 

“It’s treating these women like slabs of meat on display.” 

 

“Well, she’s a hero, who cares what she wears.” 

 

“I’d say you do, and likely everyone else who watches.” 

 

“We can change the channel.” 

 

“Please.” 

 

Veronica turned on a soap opera that was about halfway through its airtime. It felt perfectly awkward stepping into the melodrama with no context, but she seemed to be able to piece it all together. Her eyes lit up as the actors ran through a series of winding twists with every line. 

 

“You like this stuff?” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

I reached over and clasped her hand as the characters took turns gasping at each other's reveal. She clasped her fingers through mine in response, and I could suddenly feel a slight burning on the palm of my hand. I reflexively tried to pull away from the pain but as I did her hand came with me, and I could feel the wet sticky sore tearing.  

 

“Ow fuck.” She said, 

 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I grasped her hand and began to pry them away from each other.  

 

The raw flesh stretched like melting rubber between our hands, red and stringy; the dangling tendrils of skin and viscera getting thinner and longer as I pulled. I fell back when it came loose, I looked down at my hand to see half of her palm dangling off my hand, stringy and dripping onto the floor, as blood began to faucet from hers and onto the couch. 

 

“Oh fuck it hurts.” 

 

I ran to my bathroom and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol. 

 

“Hold still, I’ll try to make this hurt the least amount possible.” 

 

I poured it onto her wound, and she let out a blood curling cry, puss started to foam out of her hand like a mento in a soda. The suds began to puddle on the floor. 

 

“Shit, you really weren’t kidding.” She said staring at the red flesh where the palm of her hand was. 

 

“I’m sorry.” I said, wrapping her in a tight hug, and crying into her shoulder. 

 

A couple of days passed, and both of our faces had become eaten away with giant patchy scabs, I could barely stand to look at her or myself. On top of that, it was only once the enchantment her face held on me was gone that I realized we had nothing in common. I found myself involuntarily scowling at her as we sat on the couch together. 

 

“What are you looking at me like that for?” 

 

“It’s nothing.” 

 

“No, it’s clearly something, you’ve been acting super fucking weird these last few days. Say what you want to say.” 

 

“It’s just hard to look at.” 

 

“Excuse me? The fucking disease you gave me is hard for you to look at? That’s why you’ve been all quiet these last few days? You know what Darrell, I’m done, I’m gonna go to go to a hospital and just die there.” She said getting up from the couch and walking towards the door. 

 

“What? No, you can’t go.” 

 

She stopped where she stood “ok.” 

 

I dropped to my knees behind her as she neared the door. 

 

“Please stay with me.” 

 

She looked at me with pity and contempt fighting for dominance in her expression. 

 

I buried my head into her stomach and wrapped my arms around her hips as I sobbed. Under my cries I could faintly hear something writhing in her stomach but pulled away with a brittle crack as I felt the crust setting over my face. I stood to my feet. 

 

“I’m sorry I got you into this.” 

 

“No, you’re not Darrell.” She said, a tear starting down her eye. She cringed and put her hand on her cheek. 

 

“The tears burn.” 

 

The following week I heard sounds of pain coming from the bathroom, I knocked to see what was happening. 

 

“Come in Darrell.” 

 

I walked through the door and saw her laying naked in the bath, large open wounds with huge chunks of hardened flesh covering her body. The tub was an opaque red, with chunks of meat floating at the top to look like a blood stew. 

 

“Can you wash my back please.” 

 

“Of course.”  

 

I began to quickly walk towards her with an eagerness. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe Darrell. Do you not listen to your mother anymore?.” The assemblage of words sounded rough and stitched together. 

 

“Shut up.” 

 

“I didn’t say anything.” She said. 

 

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” 

 

I heard a wet squelching noise as I painfully sat on the side of the tub. I grabbed a rag, and began to gently caress it down her body. Flakes of hard scabs rained down into the tub as I gently scrubbed her. It was impossible to differentiate the soapy suds from the bubbly pus that was seeping from her.  

 

“Thank you, Darell.” She said as she started to weep. 

 

“It’s ok Veronica.”  

 

“It’s not okay Darrell; my life wasn’t supposed to be like this.” 

 

"At least we have each other.” 

 

“Darell, you know nothing about me, you’ve never asked.” 

 

“I thought you-” 

 

“What? I’ve known you for just barely over a week, I’ve always prided myself on my independence but then you come along and I can’t help but just go along with you. You think just because you’re not mean and you don’t hit me you’re a good partner. You’ve never once listened to what I want, you never ask me anything, you just tell me and I don’t know why I listen. I hear your voice in my head Darrell, it tells me to do things and I can’t help but listen.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“I know Darrell, you can’t help it, not anymore than I can.” 

 

“You can leave if you want.” 

 

“We both know I can’t.” 

 

“Help me to the room please.” 

 

I gently lifted her from the tub, shamefully admiring her scarred breasts as I did. I slowly laid her in the bed, and started to leave before turning to ask. 

 

“Can I lay with you tonight?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

I laid down for the last time, wrapped my arms around her to try to get comfortable.  

 

She began to turn on her side slightly and yelped in pain. 

 

“Ow it hurts.” She said as I felt warm blood begin to soak into the sheets around me. 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

“Let's just lay here.” She said, and I began trying to gently remove my arm from her side. I laid down on my back next to her, feeling dejected but glad to have someone next to me. 

 

“Goodnight.” 

 

“Goodnight Darrell.” 

 

Another week passed, this one spent entirely in bed, my back was welded to my soaked wet sheets, I could feel red tendrils of macerated flesh tearing with every subtle shift of my body. The room smelled like rot, shit, and iron but there was something else, the subtle sweetness of death twinging in my nostrils. Looking down, my skin looked like a burnt corpse, irregular plates of hardened tissue interspersed with patches of soft infected red that spit a steady sputtering geyser of pus. 

 

“Veronica?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“I don’t want to die a virgin.” 

 

“You’re a virgin?” 

 

“Yeah, I didn’t want to tell you, I thought you’d think less of me. Can we...” 

 

She chuckled slightly. “I’m not moving, do what you have to do.” 

 

I turned onto my side, tearing all the dry rotted skin from my back, leaving my silhouette on and sending blood fountaining onto the gummy meat that covered the sheets. I toppled off of my side, on top of her, both of us synchronistically belting a painful scream as I landed. I started to take off my boxers, but when I did I felt it pulling the skin of my penis, and I thought if I managed to remove them I’d lose it in the process. I reached through the hole in the front of my boxers, tearing my penis from both my skin and the wet fabric, of which I struggled to tell which was which. 

 

“Don’t cry on me baby, the tears sting.” She said 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

An apple’s bite of the tip was missing, as well as the skin on the side, showing purple veins spidering down my bloody shaft. The rest of the skin sagged down around it like a bloody towel. 

 

“Are you ready?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

I began to press my penis against her, the outside was crusty and scratched against the burning exposed flesh of me. It hurt, but I breached into her regardless. She let out a pained groan at the same time as me. It hurt so bad, I couldn’t stop, I pressed in and out until I couldn’t pull out anymore. I pulled and pulled, but the skin of our genitals had scabbed together like wet cement.  

 

I could feel our skin welding together as I laid atop of her. We kissed our mouths fusing together in an instant. They say you should never leave your eyes open during a kiss, but I made sure to, I wanted to see her until the very end. My vision started to close over, scabbing over piece by piece.. The final piece remaining of my vision was at the center, giving me a direct view into her eyes which were also scabbing over, then all went black. I hoped that hers had formed over at the same time. 

 

The activity in my stomach reached a feverish pace, I could feel the eggs bursting, tiny larva swimming around my organs. I could feel the worms sliding out of my urethra and into her, like swollen sperm. I could taste her trying to scream by the heat that entered my mouth. 

Neither of us could speak, but somehow, I knew she was telling me she loved me, the same as I was her. I don’t know if it was true, I don’t know what love feels like, but I wanted it to be true. Our mouths closed together; she’d never understand me, but I whispered into her mouth. 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.” 

Since his stroke, my dad’s been bedridden, and out of all his bastard children, the burden of nursing him back to health was placed on me. I agreed off the promise that I’d be put in his will to inherit the house after he passed. A nice two story in the suburbs, mild mannered for his taste, but to a late twenty's apartment renter of ten years it was paradise. Our dynamics seem to be untouched by the gradual changes of time and separation. Despite my resentment toward the man, I can’t help but follow his beck and call. I don’t know if it’s from intimidation set in from a harsh childhood or just an unquenchable desire for paternal validation. Regardless, every time he gives me a command, I find the words “Yes sir.” coming out of my mouth before my mind can even register the request.  

 

Ever since mom passed, I had known him as a serial womanizer, even in his bed-ridden state he would oogle the women on the television, comparing their parts to the ones he’d encountered in his escapades. His rhetoric would unfailingly fill me with disgust for his entitlement to women's bodies, and a bitterness that the women who I’d shown respect unfailingly would throw themselves at a pig like him.   

 

The stroke was minor, and he was expected to be on course for a full recovery in four to six months, but that hasn’t been the case. The doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong, but over the last two weeks he’s been developing these horrible scabs and marks over his body that cause him pain even from just lying in bed. 

 

It just kept getting worse, at first, it was barely noticeable, but now he looks like a burn victim an hour removed from the encounter of which he’d doubtfully survive. He wore open sores still damp with fresh blood and flakey scabs that rain onto the mattress as crumbs while he scratches them uncontrollably. Pus would squelch out of the wounds and soak into the linen, and I would have to wash it every day to avoid him getting an infection.  

 

Despite my general ill feelings towards the man, it’s been a hellacious experience seeing someone who I’d spent my life thinking of as so strong and capable, now so despondent and horrifically marred. The silver lining of the whole thing was that at least spending my days as a volunteer nurse hadn’t interfered with my thriving social life. To tell the truth, coming home to care for the dirty old man those last couple of weeks had been the most socialization I’d had in years. 

 

I got out of bed like any other day, slowly the extra thirty pounds on my otherwise meager frame weighing me down as I rolled my sweat sodden body to the end of my mattress. I put on my slippers and went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee before going to check on dad.  

 

I gave a gentle knock on the door and heard the sound of creaking that told me he was making an effort to answer it himself. This was a good sign, I thought; he’s recovering. Despite wanting to inherit the house I didn’t hope for the old man to die. Even if he was a creepy old windbag, he was still my dad. The sound of creaking continued but got no closer. 

 

“Dad? Are you okay?” 

 

Still just a steady sound of creaking. 

 

I knocked harder this time, if he was coming to the door I didn’t want to take his sense of independence, but I had begun to worry that he could be in danger or may have needed my help. 

 

As I banged on the door, a loud crash rang out in the room, and I flung it open thinking he must have fallen during his prideful shuffle towards self fufillment. 

 

I was correct that he had fallen, but that couldn’t have prepared me for the sight that awaited. Of the noose wrapped around my father's purple and bleeding throat, blood soaked into the fabric of the rope. The bed he had laid on caked with a layer of gore, in the shape of him, like a snow angel made on hot coarse asphalt. His face was swollen to be completely unrecognizable and covered in bloody sores gone black. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character that’d seen an attractive woman, which struck me as perversely ironic. 

 

I rushed in and began trying to loosen the noose. I untied the knot behind his neck, but when I went to throw the rope aside, I felt his limp body jolt forward with my hand, before thunking back to the hardwood floor. I gripped the bloody rope grafted to his skin, and began peeling it away, watching as soft stringy red flesh peeled with it. After I’d removed the rope there was a deep tread mark circling the length of his neck. 

 

In an act of desperation, I decided to administer my best approximation of CPR. His lips felt so hard, crusty, and cold, and I could feel what I thought was bubbles of air bursting as I pressed below his sternum. The bubbles popped rapidly, giving way to gaseous fumes that smelled of dank earth and iron and burnt as they passed into my throat. I removed my mouth with a choking gag but continued to apply chest compressions. Shards of scattered bone clicked together faintly audible under my heavy breaths, as bloody bubbles brewed from the back of his throat with each shove.  

 

There was no use, he was dead, cold and dead, and all I’d managed to do was further mangle his already horrific corpse. I sat back holding my head in disbelief, I knew he was struggling, but I could never have imagined him taking his own life. Cynically, the thought occurred that it was perfectly in character for the selfish old man to make his final weeks and death as painful as possible for those around.  

 

I couldn’t take my eyes from his lifeless body, I shook and hugged my knees for any sense of self soothing comfort I could muster. When a soothing voice cut through the chaotic static of my mind, a voice I hadn’t heard since I was six, but still recognized in an instant. The angelic yet firm voice of my mother. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.” A phrase she would often repeat to me as a child, and to herself as dad spent long nights at work, leaving her pacing the kitchen. It was also the last words she said to me the night before she killed herself. With the sound of her voice, I felt tension leaving my body, the chaotic haze that clouded my mind fading in a cool vibration that swept down my body and left my thoughts clear for the first time in many years.  

 

“Mom?” 

 

The voice of my dad cut in after. “Quit your crying Darell and do what I say.” A phrase he’d said to me many times as a child. 

 

“Have I lost my mind?” 

 

“Listen Darell, do what needs to be done.” Dad said. 

 

So I did, I called an ambulance. I had to feign a dread in my voice despite the almost sedative calm that my mother's voice had induced upon me and my hand steadied by the firm and decisive command of my father. 

 

“I missed you mom.” 

 

“Oh, quit all the sentimentality son, just do as I say.” Dad said. There was something about the way he said it, that seemed all too familiar. 

 

I waited at the door for them to show and when they did, two men and a woman exited, stretcher in tow. Seeing the woman something came over me, a feeling, a compulsion that I’d never felt before. She was tall for a woman, about 5’10, and stunningly beautiful despite the lack of makeup on her face, or maybe in part because of it. I’ve never been good with women, a fact that is largely responsible for my status as a virgin at twenty-nine years old, and under normal circumstances I would never have worked up the courage to talk to her on the best of days. But as I watched her long thick legs hastily carry her up the driveway, I felt I had to have her. 

 

“What’s his name and how long has he been like this?’ She asked hastily, her eyes fixed on her clipboard. 

 

“Well, I discovered him about twenty minutes ago, but he felt cold, so I have no idea.” 

 

“Ask her.” My father said in a cutting voice, he’d always been on me to be more forward with women. I couldn’t do that, I thought, not only was this woman out of my league but under these circumstances it’d be completely inappropriate. 

 

“Ok sir, well just stand aside and we’ll do all we can.” She said, walking past me. 

 

I was about to let her go, but my dad's voice came in again this time angrier. 

 

“Do as I say boy!” 

 

“Hey, I know this is a strange time to ask, but would- uhh- would you-” 

 

“Say it with some damn confidence boy.” 

 

“Would you like to grab dinner with me?” 

 

She turned around with a look of disgust on her face, but then I saw something twinkle in her eyes and her expression softened. 

 

“Ummm I mean, I really shouldn’t, but there’s something about you. Do you want my number?” 

 

“Yeah definitely." 

 

I handed her my phone and watched as she typed her number into it while looking over her shoulder to ensure her colleagues didn’t see. 

 

“I’ll see you then.” She said, blushing slightly. 

 

“I can’t believe that worked.” I said to myself quietly. 

 

“I told you to listen to me!” My father's voice cut in too harsh for the context as his lifeless corpse was wheeled into the room. 

 

As they hauled my father out of the door, my feeling of grief was outweighed by my elation to have gotten the beautiful paramedic's number. Besides, there was no feeling of loss, they were still with me, weren’t they? They were talking to me at least. 

 

After the paramedics left, I went to my room and started getting ready for work, slipping on my khaki pants and polo shirt. My father’s voice came through, this time harsh and jagged. 

 

“You look like a fool in that boy!” My Dad's voice said, and it brought me back to high school, me experimenting with various clothes that seemed “in” to me at the time. 

 

I looked into the mirror and suddenly felt ridiculous, had I always looked so childish in these?  

 

“Don’t you want some damn respect boy?” Dad said. 

 

I suddenly felt embarrassed and knew that it was time for me to make a change. I went to my dad's closet and saw a nice black suit hanging there. I pulled it from the rack and started to slip on the pants, but they wouldn’t quite fit around my bulbous hips. I struggled against them, tugging them as they cut into the sagging layer of fat, but they wouldn’t give. 

 

I hung my head in disappointment and threw the pants aside. A sudden and sharp, burning pain surged in my stomach that made me curl over on the cold wooden floor. I felt so hot, I could barely stand it, my whole body was slick with sticky sweat. I began to hack up a thick yellow substance from my mouth and nose and made me feel like I was drowning in a thick hot thick snot. My skin started to swell, my pores gaping open to the size of a matchhead as the dull yellow goop came out like a sputtering tube of toothpaste. It felt like my body was attempting to turn itself inside out as I violently writhed on the floor. I was drowning, encroaching shadows bordered my vision, as I pawed into my throat in a desperate scramble for even a sliver of air. Just as the darkness began to close in on the center of my vision, one last spurt of slimy vomit gave way to a gasping breath of air. 

 

I laid on the floor, soaking in a puddle of my own filth, cradling myself in the fetal position and softly crying through deep frantic breaths. I stood up and looked down and at the floor. There was a puddle of thick yellow fat with deposits of clear water bubbled atop it, a schizophrenic snow angel outlined in the puddle. After a horrified moments of grimacing at the mushy mess, my eyes glanced over to my body. It was leaner than it’d been since high school, my hands searched around my still sore torso in disbelief of my eyes.  

 

“What the fuck was that?”  

 

“Stay Calm and Breath.” 

 

“No, what was that? That’s impossible.” 

 

“That’s how I stay so thin.” I heard my dad's voice say. It reminded me of when I caught him wiping his face of vomit as he exited the bathroom after a night of particularly heavy drinking. 

 

I took a shower, and when I got out, easily slipped the pants on and looked into the mirror with a wink before heading off to work. 

 

I walked through the automatic door, and was greeted by the receptionist, Susan. Susan was a mostly plain looking woman, with tall curly hair and squeaky high voice that wore its jersey accent thick. 

 

“Sorry I’m late, there was a family emergency.” 

 

“No worries, Darrell, you’re on time every day. How you feeling this morning?”  She said without looking up from her computer. 

 

I started to put my hand up to give my standard platitude, before father interrupted. 

 

“Ask her.” Dad said. 

 

I felt uncertain, sure it’d worked last time but I couldn’t now just start hitting on every woman I pass, and besides I’d known Susan for too long. It’d be weird at this point I thought.  

 

“Have some damn confidence boy.”  

 

“Fuck it.” I thought, if nothing else, I’ll do it just to shut up my dad's intrusive voice. 

 

“Susan, did you do something different today?” Approaching her my nostrils became intoxicated on her fruity perfume laid on too thick. It was like a sweet wine that stifled my nerves. 

 

She looked shocked for a moment, I suppose I had never said much to her besides good morning and goodbye. 

 

“Umm, no? Why do you ask?” 

 

“Well, I suppose I just never noticed how beautiful you are.” Shock passed over her face briefly, before her expression relaxed, and a slight rosiness took hold over her cheeks. 

 

“Um thanks? I think.” 

 

“Of course, hey, we should grab lunch today.” 

 

“Yeah, alright.” She said with a twinkle in her eyes. 

 

I went to my cubicle and pretended to do my work as I alternated between fantasizing and worrying about the meetings to come. My fingers hit the keys randomly and with too much force as thoughts of failure creeped through my mind and manifested as a tension in my shoulders and at the bridge of my nose.  

 

Lunch came and I made my way to the lobby, where Susan waited near the door for me wearing a thick winter coat and a knee length skirt. 

 

“So, what do you wanna grab?” She asked. 

 

“Ya know there’s a great Chinese restaurant on main, we might be a little late to get back but trust me it’s worth it.” 

 

“Yeah, okay that sounds good to me.” She said with a smile. 

 

As we walked into the restaurant the smell of her perfume blended with the smell of Asian cuisine to form a bewildering concoction that overwhelmed my senses. I once again heard my dad’s voice. 

 

“Women love it when you pull their seat out for them, makes you seem like a gentleman and lowers their guard.” I was revulsed at the manipulative suggestion, but he’d pointed me in the right direction so far. So, despite the coarse reasoning I did it, even taking a slight bow as she sat down, before taking my seat across from her. 

 

“Oh, why thank you Darrell, I never knew you were such a gentleman.” 

 

“I got it from my dad.” I said with a smirk. 

 

“Well, he taught you well.”  

 

“Have you been here before?” I asked. 

 

“No actually, I always thought it was sposed to be good but just never got around to it ya know?” 

 

“I know exactly what you mean, I feel the same way about you.” I said with a nervous laugh. 

 

“...Right.” 

 

We ate the rest of our meals in heavy silence and decided it was time to head back, we were already ten minutes past lunch. 

 

We stood outside the restaurant waiting for our cab to arrive, huddled closely together to keep warm against the cold New Jersey January. 

 

“Well thank you for buying me lunch Darrell.” I stared at her lips as she spoke, full and glimmering a crimson red, slightly messy around the edges. 

 

“Do I have food on my mouth?” 

 

“Ask her.” 

 

“Can I kiss you.”  I said blushing and nervously. 

 

Her face showed shock at first, she cringed and pulled away. Then the familiar glint of light rolled over her eyes and she leaned in, eyes open and showing no emotion. 

 

She wiped her mouth with her arm and looked shaken after the kiss. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m not usually so forward…I have to go.” 

 

That afternoon I decided to call the paramedic, who according to my contacts was named Veronica. 

 

“Hello? Who’s this?” 

 

“Uhm Darrell, you remember we met yesterday morning; you gave me your number?” 

 

“Oh….yeah, umm how are you dealing with everything?” 

 

“Yeah, I mean surprisingly alright. It was hard at first, but I guess I realized it was for the best.” 

 

“Well, it’s good that you’re coping well. So, what did you want?” 

 

“Well, you said you wanted to go to dinner tonight, so I thought I’d take you up on that.” 

 

“Oh…right, I did say that didn’t I?” 

 

“Yeah, I guess it seemed like a good way to get my mind off things.” 

 

“Right, yeah, I guess we can do that. Did you have a place in mind?” 

 

“Well, there’s this great Italian place downtown I thought you might like. On me of course.” 

 

“Yeah, well that sounds good.” 

 

“What’s your address? I'll send a cab?” 

 

“You want my address?” 

 

“Yeah, just so I can send a cab.” 

 

“I don’t know that I feel comfortable sharing that with you, and I’m more than capable of paying for my own cab.” 

 

“Oh come on, you can trust me just so I can pay for your way.” 

 

“Uh no dude, I’ll get there myself.” 

 

I was surprised, it was the first time a woman had told me no since dad died. 

 

“Alright, yeah sorry, I’ll just see you there.” 

 

The cab dropped me off and I entered the restaurant. I saw Veronica sitting on a table with two chairs uneasily, her hands squeezing her chair under her firm ass. 

 

She finally looked up and saw me, and I watched her face swap from visible unease to a nervous smile as I waved at her. I found myself more nervous for this date than I’d been for the last. 

 

“Hey, I wish I got here before you so I could have pulled your seat out for you.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“I said I wish I got here before you so I could have pulled your chair out for you, ya know to be a gentleman.” I said with an awkward laugh. 

 

“Umm, I managed ok, but thanks I guess.” 

 

Shit, I’m blowing this. 

 

“You look really beautiful tonight.” 

 

“Thank you, that’s a very nice suit. It looks good on you.” 

 

“Thank you, it was my dad's.” 

 

I realized what I’d said at the same time as her, and I watched an inquisitive expression creep over her face. 

 

“Wait, sorry if this is impolite, but have you lost weight?” 

 

I panicked slightly at this. 

 

“Uh since yesterday?” 

 

“Yeah, I just could have sworn you were a bit bigger than your dad.” 

 

“Well black is sliming.” 

 

“Right.” 

 

I ordered us both a plate of chicken parmesan and saw her roll her eyes as I spoke for us both. 

 

“Did you want to order for yourself?”  

 

“Does it matter?” 

 

“I guess not now haha.” I was dying inside. 

 

We ate our meals with a red wine, and I could tell she didn’t have a good time. 

 

“Ask her.” I was shocked at this, as the night had seemed a disaster, but he hadn’t steered me wrong yet. 

 

“Can I have a kiss?” 

 

I watched as her face cringed in an instance, before uncurling to a blank expression, a bit of white passing over the yellow flame in her iris. 

 

“Yes.”  

 

I leaned forward and her lips met mine. We kissed passionately, but when I gleamed my eyes open for an instant, I saw her staring blankly ahead. She quickly pulled away, her eyes wide as she stared at me across the table. 

 

“Was that okay?” 

 

“Yes.“  

 

I began to feel like I could do whatever I wanted, women were crazy about me now, I could do no wrong. 

 

“Come back to my house with me.” 

 

“Okay.” 

 

After we got home we sat down on my couch, I left the TV off because I had other plans. 

 

“Let's kiss again.” 

 

“Alright.” 

 

She leaned forward and I put my lips to hers, my hands began to slide around her back and side. I could feel an erection coming on, hot blood heating my member. I needed her, my desire was unquenchable, I slid my right hand over to her breast and squeezed. 

 

She pulled away instantly, pushing me off her. 

 

“Hey, don’t do that!” 

 

“I'm sorry.” 

 

“It’s ok, I’m getting a little tired I think I-” 

 

“Oh just take my bed, I’ll sleep in my dads.” 

 

“Alright, goodnight Darrell.” 

 

The next morning, I woke up and immediately knocked on her door, and as her footsteps heavily approached, it brought me back to the day before. I shook the thought, unwilling to allow myself to fret when I had a woman for the first time in my life.  

 

She opened the door, looking bleary eyed and disoriented. 

 

“Good morning, do you want to go get breakfast?” 

 

“Ok.” You started out of the room still in your pajamas. 

 

We went to a diner near my house, and one thing leading to another, we decided that she’ll stay with me the whole weekend. 

 

I woke up that Monday and knocked on her door before work; there was no answer, so I assumed she must have left for work herself. I once again went to my dad's closet and put on one of his suits, before leaving. 

 

As I walked through the automatic doors, I laid eyes on the familiar red curls of Susan as she bowed her head in diligent work. 

 

“Susan! Nothing like a weekend to recharge your batteries right?” 

 

“Don’t fucking talk to me! I already reported your ass to HR.” She said her face still ducked, staring at the papers on her desk. 

 

“What? What did I do?” 

 

Her head shot up from her desk, and I immediately saw around her mouth was covered with horrendous dark red scabs that had slimy yellow and brown infection at their centers. 

 

“What? That’s impossible, I don’t have that?” 

 

“Well, I haven’t done anything else different? Then I kiss you and the next day it starts blistering up?” 

 

My manager stepped out from the elevator. 

 

“Darrell, I need to speak with you in my office. Now.” 

 

I followed him into the elevator where we stood in the most tense and pungent silence I’d ever felt in my life. I was desperate to breach this heavy silence in any way I could think of. 

 

“Sir I really don’t think that could have been from me, she’s the first person I’ve kissed in ages besides-” My shock punctuated my sentence as I thought back to the bleeding scales that ate away at my fathers face, of my lips pressed to his as I desperately tried to pump air to his lungs. 

 

“Wait until we get to the office Darrell.” 

 

The elevator finally stopped and my boss took his large chair, its shadow casting through the room as a jagged slope. 

 

“Darrell, I don’t know what to say to you.” 

 

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

 

“You’re sorry? You spread a horrible, lifelong disease to our secretary of seven years, and you’re sorry?” 

 

“I don’t know what else I can say, I didn’t know I had it.” 

 

“That’s enough Darrell, our decision has been made.” 

 

I hung my head down in shame, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.” The words were unable to penetrate the wall of shame that barricaded my mind as I made my way back to the lobby. I wondered what’s come over me these last few days, how I’d gone from being so meek and unassuming to chasing every woman I met. Did dad know he had this condition? And if so why had he continued his womanizing ways for so long after mom died.  These thoughts were suddenly unimportant as a realization dawned in my mind. 

 

“Shit, I’ve gotta call Veronica.” I put my hands to my face at this thought, I’d really found myself taking a liking to her, and this would surely crush any hope we had of forming the relationship I’d been hoping for. Fuck when had I become so selfish? I may have given her a virus that will last for the rest of her life, and all I can worry about is how that may affect how she thinks of me. 

 

“Don’t be a fucking pussy boy.” My dad said, which is a phrase he’d said to me often. 

 

The elevator door opened and I was immediately met with the glaring eyes of Susan, as she peered over her desk hiding her scabbed face. Those eyes followed me as I made my way through the office, vinegar stinging at the raw exposed shame I felt. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.”  

 

“Shut up.” I said aloud unintentionally and tucked my head away from the room of eyes that suddenly turned to me. 

 

After I walked outside, I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone and called Veronica. 

 

The phone rang five times before she answered. 

 

“Darrel? What do you need?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry I just needed to know if you’ve seen any changes lately?” 

 

“Changes? What? You’ll have to be more specific.” 

 

“Well, it’s…it’s-” 

 

“Look I gotta go Darrell, I just got a call, I’ll see you this afternoon and we can talk then ok?” 

 

“Yeah, no worries, sorry to bother you.” 

 

“Fuck, what a day. I just need to get home.” 

 

I hailed a taxi, and got inside, it smelled like sex and sanitized vomit, which told me he’d been driving all night. We exchanged nods that we understood as an agreement to comfortable silence. 

 

Once I got home, I began to carefully inspect my face, but there were no markings. Until I pulled down my lower lip and saw a patch of exposed red tissue, I stared at it for minutes on end and thought I could see its border slowly growing. The sores sizzled slightly with bubbling pus, and if I let things go real quiet, I could faintly hear it like carbonation in my mouth. Purple veins were visible under the raw flesh, and I began slowly hovering my finger towards it. As my finger touched a stinging sour pain shot through my lip, I put my other hand to my face in excruciation, sticking the finger responsible in front of my face and watching the blood dripping from its tip. I began taking off my shirt to inspect the area and saw nothing. Then I pulled down my pants, and there was also none visible, until I brushed my fingers through my pubic hair and felt the familiar searing burn sear into the base of my penis.  

 

This voice was no longer that of my mother or father but sounded like a thousand tiny voices whispering in unison. “Spread us.” They whispered.  

 

“What? I can’t, I can’t knowingly pass this to other people, how could dad have done this for so long?” 

 

“Don’t end up like me Darell.” Mother said, but it wasn’t really her saying it; the words were jaggedly pieced together of things she’d said. 

 

“No, no you committed suicide like dad.” 

 

“Your dad gave it to me; he caught it from one of his whores.” 

 

 I fell to my knees, my whole life had been a lie. 

 

“You’re not her!” 

  

“Stay Calm and Breathe.”  

 

“No, no I can’t, if not spreading this means death, then so be it, this ends here.” 

 

I felt a pressure building in my stomach and pressed my hands to it in anguish feeling clusters of small round and gelatinous balls under my skin. 

 

I spent the rest of my day pacing around the rooms of my house, waiting for three, when Veronica would be getting off work. Running through imagined scenarios of how I could explain this insane and unbelievable realization to her. Until the time came, I heard her knock at my door. 

 

I took a deep breath before opening it. 

 

“Hey Veronica, you might want to sit down. I have a lot of news.” 

 

“Umm sure? Is something wrong?” 

 

“Yeah, honestly it’s pretty bad.” 

 

“Oh, so what is it?” 

 

“I found out today I have a disease, and that it spreads through kissing.” 

 

“Oh like mono? That’s weird, I’ve been feeling fine.” 

 

“Sort of like that, it’s hard to explain really, and when I do, you’ll probably think I’m crazy.” 

 

“Just tell me.” 

 

“Well, the day I met you, before our date, I kind of kissed this girl at work and now she’s got this horrible skin infection the same one my dad had.” 

 

“Oh? Well, why haven’t I been affected?” 

 

“Well, this is the crazy part, the only way to stop its progression is to kiss someone else, have you been kissing anyone else lately?” 

 

“Is this some convoluted way to ask if I’m seeing someone else? No, I haven’t kissed anyone else.” 

 

“You’re sure? No one?” 

 

“I mean I’ve given the kiss of life to people at my job?” 

 

“Shit.” 

 

“Listen Darrell, there’s no disease that you have to spread to slow its progression, this is paranoia.” 

 

“Veronica, you have to trust me.” She started to roll her eyes, then the glint of light rolled over her iris once again, and she looked at me deadly serious. 

 

“You’re serious? So, what do we have to do?” 

 

“I’m gonna let it take me, I can’t spread this to anymore people. Do you want to stay with me and do the same?” 

 

The same glint passed over her eye. 

 

“Alright.” 

 

I suddenly realized the level of control I have over her, I couldn’t force her to die alongside me. 

 

“Are you sure? Really think about this, you know, it’s a big decision, I don’t want you to do it because it’s what I want you to do.” 

 

“Darrell, I can make my own decisions.” 

 

“Yeah, but you could go to a doctor, experimental surgeries maybe, I just don’t want to live with it anymore ya know?” 

 

“I’m staying.” 

 

“Ok, so we’ll hold up here until it's over.” 

 

We sat in front of the TV, watching Baywatch, my dads favorite show and one that grew on me. Pamela Anderson was on her way to an emergency in a slow motion strut that seemed entirely impractical.  

 

“Don’t you think this show’s kind of sexist?” 

 

“What? How’s that?” 

 

“It’s treating these women like slabs of meat on display.” 

 

“Well, she’s a hero, who cares what she wears.” 

 

“I’d say you do, and likely everyone else who watches.” 

 

“We can change the channel.” 

 

“Please.” 

 

Veronica turned on a soap opera that was about halfway through its airtime. It felt perfectly awkward stepping into the melodrama with no context, but she seemed to be able to piece it all together. Her eyes lit up as the actors ran through a series of winding twists with every line. 

 

“You like this stuff?” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

I reached over and clasped her hand as the characters took turns gasping at each other's reveal. She clasped her fingers through mine in response, and I could suddenly feel a slight burning on the palm of my hand. I reflexively tried to pull away from the pain but as I did her hand came with me, and I could feel the wet sticky sore tearing.  

 

“Ow fuck.” She said, 

 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I grasped her hand and began to pry them away from each other.  

 

The raw flesh stretched like melting rubber between our hands, red and stringy; the dangling tendrils of skin and viscera getting thinner and longer as I pulled. I fell back when it came loose, I looked down at my hand to see half of her palm dangling off my hand, stringy and dripping onto the floor, as blood began to faucet from hers and onto the couch. 

 

“Oh fuck it hurts.” 

 

I ran to my bathroom and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol. 

 

“Hold still, I’ll try to make this hurt the least amount possible.” 

 

I poured it onto her wound, and she let out a blood curling cry, puss started to foam out of her hand like a mento in a soda. The suds began to puddle on the floor. 

 

“Shit, you really weren’t kidding.” She said staring at the red flesh where the palm of her hand was. 

 

“I’m sorry.” I said, wrapping her in a tight hug, and crying into her shoulder. 

 

A couple of days passed, and both of our faces had become eaten away with giant patchy scabs, I could barely stand to look at her or myself. On top of that, it was only once the enchantment her face held on me was gone that I realized we had nothing in common. I found myself involuntarily scowling at her as we sat on the couch together. 

 

“What are you looking at me like that for?” 

 

“It’s nothing.” 

 

“No, it’s clearly something, you’ve been acting super fucking weird these last few days. Say what you want to say.” 

 

“It’s just hard to look at.” 

 

“Excuse me? The fucking disease you gave me is hard for you to look at? That’s why you’ve been all quiet these last few days? You know what Darrell, I’m done, I’m gonna go to go to a hospital and just die there.” She said getting up from the couch and walking towards the door. 

 

“What? No, you can’t go.” 

 

She stopped where she stood “ok.” 

 

I dropped to my knees behind her as she neared the door. 

 

“Please stay with me.” 

 

She looked at me with pity and contempt fighting for dominance in her expression. 

 

I buried my head into her stomach and wrapped my arms around her hips as I sobbed. Under my cries I could faintly hear something writhing in her stomach but pulled away with a brittle crack as I felt the crust setting over my face. I stood to my feet. 

 

“I’m sorry I got you into this.” 

 

“No, you’re not Darrell.” She said, a tear starting down her eye. She cringed and put her hand on her cheek. 

 

“The tears burn.” 

 

The following week I heard sounds of pain coming from the bathroom, I knocked to see what was happening. 

 

“Come in Darrell.” 

 

I walked through the door and saw her laying naked in the bath, large open wounds with huge chunks of hardened flesh covering her body. The tub was an opaque red, with chunks of meat floating at the top to look like a blood stew. 

 

“Can you wash my back please.” 

 

“Of course.”  

 

I began to quickly walk towards her with an eagerness. 

 

“Stay Calm and Breathe Darrell. Do you not listen to your mother anymore?.” The assemblage of words sounded rough and stitched together. 

 

“Shut up.” 

 

“I didn’t say anything.” She said. 

 

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” 

 

I heard a wet squelching noise as I painfully sat on the side of the tub. I grabbed a rag, and began to gently caress it down her body. Flakes of hard scabs rained down into the tub as I gently scrubbed her. It was impossible to differentiate the soapy suds from the bubbly pus that was seeping from her.  

 

“Thank you, Darell.” She said as she started to weep. 

 

“It’s ok Veronica.”  

 

“It’s not okay Darrell; my life wasn’t supposed to be like this.” 

 

"At least we have each other.” 

 

“Darell, you know nothing about me, you’ve never asked.” 

 

“I thought you-” 

 

“What? I’ve known you for just barely over a week, I’ve always prided myself on my independence but then you come along and I can’t help but just go along with you. You think just because you’re not mean and you don’t hit me you’re a good partner. You’ve never once listened to what I want, you never ask me anything, you just tell me and I don’t know why I listen. I hear your voice in my head Darrell, it tells me to do things and I can’t help but listen.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“I know Darrell, you can’t help it, not anymore than I can.” 

 

“You can leave if you want.” 

 

“We both know I can’t.” 

 

“Help me to the room please.” 

 

I gently lifted her from the tub, shamefully admiring her scarred breasts as I did. I slowly laid her in the bed, and started to leave before turning to ask. 

 

“Can I lay with you tonight?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

I laid down for the last time, wrapped my arms around her to try to get comfortable.  

 

She began to turn on her side slightly and yelped in pain. 

 

“Ow it hurts.” She said as I felt warm blood begin to soak into the sheets around me. 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

“Let's just lay here.” She said, and I began trying to gently remove my arm from her side. I laid down on my back next to her, feeling dejected but glad to have someone next to me. 

 

“Goodnight.” 

 

“Goodnight Darrell.” 

 

Another week passed, this one spent entirely in bed, my back was welded to my soaked wet sheets, I could feel red tendrils of macerated flesh tearing with every subtle shift of my body. The room smelled like rot, shit, and iron but there was something else, the subtle sweetness of death twinging in my nostrils. Looking down, my skin looked like a burnt corpse, irregular plates of hardened tissue interspersed with patches of soft infected red that spit a steady sputtering geyser of pus. 

 

“Veronica?” 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“I don’t want to die a virgin.” 

 

“You’re a virgin?” 

 

“Yeah, I didn’t want to tell you, I thought you’d think less of me. Can we...” 

 

She chuckled slightly. “I’m not moving, do what you have to do.” 

 

I turned onto my side, tearing all the dry rotted skin from my back, leaving my silhouette on and sending blood fountaining onto the gummy meat that covered the sheets. I toppled off of my side, on top of her, both of us synchronistically belting a painful scream as I landed. I started to take off my boxers, but when I did I felt it pulling the skin of my penis, and I thought if I managed to remove them I’d lose it in the process. I reached through the hole in the front of my boxers, tearing my penis from both my skin and the wet fabric, of which I struggled to tell which was which. 

 

“Don’t cry on me baby, the tears sting.” She said 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

An apple’s bite of the tip was missing, as well as the skin on the side, showing purple veins spidering down my bloody shaft. The rest of the skin sagged down around it like a bloody towel. 

 

“Are you ready?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

I began to press my penis against her, the outside was crusty and scratched against the burning exposed flesh of me. It hurt, but I breached into her regardless. She let out a pained groan at the same time as me. It hurt so bad, I couldn’t stop, I pressed in and out until I couldn’t pull out anymore. I pulled and pulled, but the skin of our genitals had scabbed together like wet cement.  

 

I could feel our skin welding together as I laid atop of her. We kissed our mouths fusing together in an instant. They say you should never leave your eyes open during a kiss, but I made sure to, I wanted to see her until the very end. My vision started to close over, scabbing over piece by piece.. The final piece remaining of my vision was at the center, giving me a direct view into her eyes which were also scabbing over, then all went black. I hoped that hers had formed over at the same time. 

 

The activity in my stomach reached a feverish pace, I could feel the eggs bursting, tiny larva swimming around my organs. I could feel the worms sliding out of my urethra and into her, like swollen sperm. I could taste her trying to scream by the heat that entered my mouth. 

Neither of us could speak, but somehow, I knew she was telling me she loved me, the same as I was her. I don’t know if it was true, I don’t know what love feels like, but I wanted it to be true. Our mouths closed together; she’d never understand me, but I whispered into her mouth. 

“Stay Calm and Breathe.” 

​

The sun stared nto my window like a peeping Tom whose energetic demeanor mocked my lethargic saunter. My white briefs clung tight around me, the liquor sweat congealing under the AC.

Steam simmered around a cup of coffee in a pink floral mug. A long sigh escaped my mouth and palleted my nose with the smell of cheap whiskey and a faint kiss of vomit. As I put the coffee to my mouth, my expression of exhausted apathy suddenly exploded to a look of wild pain.

Next to the coffee was a stack of legal papers, all signed with my name but not by me. Why she decided to keep my last name I’ll never know, if she wanted to get away from me so bad why keep the souvenir. I was always told that names were powerful, a bad name could destroy a career, relationship, or even a life. Regardless, this divorce had devastated me. Not because I’m some hopeless romantic who’s stuck on some woman who hasn’t satisfied him for the better part of a decade, I just didn’t know how I was gonna get by now. She took everything from me, just because she was the main breadwinner, and I hadn’t worked since I got back from the war.

When we were in the court room she cried about me not contributing to the household, but that was bullshit, I know that she loved me not working as it gave her a sense of power over me. This tactic of emasculation was exactly what drove me into the arms of another woman, one who would treat me like a man. Unfortunately, once she found the hooker's panties in the back seat of my car my case for leaving with anything in the separation was as dead as the foolish love that we felt on our wedding night.

Elastic snapped, sending a ripple through my bulbus belly as I took the half pint of whisky out of my waistband and topped off the cup of coffee. Today was the day the court mandated I leave my home, and I was gonna need to find a job and a place to stay. I cringed, taking a sip of my drink as I looked through the ads in the newspaper. She’d been getting me the cheap stuff since “we” decided to separate. But my cringe turned into a choking gasp of excitement as I came across a listing that seemed too good to be true.

“Temporary live-in caretaker and repairman needed. $1,000 per week plus living expenses to be paid when the job is complete. No prior experience needed must be able to perform basic cleaning and maintenance functions. If interested please come to, 324 Rockefeller Ave.”

No number attached. I’d heard of that house; it was sort of a local legend around here. Folks are weary to tell this story around too much, only heard in whispered tales around campfires and in macabre gossip. It was owned by the Richchesters, gold rushers turned oil manufacturers. For a time, they were the most powerful family in California, with their patriarch and CEO Thomas Richchester having a net worth of 50 million in the year 1870. However, a series of tragic and untimely deaths had made their name inseparable from the infamous curse rather than their accolades and wealth. By 1950 their numbers had dwindled, but the real killing blow happened when the oil began to dry in California. Their capital, wealth, prosperity dwindled to nothing over the years to follow, and as of ten years ago in 1965 only one of them was left alive. Most of the folks around here wouldn’t touch the first blade of grass on that property if you buried their mother on it. But I was never one to put much stake into superstitions.

I got up and headed straight to the bedroom; I wasn’t going to tell her I was leaving. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of turning my departure into some melodramatic goodbye. I tried to get my stuff packed in haste, not that there was much to pack.

“Joe? Are you leaving?” I heard from behind me.

“Yes.” I said mumbled and terse.

“Ok, well I wish you well. I’m sorry this ended so messily.”

“Whatever.” I heard her start to cry after saying this. She always had such a grating way of crying, blubbing and wheezing like a dumb kid.

“Oh, give me a break, you kick me out and you’re the one crying?” I said with a scoff.

I got in my 1968 Cherry Red Chevy Impala, the only thing besides my clothes I was keeping in the divorce.

When I got to the address, I saw a massive, rusted gate guarding a winding path swallowed into the line of bare and bony tree branches. I stepped out of the car to look for an attendant or a call button but there was nothing.

“Excuse me?” I called.

“I’m here about the job listing.” The only response was the echo of my own voice coming back to me, so I gave the large iron door a shove. A horrible metallic shriek that sounded like a woman in distress cried out as the door inched forward, pulling soil and stone with it. It sounded like a gunshot as the door broke through the decades old rust that had stuck it in place.

“Do I have the wrong address?” I asked myself through panted breaths.

A skeletal canopy of branches hung above me, letting through only faint slivers of gray shine as I cautiously drove on the tattered road. The sprawling branches of the birch trees looked like pale shriveled corpses, their brittle bones trembling under the faint windblow. Some of the branches slunk down in front of my car as if to block my entrance to this archaic and isolated place. What little patches of grass were scattered through the barren landscape, were wilted with a sickly yellowish brown color.

As I emerged out of the woods and laid eyes on the manor, a feeling a kin to staring down a giant came over me. The home was massive; its architecture. impeccable, but dilapidated and falling apart. A massive decaying wooden building with Victorian architecture, three stories tall with chipped white paint and massive windows that showed a dark interior. It felt like a discarded monument to the American dream we were promised.

The macabre sense of wonder that had transfixed me, was abruptly shattered by the realisation that this place was clearly abandoned. Ontop of everything else, there wasn’t even a single vehicle in the driveway.Despite the weariness building in my chest, I went on. I parked right in front of the staircase in the driveway that circled around the fountain sporting a tattered statuette of a woman cloaked in a pristine dress. The top of her head had been busted off, and around the break trickled a puddle of brown stagnate water that looked like thick rotten blood.

The steps and porch were made of a cracked and chipped carved stone, loose rocks kicked under my feet with every step. Two nine-foot mahogany doors sat next to each other, with a faded brass knocker hanging below the peephole. I gently pounded the brass knocker against the door.

The sound of creaking boards drawing nearer sounded predatory as I waited for the owner. My nerves were exacerbated by the encroaching sound of creaking wood.

“Hello?” A faint elderly voice wearing a faint British accent cried past through the cracked door.

“Uh yes, I’m here for the job listing.”

“Oh good, I’ve been needing a strong man to help me take care of things here.” She said through raspy breaths that seemed to rattle in her throat.

“Yes mam, I’d be glad to help you out around the property. It certainly seems like it could use it.” I said, gesturing my hand towards the house.

She opened the door fully and I struggled not to gasp. The woman's face wore deeply set wrinkles that made her look like a rotten pear. Her head was mostly bald but wore long sporadic strands of gray hair with speckled black age spots scattered around her pale scalp. Her back was hunched to where her posture was at waist height. She was wearing a dirty yellow ball room dress that looked about a century out of fashion,

“Come in.” She said followed by the slow sound of rusted iron unlatching.

The stench of mildew and rotten wood was pungent as I walked inside; it felt suffocating surrounded by the recycled dirty air.

“Thank you.” I said, stifling a fit of hacking.

I reached out my hand to shake, but she just stared past me in response. That’s when I noticed that her eyes were a pale cataratic blue.

Something inside me was telling me that I didn’t belong here, but then the thought of going back to Sarah crossed my mind and I decided I’d at least see this through. Besides, I was just going to need to stay long enough to afford a down payment on a cheap apartment. The black carpet was ragged and frayed, matted with a thick wet layer of clay that squelched slightly underfoot with each step. The wallpaper was a faded Victorian pattern of fern leaves encircling a rose, mold speckled around the floral design.

There was a fireplace caked in soot, and above it was a massive painting speckled with black mold. It was of their family, dozens of well-dressed men and women in a ballroom toasting glasses of red wine in drunken celebration. Their faces were spotted with spores of mold that made them look like they were horrifically sick. The only one whose face I could make out through the fungus was a young girl, next to her, a strip of the painting had been ripped out. Something about the painting called to me, as if it was pleading for my attention. A sickening feeling stewed in my gut as I looked at the faded family portrait.

“Shall I show you around?” My attention was abruptly and startlingly ripped from the queer painting, despite the meek and quiet nature of her voice. Like a whisper from a ghost, as your mind tries to make sense of a dark room.

“Sure, but this place seems to need a lot more help than I’d be able to do alone.”

“I don’t need it spotless, just as clean as you can get it before the real owner arrives.”

“You aren’t the real owner?”

“No, I just live here because of my family.” I found this strange, who would allow this old blind woman to live on this property alone.

“I mean, I can work at it.”

“That’s all I ask, now come with me.”

The old woman led me through the Victorian labyrinth at a snail's pace. I might have felt sympathy for the visible pain in her arthritic stroll, were I not so annoyed by having to walk so slowly behind her. The floor creaked and cracked with each lethargic step, threatening to shatter below me and sending me plummeting into the bowels of the earth. We walked into the massive kitchen which looked like it had been plucked from a nice restaurant and left here to rot.

“This is the kitchen; at one time we had ten chefs working here at all hours.”

“Wow, so…what happened.”

“Oh, that’s history now I suppose. Life has a funny way of turning your life to history when you’re not watching.”

I thought it was odd that I didn’t see any signs of rats in this big rotten mansion, no droppings, no holes, no sounds of clawing or the pitter patter of tiny feet. There weren’t even any roaches or flies despite the mess in the room. The pantry was full of nothing but rusted and dented up cans of peaches. The dining room had dirty marble flooring and prominently featured a table with ten chairs on each side, and a broken chandelier crashed down at its center.

We went through four other small rooms on this floor, which while dusty seemed to be untouched compared to the rest of the house. It was the laundry room, a servant's quarter, and two roomy closets full of tools. Finally, we went up the stairs, this level was in a more advanced level of deterioration than the first. The walls hardly showed any of the paper, instead covered by a fuzzy patchwork of black and white spores between support beams stripped bare. There were four doors in this hallway; Ms. Meredith stopped in front of the first door and slowly turned to face it.

“And this will be your room.” She said and pulled it open with a high-pitched scream that sent a shiver down my spine.

The bed looked cleaner than the room, but I was going to need to do a lot of work before I’d feel comfortable sleeping in there. I was just going to have to put up with it for now, once I got my first check I was out of here.

Then she led me to the third floor, unlike the others; it was not completely dark. At the center of the room was a hole in the roof that let through the light of day, and showed how utterly horrible of a state the room was in. Black fuzzy mud squelched under my feet with each step and caked up to the ankle of my boots. What little of the wall was still standing was pure black; they looked wet and dripped with an oozing mud. It was all one room besides a small closet in the back, and I guessed it had been a ball room at some point. By this point I’d decided I’d be better off slumming it on the streets until I could get a paycheck.

“We’re almost done now, just one room left to show you.”

She led me to the closet and opened the door, my jaw dropping in sync with the swinging of the old door. Gold bricks piled four feet high, filling the entirety of the closet.

“This is our fortune.”

“Oh, um, that’s a lot. How much is that?”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you anymore, the last I was told the price I was seventeen years old, and though I may not look it, I’m quite a bit older than that now.” She said with a tired chuckle.

I didn’t laugh, just stared ahead at the gold in awe. Why would she choose to live like this with all these riches at her disposal? The old hag is just gonna die and let millions rot in a moldy closet. She didn’t seem like she had anyone to leave it to, and I doubt she’d make it another year. Maybe I’d be staying here a little longer after all.

I forced myself to turn away from the stack, facing Ms. Meredith with a charming smile, before remembering that the old bag couldn’t see me anyways and relaxing my face.

“Well, it seems like you’ve done well for yourself.”

“Oh, I haven’t done anything, I was born into this.”

“Well, I look forward to working for you mam. It seems you’ve been needing a strong man around here.”

“Oh my, it’s good to hear you sounding so eager.”

“Oh yes mam. I believe if you’re gonna do something, it ought to be done right.”

“Well, if you’d like, you can get started on the first floor.”

“Yes mam.” I said with a smirk

I spent the rest of the day scrubbing down the carpet in the living room, finding a faded red under the sticky black mat. An unshakable feeling that I was being watched plagued me as I worked, and I found my vision returning to the painting each time this feeling reached its crescendo. By the time ten o’clock came, the majority of the carpet was once again visible in its original state. Feeling proud of my work, I went to fetch Ms. Meredith.

I held her hand as we walked downstairs, subtly caressing my thumb down the wrinkly arthritic claw as I led her. The appendage felt so brittle and warped, as though it would crumble like a rotten twig if I were to squeeze. Turning the corner on the spiral staircase, the yellow light of the fire came into view, and it gave the impression of descending towards hell. I led her onto the carpet.

“May I take off your shoes mam?” I asked

“You may.”

I slipped the off-white high heel off slowly off of her misshapen foot. It looked like she’d been wearing the shoes for so long that the structure of her foot had warped to the shape. It took great effort to not exclaim in disgust as I placed her foot onto the carpet. She began wiggling her toes through the clean carpet, and I watched as an expression of shock came over her face.

“What do you think?”

“What color is it?”

“Why, it’s red.”

I’d expected to see excitement at feeling the carpet cleaner than she likely had in several decades, instead an expression of horror crawled over her face.

“You’re doing a good job. I think I need to go to bed now.” She said, and it sounded like she was choking back tears.

“Um sure, let me lead you.”

“I can lead myself dammit! I’m not dead yet.”

This reaction shocked me, but the old bag was probably halfway senile; it likely just confused her old spore ridden brain to feel a clean surface for once. I pushed the thought away, assuming she’d react more positively after she’d slept for the night.

I laid restlessly in bed, the discomfort from the cold and dank bed expounded by this being the first time I’d gone to bed sober in many years. How could that old seemingly helpless bag have lived like this for so long. I decided that I’d sleep in the living room, next to the warmth of the fire and with at least some of the mold cleared.

The fire had dimmed to a bed of sparks, the warmth gone having escaped out from the cracked and rotten wood. I ventured out near the woodline grabbed a log and some branches and threw them into the fireplace. But as it landed against the ash covered floor, I heard the sound of thin metal squealing. I laid down next to the fire and tried to fall asleep, but an incessant rattling kept me from drifting off. I closed my eyes tightly in agitation, tossing and turning but unable to find comfort. After several moments of restlessness, I gave up and rose to my feet, determined to find the source of the noise.

I followed the ceaseless clatter to one of the storage rooms and saw on the floor that the pile of tools was trembling slightly. I began displacing the heap of tools, and underneath was a trap door. Lifting the hatch, I was stunned to see that the room was lit, the shadows swaying slowly at all angles. I dropped my head into the room and saw an oil lantern swaying back and forth, casting its blazing light onto the barrels wearing taps at their bottom that packed the massive room. A warm breeze of which origins I could not place ran across my skin as I descended onto the ladder. The wind died down as my feet landed on the soft rotten floor, soil sliding between the cracks as I walked across the cracked floor. I cupped my filthy hand beneath one of the taps, filling my palms with the liquid. I slurped down the brown liquid, and felt my nerves chill as it went down my throat. It was whiskey. Fine whiskey, the best I’d ever tasted. My eyes closed in ecstasy as the liquid burned down my throat, my whole body tingled with pleasure. It was strong but smooth and went down like liquid gold.

A monstrosity of dark reds and blacks caught my eye in my peripheral vision, and I snapped my head back to see a painting. A man with a thick curled mustache holding an open gold locket in front of him was centered on the painting, sitting in a throne on a balcony and facing down where a massacre was taking place. Native people being murdered by English men. A pile of them littering the bottom center of the canvas, to the left was a man holding a woman's neck in a choke hold as his blade stabbed through her chest, next to it a pack of dogs ripped the flesh off of a native child. I’m not a sensitive man, but even I found the piece distasteful and macabre, yet I couldn’t look away. My stomach turned, and I felt sickened as I stared at the grotesquery that was immortalized in oil paint before me.

It took great effort to rip my vision away from the horrid piece. I tried to push the thought out of my mind, after all I was surrounded by enough liquor to drink myself stupid two lifetimes over. Despite all that was disturbing about this relic of a house, I was a simple man and there was little qualms that a belly full of liquor and the prospect of exuberant wealth couldn’t quell. The liquor flowed down my throat in a numbing stream, as I laid back on the floor tilting my head to the faucet. The room seemed to sway with the overhead lantern, swinging in lethargic circles as I floated in the center.

I tried to make myself okay with the prospect of marrying Ms. Meredith for her wealth, but the thought of her cracked old lips licking and slurping on mine killed any excitement brought on from the money. My thoughts were nonlinear and seemed to flow in and out like salt in the current of an estuary, images and snapshots with no logic or reason. I saw her naked form laid before me, then I saw her dead, pictured the feeling of her wrinkled skin kneading like stale dough beneath me, then I felt the weight of a gold bar in each hand. As my mind drifted towards the darkness of sleep, a certainty set in my mind. Nothing was going to stop me from leaving with that gold.

My head felt as though it was being squeezed by the dirty air filling the room as my eyes crustily fluttered opened. The air entering my lungs felt like it was being sucked through a straw half full of dirt. The lantern had gone out, and I was covered in heavy shadows with my back soaking in a puddle of whiskey. Despite my body urging me to lay down and just allow the mold to grow over me, I knew I was going to need to impress this lady if the plan was going to work. I went upstairs and made my way to the pantry to grab one of the rusted old cans of peaches. I looked for a bowl and silverware and was surprised to find that they were actually clean and organized properly. Inside the can it looked as if the peaches had dissolved and left nothing but a chunky syrup that slopped out with a noise that sounded like pulling thick congealed oil out of a clogged drain.

I’d noticed that I’d subconsciously defaulted to a more careful gait; everything in this house felt as though it may collapse with the slightest provocation. Something born with such class and esteem now so decrepit and frail; their distinguished architecture and decor now only serving to highlight the magnitude of its descent.

I gently knocked upon her bedroom door, feeling the hinges tremble from the slightest force rapped upon them.

“Ms. Meredith? I have breakfast for you.”

“Oh, just a minute love.”

My foot drummed impatiently and without rhythm on the rotted wood that let out damp hollow thuds as I waited for her to answer. I heard the heavy doorknob start to turn, I started to right my posture and fix my face from an annoyed scowl to a charming smile. But as I saw the pale blue peaking behind saggy basset hound lids, I relaxed my face. She was wearing the same gaudy dress as the day before.

“Good morning! How did you sleep?” I asked, with an artificial chirpy inflection in my voice.

“Fine, thank you. I’m sorry for getting upset last night, this is just an emotional time for me.”

“I understand completely mam; you have nothing to apologize for.” I lied.

“You’re doing an excellent job so far.”

“Why don’t I start on your room today? Wouldn’t you like to sleep in a clean room for once?”

“Well, I appreciate the thought, but like I said before, this isn’t for me. They won't be entering my room; we’ll only do it if there’s time for it when you’ve finished the rest.” I thought this old lady was out of her mind, but I was willing to play into her delusion if it gave me a chance at all that gold.

“If you say so mam, I’ll start scrubbing down the walls of the living room today then.”

“Yes, that sounds fine.” She said,

I reached out and took her hand into mine, clasping my fingers gently around her brittle, bony, wrist as I guided the twisted mess of an appendage to my face. Her skeletal fingers were splayed and bent, and her skin felt so dry and cold as I placed my lips upon her. It felt as though the warmth and wetness of my mouth would bleed through her paper skin and rot the brittle foundation of the bones in her hand.

“Will that be all madam?” I said with a smirk, knowing that I’d given the old woman something she hadn’t felt in years, and that gave me power over her. I felt a sense of satisfaction at holding power over someone with so much more wealth than me. More than me for now atleast.

“Yes…yes I believe that will do.”

My throat chapped from the barrage of spores and dirt that flew into the air as I wiped down the walls. There was a certain satisfaction to this work that overpowered the sense of annoyance I felt to be straining myself all day. I felt like an archeologist digging something mighty and powerful out of its earthly constraints. As if denying the natural rot of which life is owed for all things, deciding that something of this magnitude shouldn’t face the limitations of mortality.

That night before bed, I was setting fresh logs into the fireplace, but as I did so I noticed that there was a small hidden hatch opened at the center of it. My head turned on a swivel to ensure I wasn’t being watched. There was no one around me, but even still I felt a burning stare from above. It was only a small compartment, but if she so openly showed me her wealth of gold, imagine what rarities she would intend to hide from me.

My hand inquisitively prowled around the compartment, but I jerked it away after I felt something rough and cold slice into my hand. I put the wounded finger into my mouth to nurse the cut, tasting rust as I sucked it, before more carefully exploring the compartment. Inside was a knife, a golden locket, and a lock of blonde hair. The knife looked old and had the diamond patterns of Native American design ornamenting its handle. Inside the locket was a picture of a young lady who looked similar to the young girl in the picture, only older. This explained a lot; it seemed that the pictured massacre in the basement was likely in retaliation for the Native populations' scalping of this young lady. Folks around here tell legends about the supposed savagery of the native population local to this area, so this seemed to be the natural conclusion.

There was nothing of interest here, and I decided I should leave it alone. Either she does know about it and didn’t want me to find it, or she doesn’t and if the carpet was enough to dredge up old memories, this would lead the old hag into hysterics. I carefully placed the artifacts in the exact spot from which I’d taken them, closed the hatch and went to the basement.

Something about the basement made me feel like I had judgmental eyes constantly peering at me, as if some spectator found me unworthy to inhabit this historic building or land. But I dismissed this feeling as this room carried my only respite from the filth and work. Once I’d gotten enough drink into me, the creeping feeling began to diminish, replaced by an appreciation of my own cunning.

“This dumb old broad, I’m gonna take her for everything she’s worth.” I slurred to myself, lying on the basement floor.

“And after she croaks, I’m gonna sell this old piece of shit to the first buyer and make off with my new fortune.”

“Then when I’m living the highlife, Sarah will see how badly she fucked up leaving me.”

Liquor poured down onto my shirt as I shoveled handful after handful of the stuff down my throat. I laughed and rejoiced in the splendor of what was to come, in a matter of weeks I’d be rich beyond my wildest dreams. My merriment came to a screeching halt as the warm breeze once again started back. It was gradually growing in strength, until the painting behind me began trembling wildly against the wall. I found myself staring at the piece as it quaked on its hinges, before falling to the ground. Where the painting was there was only a deep inscription roughly cut into the rotten wood.

“Clean and polish her mighty walls yet screams still echo in her halls. A bloody foundation will never dry, and a people so proud may never die.”

A quiet horror sat in my stomach as I stared at the writing. I knew it was just the work of some vandal, likely an employee who’d become too bought in to the nonsense about the curse. But nonetheless I felt something in these words that pierced through my protective layer of agnosticism and deceit, a prevailing sense of truth. The sobering sense of dread weighed heavily on me as I went to sleep that night.

Over the course of the following weeks, I worked diligently to clean the bottom floor, my only free time spent holding my vomit as I flirted with the old hag. But it seemed to be working; the bottom floor was clean beside one of the storage rooms, and Meredith was certainly warming up to me, I thought. She’d been slowly spending more and more time with me, first we just ate together, then she began to sit in and make conversation for the majority of my cleaning sessions. Now she even asked me to sit at her bedside until she slept.

Part of me wanted to feel bad for her; she was clearly desperate for the human connection she’d been denied for who knows how long she’d been isolated here. But I just can’t bring myself to feel much sympathy for some headcase trust fund baby. If I’d started with a quarter of what she has, I certainly wouldn’t be spending my days cleaning mold and chatting up an old lady whose mind has been lost to age and the fungus eating away at her brain. The goal was still the same, get this old woman to marry me, and wait for her to die. But I knew I’d have to hurry; at her age any day could be the last.

That night, as I sat by her bedside while she got ready for sleep, I decided it was time.

“Ms. Meredith?”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you something. I know that I may not come from wealth as you do, but over the last several weeks I’ve started to feel a really strong connection to you. The gap between our age be damned, I love you, Meredith.” I got down on one knee in front of her.

“Meredith, will you Marry?”

“Well, of course not.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m far too old to be getting married, and if I did it wouldn't be to someone of a lower class.”

“I understand.” I said through gritted teeth before leaving the room.

I went to the basement and began to drink. Who did this old bitch think she was? Denying me? After all the work I’ve done for her, and all the time spent sickeningly humoring her. Fuck this. If she wasn’t going to give it to me, I was going to take it.

My drunken mind felt numb and thoughtless as I grabbed the knife from the lockbox. The curved handle felt alien in my hand as I made my way to her room. I stood outside the door, building the nerve to do the deed. It always felt like I was being watched in this house but now it felt as though something was watching my every move with great interest. Like the spores of mold on the ceiling were eyes patiently waiting to damn me. I opened the door as quietly as possible, but the metal hinges whistled to give me away. She didn’t stir. I slowly walked towards where she laid prone, ready to drive down the blade and start my new life. I stood next to her and closed my eyes.

“Don’t kill me like this please.”

As she said this, I could feel my heart sink into my stomach, heavy blood drummed in my temples, as I tried to hide the weapon behind my back.

“What? Sorry mam, I just thought I heard something in here.”

“Oh, hush that. I may be old, but I’m no fool. I’ve been wondering when you’d get the nerve to do me in and make off with the money.”

“No, I,”

“Not like this. If you lie with me, I’ll make you the sole heir to my fortune. And after you’ve made love to me, you can take it all, I won't stop you.”

“But, why?”

“I have spent my days sworn to celibacy, our family has a…dark history, and I wanted our bloodline to end with me. But now, I’m nearing my death, and I want to experience love with a man before I die.”

“Ok, I’ll do it.” I said, climbing into bed.

“Not here.”

She said, standing up, she took my hand and began to lead me upstairs facing me as she walked backwards. It seemed as though she was trying desperately to see me through the blinding film over her eyes. The mold lining the floor like a perverse floral path leading the way to our lovers bed. As soon as I stepped onto the third floor, I could feel the mud and thick layer of mold caking around my feet, ankle deep and dripping down into the bottom of my shoes.

She released my hand, and I watched as she backed through the room facing me; her pale feet drenched in the filth. She walked under the hole in the roof; the moon was a spotlight shining down on her, the wrinkles in her skin exacerbated by the downturned lighting. She reached behind her back and began to zip down her filthy extravagant yellow dress, with her eyes fixed on me. The dress slowly revealed her saggy and gray body as she pulled it down herself. Skin peeled with the dress, as if all the time spent in it had fused the dress to her body. When she stood bare in front of me, I approached her. I felt her sagging skin like thick layers of clay, stretching as I guided my hand across her back.

I eased her down onto the layer of filth, and she closed her eyes as she sank down into it. I started to mount her and to loosen my belt.

“No. Undress.”

Reluctantly, I obliged. The old woman was going to be giving me millions; I could do as she asked for tonight.

I stood up and slid my shirt off of my skinny fat body, a shadowed ribcage over a protruding gut. I dropped my pants around my ankles, my skinny legs looking like bones under the cool light of the moon. It felt as though I was laying on a corpse as I mounted her; her skin radiated icy. Her hands caressed down my body, and I saw a disappointment pass over her face as she took in my physical form.

The woman's face instantly turned to shock, and her eyes which had always been squinted under the weight of her sagging skin went wide. Her eyes still looked young; I found myself entranced in the pools of cataracted blue.

I was small, my hands were dainty, and I looked down to see myself in a white dress. A larger hand was wrapped around my own, and my vision traced down the cuffed and laced dress attached to the hand to find a beautiful young woman. The woman from the locket. The ballroom was vibrant and extravagant; the walls were a dark red with clam patterns up their length. Men in black suits spoke to each other in posh mumbled jargon, and the girl was speaking with a Native American man in a suit and head dress. They began to dance and it was beautiful. Despite coming from different cultures and their physical expression being alienated from each other's, their bodies seemed to move with each other effortlessly, a fusion of the unique illustration of their cultures come together. I tore my eyes from the display of love and saw the men of the party all focused on them with looks of spite on their faces. When I looked back at her, she was crying, and there was a small lump on her belly. Something strong wrapped around my wrist, pale clean hands restraining me as I tried to reach for a girl being pulled away. I didn’t know who it was, but I was sure I loved her, and that I wouldn’t see her again. I was suddenly in a thrashing ocean of blood, thick waves of it throwing me and crashing down upon me as I struggled to stay afloat. I let out choked and gurgled screams and moans as I struggled against the waves. In the distance was a black island, and I began to swim to it. The blood rushed into my mouth and coated my eyes in a red filter, but through the blood I could see the island was the house. I climbed hacking onto the stairs and went inside.

They were dead. All of them dead, dead and mangled sprawled across the white carpet, and I watched as it turned to a dark red. Their bodies began to mold over, and it spread down to the floor then onto the walls. I laid down with them. I didn’t wish they were alive; I knew they deserved what happened to them, but this was all I had, and it wasn’t mine. I looked down at my hands, and they were covered in blood. I tried to wipe the blood from my hands onto the carpet, but each stroke just drenched me deeper. I began to hear crunching, and the squishing of juicy wet meat.

My vision returned to the room, and I saw blood all around me. Meredith’s torso and hips were mangled and broken, blood leaked from her vagina into a pool under her ass. Her body moved unnaturally as if the frail structure of her body had been turned to a jelly. My body was drenched in blood and I could feel it dripping off of my face. I pulled myself out of her and looked down in appalled horror. Her body looked pale, swollen and there was a fracture leaking blood that started at her forehead and spidered out around her face.

“God, Meredith? Are you ok? I don’t know what happened.”

“Thank you. For paying for our sins.” She said, but the words sounded croaked and gurgled as though she was speaking with her throat full of mud.

The lines of blood marking her face split open, revealing spore ridden meat that turned to a red and black paste before my eyes. I wanted to vomit, I wanted to scream and run, but all I could manage to was to watch in utter horror. The red in her remnants was overtaken by the fuzzy black, as she became nothing more than a pair of blue eyes sat atop a rushed grave of black mold.

I heard a massive groan that sounded like the trumpets of god signaling the end. The blood-soaked floor trembled beneath me, as high pitched creaks and the sound of popping grew in a frenzy.

“The house is falling.”

I grabbed as much gold as I could fit into my arms and began to run. The walls around me began peeling rapidly, boards falling and rotting away into mushy mulch behind me. Steps fell through as my foot touched them on my mad descent towards the exit. A crash rang out behind me as I exited the stairwell, and I fell to my knees as something slashed through my Achilles tendon.

“Fuck.” I screamed before looking back to see what had happened.

The stairwell had collapsed, and I saw a nail covered with blood next to my foot. The rust thickened over the bit of iron, it began to curl in on itself before breaking into brittle pieces. My heart raced with confused panic as I ran towards the massive doors. Upon collision I was knocked back, with my wet feet sending me tumbling hard onto the rotten wood on the ground. There was a wet crunch beneath me, as wooden boards rained down. A few pieces of framing slacked under my weight, but felt as though they could collapse at any moment. I took a deep breath. I'd have to be careful. I started to move my weight over to grab the floor, but as I eased over I heard a whisper from behind me.

Despite my better judgment, I swiveled my head around 180 degrees to see what caused the noise.

I could only catch a glimpse before the floor gave under me; I saw the painting, the mold had all but consumed it, but it seemed like I saw one more person buried under the fungus.

My vision became tunneled as my body crashed onto the rubble beneath me. I clumsily tried to rise to my feet, but before I could get to my feet, something grabbed my hair at the scalp. The cold hand fixed my vision ahead towards the slaughter; it was all my tunneled vision could see.

Something cold and sharp pressed into the nape of my neck, tearing a wide hole as it pierced through my marred skin. I grabbed at the wrist and pleaded, but before I could get my stuttered words out, the blunt tip began to tear its way under the skin of my neck. I screamed bloody murder as I felt soft tissue tearing, sinewy muscle fibers splitting and blood caking into my thinning hair. I heard a sickening sound of wet peeling as the strong hand reared back with the clump of hair in his grip. The blade began sliding down the length of my scalp, while blood poured into my face.

I clawed at the hand, trying to pry the cold fingers vice like griping off of my hair, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how I tried to contort the lanky fingers. I could feel thick blood and the taste of iron forming in my throat from the non-stop screaming, but there was no one around to hear me.

The ground beneath me continued to grow softer, my knees sinking into the indent and pulling at my all but severed scalp. Until I fell through. My body tore free of the scalp with a noise that sounded like an elastic band snapping. I screamed and writhed in agony as I laid on the cold wet dirt, it was dark around me.The only thing I could see in the darkness, was the shiloutte of a head laid facing me. thought going through my head in my final moments was the poem I’d found behind the painting.

“Clean and polish her mighty walls yet screams still echo in her halls. A bloody foundation will never dry, and a people so proud may never die.”

It was a beautiful summer day in the peaceful town of Tinyville. The sky above was a warm, fiery orange that turned to a cotton candy pink at the horizon. My concentration would incessantly drift from the road ahead to the blend of fantastic colors looking down upon me, as I tried to get home before the acid kicked in.

As I drove ahead, I faced a decision. If I turn and go onto the highway, it’d only be a fifteen or twenty minute drive home, and I’d likely make it before the acid started to peak. However, if there happened to be a traffic jam then I’d be fucked. Conversely, I could stay on the backroads and make it home in forty, and while the acid will have kicked in by then, the course ahead would be more manageable.

This debate looped in my mind as I stayed at a stop sign watching the purple of dusk invading the pink clouds from the horizon. Day rests at the precipice of night's ocean in overfill; its tide rising in waves to swallow and regurgitate the day in an endless cycle. Or maybe the tide isn’t rising, instead we’re sinking and-.

This thought was interrupted by a screeching horn from behind me.

“Shit.” I said hammering my gas and driving straight past the stop sign. It looks like I’ll be taking the long way. Things were getting fuzzy quickly; my focus was in and out like a theremin next to a set of newton balls. The darkness of night rose into the sky like smoke and danced around the stilted fiery color that stood in prideful indignation of the coming oblivion.

Fuck did I pass my house? How long have I been driving?

I thought it was annoying that they seemed to make the lane so wavy since the last time I drove on it, but I thought this was just big oil trying to squeeze more out of us and paid it no mind as I swerved down the way. The hot air in my car seemed to match the pace of my panic twinged breath, and I became upset at it because I felt it was mocking me.

It’s 5:13, so I should be home soon. I think I don’t remember when I left but I knew I needed to be home by 5:30 I thought.

“Did you know we’re going to die tonight?” My friend Alan said from the passenger seat.

“Who told you?” I asked in a whisper.

“He did.” He said, pointing ahead.

I turned my attention to where he was pointing and stomped on my break as I saw a tiny deer standing in the road. It turned to look at me and I saw a massive swollen tongue that looked like a monkeys brain pressed through a taffymaker hanging out of its mouth. We locked eyes, and she began to walk towards me. She kept growing as she got closer, until she was the size of the car and standing right next to it.

The tongue that had sat limp suddenly shot to life like a serpent striking, hitting against my window with a wet thud. The wrinkled flesh wiped around my window, coating it in a thick layer of saliva.

“These guys are the worst, tell him to go.” Alan said.

“Hey we’re good, we just got it cleaned, no thank you.”

But she did not listen because she didn’t speak English. After she’d wiped down all the windows she rubbed them down with her fur until she’d gotten all the streaks off of it. Honestly she did a pretty good job, looking ahead I could see the darkness a lot clearer now. Saliva spritzed off her tongue as she waved it in circles like a propellor, and this told me to roll down the window. She nodded at me.

“Yeah, thank you.” She continued to stare.

“Gotta pay her now man.” Tom said.

My arms felt heavy as I reached out my arm to pay her, I could feel the weight of the nights darkness that made me feel like I was moving under water. My body shivered as she wrapped her warm and wet gums around my fingers before swallowing the bill. She silently made her way back to the woods.

I looked at the clock, it was 7:00 pm, I was making good time. My house was just ahead; my satisfaction at this realization was compounded by the AC cutting on as I hit a bump. The stars were beautiful in a sad way, everything else gets to move, but the stars are obliged to stay in place for the rest of us. It made me think of my mom, how she had to work the roles of both parents after dad ran out on us.

“Thank you, mom.”

“You’re welcome son.” She said from the backseat.

“Oh shit, I’m not high mom.”

“It’s ok son, I’m in hell now, so I don’t care anymore.”

That’s a relief.

My house was in sight, I pulled into the driveway, but the kitchen lights were on. That’s weird, I always turn them off. I looked through the window, and I saw a family eating. But they had no faces; they just smeared the food messily around their head skin. Horror filled my heart at this scene, not at their appearance I just thought I must have the wrong house.

“You son of a bitch you killed my son!” I heard screaming behind me.

I was startled but kept my cool as I assumed this to be a hallucination. I walked forward and began to explain how they in fact weren’t real and ask if they could kindly help me get this family out of my home.

I fell back hard on the concrete driveway, something was burning hot in my chest, as the darkness came to claim my day.

Darkness is not all death no. Many things in darkness grow, in the places you don’t go, untouched by moonlight glow, little lives you’ll never know. In your dank old attic stewing, quiet life is a-brewing, inch by inch it is accruing. Hear it creep under your bed, hide under your cover full of dread. But not all you hear at night instead; some are sneaking in your head. Often found on your bread, or growing on the peaceful dead. Smelling up your whole house, quieter than a mouse, find a spot now dig a hole cause this stuff stinks up in your soul.

I shot to life at the painful screeches of my alarm. Memories after a dream set in like Novocain, overtaking the whimsy and freedom that kissed my mind in slumbered hours with a numbing apathy.

“Fuck.” I said, but it came out strained and raspy, irritating my throat as the words left my mouth.

I fell into a painful coughing fit that had my body hunched over. My chest contracting with a heavy thud as my throat started to chap and sting. This had become an increasingly common ailment as of late, but I assumed it was just my immune system being weakened by the lack of vitamin D. I couldn’t remember a time in the last seven years in which I’d actually seen sunlight, but I couldn’t be sure as my memory had been failing me at an increasing rate. After I’d finished hacking out my lung, I tasted something bitter and dank at the back of my throat but disregarded this as I made my way to the shower.

I stared blankly at the white wall as the hot water coursed down my gaunt frame. I always took long showers, not to think or to calm my nerves, I just found my mind going blank and zoning out as I stood under the water. This daze was shaken as I once again began to violently hack, water spritzing into my throat and making me feel like I was drowning in a steaming geyser. I fell to my knees and looked below me to see black clouds diffusing in the water. The dark substance spread through the floor of the shower forming an intertwined web of dark circles. They looked like hurricanes in the blackened ocean, throwing their shade at the waters around them and casting a shadow that dissipated as it spiraled out, turning the water around them a dull gray. My heart was beating hard against my chest, I felt like I was losing my mind as I tried to regain control of myself so I could assess the visuals plaguing my mind. I closed my eyes in excruciation, hoping that I could wait for the painful hacking and hallucinations to pass.

When the fit had ended, I opened my eyes and saw nothing but clear water. I couldn’t make sense of what happened, so I didn’t try, as if pretending it didn’t happen was the only way of preserving my tenuous grasp on reality.

How long had I been in here? Did I wash myself? I reached out of the shower and grabbed my phone to check the time, it was 9:15.

“What? I couldn’t have been in here fifty minutes already.”

I got out of the shower and began getting dressed in a hurry. I didn’t have to be at work until 10:00 but I always got there early and didn’t want to break that habit now. My job, as tedious as it was, provided a sense of normalcy and structure to my life which I needed with everything I was dealing with. So, I told myself that once I got to work and got some coffee in me that I’d start feeling better.

I drove through a dulled haze of apathy, blindly navigating through the familiar turns, hardly aware of my surroundings as I made the tedious trip. The road around me was an abstraction; lights and movement only signals with no deeper significance or life beyond. The flickering neon sign woke me from my trance as I pulled into the parking lot. I felt slightly bothered that I was unable to remember the drive here but disregarded this feeling as I parked in the same spot I had for the last decade.

“Hey Debra.” I said as I walked into the office.

“Hey Timothy.”

“Anything I need to know.”

“Nope.”

“Quiet night?”

“Yeah.”

The same banal conversation that I’d made five days a week since I started here. The sad thing was that I’d begun to look forward to it, all the time I’d spent alone had made me useless in conversation deeper than customer service. It was a predictable safe interaction, and as much socialization that I was getting on a regular basis.

I made my way to the lobby and started a pot of coffee. The soothing sounds of traffic lulled me into a sedative state as they played to the tempo of drip fed coffee steaming off stainless steel. I felt a slight jolt that woke me as the coffee machine sounded to life and began to pour myself a cup. I watched as sludgy tar began to slop out of the metal spout with a heavy squelch, and I recoiled away as the faintly musky smell wafted to me. I picked up the paper cup to examine its contents and as I did the bottom bursted through and splashed onto my white shirt.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed, expecting the fresh contents to singe my skin, but it was lukewarm.

I wiped the viscous liquid off my shirt and into the trash as best as I could before hurrying back into the office.

“Hey Debra? What’s going on with the coffee maker?” I said as I entered.

But there was no one there. It didn’t make any sense, I got here thirty minutes before my shift had started, and she always stayed late waiting for her ride.

“What time is it?” I whispered to myself, before turning to check. I stared at the analog clock but couldn’t make sense of it, the hands moved frantically and ethereally about its radius like a dreamed octopus with soy sauce poured onto it. Staring at it made my brain hurt, and I eventually gave up and checked my phone.

It read 1:32 A.M.

I was speechless, how could four hours have passed since I got here? But the thought was interrupted by the booming sounds of classical piano played with heavy bass. My skull rattled as the bass rang out, with the piercing shriek of keys stabbing through my ear drums like needles. I covered my ears, but it seemed to make no difference.

I stepped outside and followed the sound to room 113, but right before my knuckles could tap the door, the music stopped. I decided I’d let it go, they may have just accidentally connected to their speaker system and besides I was well behind on my paperwork.

But as I made my way back to the lobby, I noticed my car wasn’t in its usual spot. I scanned around the lot but couldn’t see it anywhere. I immediately thought the worst, suspecting that the fiends who haunt this lot must’ve stolen it. I took out my phone and began to dial 911 as I frantically paced around the lot checking places, I knew it wasn’t.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, I believe my car has been stolen.”

“You believe or you know?”

“Well, it’s not where I left it!”

He let out a sigh. “Timothy please make sure this is an actual emergency.”

“Wait how do you know my na-”

I said as I stepped past the breezeway towards the back of the property, and as I did, I saw my car parked on the dirt trail leading to the dumpster.

“Hello? Sir, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I guess I just forgot where I placed it.”

“So, there wasn’t an emergency?”

“No.”

“Ok sir, please ensure it’s an emergency next time you call.”

I could hear the sounds of glasses clinking together and laughter before they hung up on me.

I started back towards the office. What was going on with me? My memory had been getting worse, but it had never been this bad. I stepped back inside but before I could sit down to start on the audit, the phone began to ring.

“Thank you for calling-”

I paused for a moment, why couldn’t I remember the name?

“Yes, is this the Briggs Motel?”

I wasn’t sure if that was right.

“Uh yes, how can I help you?”

“I’m outside the window.”

I looked out and saw a tall looking man, clearly some sort of drug addict to look at him, rail thin with a moonlight tan covered in giant crusty scabs that looked infected. Hot pus sizzled and popped from the yellow and red sore as approached him.

“How can I help you sir?”

“One second,” he said, speaking into his phone.

“Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” I noticed after saying this the bubbling seemed to grow more furious.

“Well, do you want a room?”

He squinted his eyes at me giving me a look of contempt, and the sores were now frothing rapidly and pouring onto the ground.

“Sorry about that.” He said into the phone

I went to the phone and picked it up.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I was just wondering if I could get a room.”

“Yeah.”

“Ok, I’m at the window.”

“Okay, do you want me to come check you in?”

“Uhh obviously?”

I let out a groan before going back to the window.

“Our rate tonight is $110.” I said while looking at the desk to avoid eye contact.

“Hey man, why are you staring at my wife?” The man asked, puss now bubbling out of his mouth to make him look rabid.

“What? I don’t see anyone else.”

As I said this, a lady dwarf waddled back from the desk and into my view. Her body was eaten away by elephantiasis. Pulsating irregular mounds of grey meat swollen around her body and head with purple spiderwebs of fat veins coursing around the corpselike flesh. She was wearing nothing, but an oversized t-shirt tied into a onesie at the bottom.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to stare.” I said with my hands up in a defensive position.

“Yeah? You just couldn’t help yourself, huh? I bet you want me so fucking bad.” She said as she guided her swollen, crablike hands down the lumpy curves of her body.

“Well, it’s too bad, I’m all his,” she said, turning to the drug addict.

“Isn’t that, right?”

“You know it baby.” He said, crouching down onto his knee and crudely sticking his scab covered tongue into her mouth.

Their tongues wildly scanned around each other's faces at a feverish pace, as pus and drool dripped down and puddled between them. I watched as her lips smacked down on the frothy bubbles invading her lips and poured out from her mouth as a thick white liquid. She turned back to face me, her wet face shining under the fluorescent lights.

“Fuck This!” She screamed at me.

“We don’t have to deal with this purv.” As she said this, a fat vein in her forehead popped and began to spread the purple hue around her face in a puddle.

“Let's go baby.” She said before laying on her back, to which the man began to roll her forward with his foot.

I thought that was weird but chose not to question it, after all I had paperwork to do. I checked the clock and it was 1:42.

“Finally, I need to get this shit done.”

I sat down at the desk, grabbed my pen, and started on the audit. I was having trouble understanding the numbers; they slipped through my mind like grains of sand through a spherical hourglass. Just as I was starting to get the numbers into the calculator, I heard the sound of circus music blaring so loudly as to rumble the ground beneath my feet.

I rushed out of the building and could immediately trace the sound back to room 113. I was furious, after the night, I’ve had the last thing I needed was for some asshole to be playing pranks at 2 A.M. I stomped over to the room and bashed my knuckles onto the door as hard as I could.

“Turn off that music right now, or I’m calling the cops.”

The music stopped suddenly.

“What? Hello?” A dreary but shocked voice shot out from the room.

“Sir you cannot be playing your music that loud, especially this late at night.”

“What? I’ve been asleep, you just woke me up.”

“Just don’t let it happen again.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about sir.”

I once again broke into a violent coughing fit, closing my eyes as I fell hard on my knees against the grating asphalt. And as I kneeled prone on the ground, the music started back. It was playing the Macarena but slowed with reverb, my skeleton rattled, and I could hear bone drumming rapidly against wet meat. My vision was shaky as my eyeballs rattled in their sockets, seeming to match the rhythm of the song. I forced myself to my feet.

“That’s it!” I said, rushing in and grabbing the housekeeper's key.

I ran over to the room.

“I’m coming in, I’ve had enough of this.”

“What? Don’t-”

I ignored this and slung the door open, the music stopping on cue.

Before I processed anything I saw I was lambasted with the smell of sweat and bleachy dried cum. There was an enormous naked old person lying in the bed, they sagged down off both sides with their belly touching the floor in front of the bed. The sheets struggled to cover a fraction of their mountainous form, they started just below where I assume their genitals were but only made it to just past their navel. Their breasts sagged down from their chest with their nipples narrowly hidden under the cover. They let out a shriek and pulled up the sheet on reflex, which exposed what looked like it could have been a blood constricted penis rising from a vertical fold of fat or could have been a particularly large vagina. In a panic they turned off the bed and laid flat on their belly. I felt sick and started to gag, but as I did, I felt something furry clogging my throat.

My throat was blocked, only narrow streams of dank air passing through as I began to vomit out thick ropes of something black. Acidic bile splashed out with the vine as I vomited in spurts, its furry length thrusting an inch further with each consecutive gag. I grabbed the black rope that reached out of my throat and began to pull it. As I did, I could feel it tugging out from both above and below, leaving a trail of spores in my neck and sinus. I could feel my throat squeezing against the vine as I tugged, hacking uncontrollably as the taste of mildew overwhelmed my senses.

A muffled scream wrenched out from my clogged throat as I felt something tear in my head. I heard a squishing sound as my sinuses gaped wide, a baseball sized obstruction moving down its length. Every breath I drew in soft juicy pieces of meat that rained down into my lungs. I continued to pull, until I could taste something sweet in the back of my throat, and I vomited out something wrinkled and bloody.

I went back to the office, now somehow finding my job much more pleasant.

How's it going, I'm a published writer looking to collab with any artist willing. I have several stories available on my reddit account if you want a look at my style. I specialize in horror, but am willing to try other genres.

​

Sandwiched between old cracked brick buildings, a thick mist of exhaust steams in the freezing air, precluding the alley view from the streets. If one were to wade through the clouds of gassy white steam, they would find me caring for my father in our makeshift home.

The crash of metal against metal and the scent of waste carried on the freezing January wind told me that dinner was ready. I sluggishly emerged from my damp box and made my way to the dumpster. Standing over it, the smell of spoiled food was pungent, causing my eyes to water, which I wiped away before it could freeze over my face. Slimy grey water mixed with chunks of sour milk caked onto my arm, congealing on my skin as I rummaged for anything edible. I scooped a handful of soft wet lettuce and a few loose foul smelling shrimp and sat in front of the box, placing the food into it.

A hand reached from deep within it and pulled the scraps into the box’s cavernous mouth.

“Thank you, my dear.” A tired and raspy voice called from its depth.

“Of course dad, eat up.” Wet slopping noises rang out from the back of the box.

“Why weren’t you here yesterday, Rebecca?" I felt blood reach to my face at this question, dully thawing my frozen nerves.

“Well, I was handling some business.”

“What business? All of our business is right here.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here.”

“What are you saying? You want to leave our home? Abandon me? I’ll starve without you.”

“I wouldn’t let you starve, I was at a job interview, Dad. If I can get this, I’ll be able to get us real food.”

“Real food? The food that’s gotten you where you are in life, that fed you everyday since your mother left, that’s not real enough for you?”

“It’s not like that dad, please I just want more out of life. For both of us.” I said as I felt tears welling in my eyes.

“So I’m not enough for you?”

“Dad.”

“Then fucking leave! Leave me here to die, go chase your stupid fucking dreams, and when they fail, come back here and throw my corpse into that dumpster.”

The tears were in full stream now, I tried to stop them, I could feel them crystalising as they rolled down my cheeks.

“This isn’t fair! I can’t live my whole life like this.”

“I’m sorry, I understand dear. Just do your father the favor of lying with him one last time.”

A dirty brown arm extended out of the black, gaping mouth of the old box, trembling and weak with a strong, musty smell. The decrepit old hand wrapped around my wrist, moist and oozing foul smelling water, squeezing from its meager grip as he pulled me to my knees in front of it. I didn’t want to pull against him and hurt him, so I allowed the weak old man to guide me forward. The familiar stench of blood, my eyes watered as pungent sweat and rot wafted to me thick and hot. His hand caressed my cheek, my frozen nerves tingling as his warm, damp fingers ran down them, offering brief respite from the biting cold but inevitably worsening my chills when his affections are pulled away. The box’s floor was soft, wet, and warm, the thick liquid seeming to pulse under my palm with a wet slushing noise.

I could vaguely see his face at the end of the tunnel, black mold freckled his nose, his eyes looked lonely and desperate, and there was a tear on his left cheek exposing ribbed musculature dripping black blood. I laid down, feeling the sprawling web of thick fat veins pumping under me, sending waves of vibration through the muddy bed. The floor seemed to hug around the contours of my body, giving me more warmth than I was used to.

“It feels warm, Dad."

“Anything for my princess.”

I tried to move, to adjust my body and get comfortable, but when I did, I felt a thin layer of paper bind around my arms.

“Dad, what’s going on?” I asked as I pulled my arms and ripped the damp paper, but before I could move, it had already formed over again, thicker now.

“Shhh dear, don’t make this harder on Daddy than it needs to be.”

“What are you doing to me?”

The box’s opening closed before its roof began to come down on me rapidly, as if someone had thrown a weight onto the top of the box.

My breathing began to spike and my heart was racing as the walls of the box began tightening around my body, turning me into a paper mache mummy. It began fitting around my face, suffocatingly blocking my nostrils, and I tried to scream, but as I did, I felt a thick, long shaft of cardboard press into my mouth, painfully unhinging my jaw with a sickening crunch. Musty paper overwhelmed my senses, tears and snot were pressed against my face and forced back into my nostrils and mouth. I started to vomit, feeling it narrowly seep through my obstructed throat, giving me the taste of rotten vegetables. I felt it sliding deeper inside me, pressing the burning vomit in my mouth deeper inch by inch, as it squeezed against my esophagus. I felt it break through into my stomach, painfully poking around, stretching the tissue as it tries to find the exit. It stretched my intestines taut as it continued rooting inside of me, painfully warping them as it made jagged bends to turn down their path. It took its serpentine path around my intestines, until the dark around my vision gave way to light as the box fully submerged itself inside of my body.

I ended up getting that job, dad enjoys all the new and fresh foods I’m able to give him.

​

Hell isn’t made of overwhelming heat or of demons who lash and beat. Hell is quiet impending dread, and it doesn’t wait for when you’re dead. Replaying what you did and said, certain doom lies ahead. Hidden in the clouds of fog, lying restful as a log, the ceaseless bark of the black dog.

He’s taken many that I knew, left me here alone and blue, no idea what I should do, wishing it was me, not you. I sit awake all through the night, craving its climatic bite, hopeful the end will make it right. But the climax seems to grow no nearer, though the tension of its growl grows clearer. I see its shadow in my mirror.

I play back memories of the things he said, but the sound of barking comes out your mouth instead. I look at old photos, and he’s running in the back, the ever creeping, never sleeping, Nil the dog of black.

I think about it everywhere I go, I fear it, but I need it so. His echoes carry on the wind blow, their reverberation in my ear sow a sapling of fear that continues to grow. How can you fear something you crave? Stockholm syndrome, I am the dog's slave. The black dog that follows me to my grave.

It prowls around just out of sight, knowing any day it might leap from behind me and give me its bite.

Til then I just wait, as the tension grows, cause there is no escape, I know how it goes.

Hell isn’t made of overwhelming heat or of demons who lash and beat. Hell is quiet impending dread, and it doesn’t wait for when you’re dead. Replaying what you did and said, certain doom lies ahead. Hidden in the clouds of fog, lying restful as a log, the ceaseless bark of the black dog.

He’s taken many that I knew, left me here alone and blue, no idea what I should do, wishing it was me, not you. I sit awake all through the night, craving its climatic bite, hopeful the end will make it right. But the climax seems to grow no nearer, though the tension of its growl grows clearer. I see its shadow in my mirror.

I play back memories of the things he said, but the sound of barking comes out your mouth instead. I look at old photos, and he’s running in the back, the ever creeping, never sleeping, Nil the dog of black.

I think about it everywhere I go, I fear it, but I need it so. His echoes carry on the wind blow, their reverberation in my ear sow a sapling of fear that continues to grow. How can you fear something you crave? Stockholm syndrome, I am the dog's slave. The black dog that follows me to my grave.

It prowls around just out of sight, knowing any day it might leap from behind me and give me its bite.

Til then I just wait, as the tension grows, cause there is no escape, I know how it goes.

Hell isn’t made of overwhelming heat or of demons who lash and beat. Hell is quiet impending dread, and it doesn’t wait for when you’re dead. Replaying what you did and said, certain doom lies ahead. Hidden in the clouds of fog, lying restful as a log, the ceaseless bark of the black dog.

He’s taken many that I knew, left me here alone and blue, no idea what I should do, wishing it was me, not you. I sit awake all through the night, craving its climatic bite, hopeful the end will make it right. But the climax seems to grow no nearer, though the tension of its growl grows clearer. I see its shadow in my mirror.

I play back memories of the things he said, but the sound of barking comes out your mouth instead. I look at old photos, and he’s running in the back, the ever creeping, never sleeping, Nil the dog of black.

I think about it everywhere I go, I fear it, but I need it so. His echoes carry on the wind blow, their reverberation in my ear sow a sapling of fear that continues to grow. How can you fear something you crave? Stockholm syndrome, I am the dog's slave. The black dog that follows me to my grave.

It prowls around just out of sight, knowing any day it might leap from behind me and give me its bite.

Til then I just wait, as the tension grows, cause there is no escape, I know how it goes.